Archive for July, 2014

… and the beat goes on …


When your life revolves around music, as mine does, it becomes quite easy to live what may be termed an “insulated” life – a life that is, in many ways, unconnected with the realities that the rest of the world deals with on a regular basis for the simple reason that while music may be important to me (and to everyone else who creates music), and the rarefied individuals who are able to partake of the joys of contemporary “art music”, the realities of life (though some might argue, correctly, I might add, that this is not how life should be) – but war, and the political machinations behind the scenes that ultimately, inexorably, lead to wars and genocides, as well as the various crimes and misdemeanours which the Talking Heads on the News seem so pleased to be bringing into our homes every night, promptly at 6pm (except when they want to interrupt Judge Judy at 4pm) – all of these seem to conspire together to make me feel that  what I am doing with my life seems quite insignificant. At least, that may be how I start to feel when my mood takes one of the many downward spirals that are closely associated with an illness that I have been living with for many years – it began to manifest itself while I was in high school, thirty years ago. The illness is not uncommon among composers, it seems: some of the greatest musical geniuses have been afflicted with this disease, including Robert Schumann, Hector Berlioz, George Frederick Handel, and perhaps even Ludwig van Beethoven (cf. Touched with Fire by Kay Redfield Jamison) – so I count myself among great company when I say “I have Bipolar Disorder. I have Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II, and I’m not ashamed – at all – because of it, so don’t bother making notes or copying and pasting this, to use against me at some point in the future: I’ve gone on record on a number of occasions – this is not a “coming out” for me, but thank you for caring.

I also have to remember, and this is important, that when my mood turns away from the sunny pursuits of life my feelings are liars: my feelings want me to succomb to their taunts and prevarications, that I may abandon hope, cast aside all that I’ve accomplished, and surrender to the Sirenic calls coming from the depths of Hades. The lies will, eventually, cause you to take everything that is important and kill it, but you cannot allow those voices to be heard for very long lest they force your mood into a deeper darkness than it had been in before the day began. Depression is pernicious, evil and, above all else, it does not discriminate: anyone is susceptible to it, regardless of their social standing or moral character. It does not matter whether you are a “good person” or an asshole, 1 in 5 people will become depressed at some point in their lives. You have a much greater chance of becoming depressed – at some point in life – than of ever winning the Lottery.

I have tickets for the Lottery this weekend.

In all seriousness, I could be angry at the fact that I have a mental illness (that is, after all, what Bipolar disorder is), but that’s not how I feel about it and I’m going to tell you why (this would be a pretty lame article if I didn’t, right? – never mind): I know, for a fact, that my creative life has been tremendously enhanced as a result of this illness. It has made aspects of my life more difficult and yes, it has caused some intense suffering, but the abilities that I’ve gained – the ability to see things with an increased clarity, to feel things at a greater depth (yes, I’m a man that cries – a lot, at times – sometimes over the silliest things, but it is only because I feel something that touches me tremendously), and to experience things in a way that just does not make sense to others. Just as I try not to eat junk food, I try not to listen to “noise” – in whatever form it may inhabit (I’m not making a specific statement regarding any particular genre of music as I’ve listened to, and enjoyed, everything from Ska to avant garde jazz [which can be WAY out there]; I’m referring to … crap. There, I said it: musical crap. It exists, you’ve heard it, that’s all I’m saying.). When listening to music it goes beyond simply “hearing” the music, it is something that enters through the entire body: there’s a piece of music by Beethoven, for example, that I just adore, the first movement of his 6th Symphony (among many other pieces), also known as the Pastorale. It is an achingly beautiful composition, but lately I find that I rarely listen to recordings of the piece when I leave the house: instead of using my Mp3 player and having the sounds of traffic interspersed with my recording I close my eyes (once I’m on the bus … walking with my eyes closed has tended to cause me more pain than I’m already experiencing as a result of the fibromyalgia … more in a future article) which allows me to drown out everything around me, and let the “orchestra of my mind” take up the symphony. It is a performance replete with every nuance and gesture that the composition deserves, without sounding overly sentimental … and I don’t have to pause the performance if I don’t want to, while changing buses, or waiting for the train – I just listen, in my mind, and experience my own private concert. I can, and do, do this with several of my favourite pieces, and have been “practicing” pieces that I’m playing on the guitar by “playing” them in my mind while waiting at the bus stop, playing the left hand fingering on the strap of my satchel, every note ringing in my mind as clearly as though I were playing on the best guitar in the world.

When you are listening to music in your mind (or, perhaps I should say, hearing music in your head) you are living the music at a deeper level than if you are only using your ears. Another term for this type of “deep listening” is audiation. Audiation is, in its essence, “ear imagination” – being able to imagine  sound(s) in your ear. It is a particularly important talent for composers who can, literally, compose in their heads if (and this is one of those big “ifs”) they can hear what they want to put down on the paper without having to refer to an instrument. In this sense, I’ve been very lucky in that this is how I’ve been composing virtually from day one. I never compose at a piano or on the guitar, though I may play something after I’ve written it down, I write things down as I hear it, or after hearing it in my head. That’s just the way I’ve always worked, and it has always worked well for me, so I’m not about to change things up now. Regardless of how I may be feeling I understand now that the most important thing for me is the process: writing, composing, putting things down on paper – or on the screen – filling those empty spaces – is a process, and if you are not dedicated to the process, even when things seem to be going badly, you will fail. Failure is not an option. Failure – failing – is part of life, and we learn our greatest lessons from our failures, our mistakes, our massive f*@$ Ups – they make us who we are as adults. Anyone that says they haven’t failed is a liar, and someone dealing with intense insecurity issues. They shouldn’t be trusted.

I have failed. Actually, one of my biggest failures, in university, ended up being one of the best things to happen to my musical education, and turned out to be a tremendous experience that I wouldn’t have had if I had succeeded: I had been carrying a double major – composition AND performance (psychotic? no, just bipolar), and I was failed on my 4th year recital, which I did in my 3rd year (which was actually my 2nd year at the school … confusing, perhaps … but don’t worry, it isn’t important). Anyway, I needed a C+ to pass the recital and received a C. I received an “A” from one jury member, a “B” from another, and an “F” from the third member … he really hated the piece that I’d composed, and he told me so – and he gave me a mark to fail me, even though two-thirds of the jury had given me marks that were more than passing marks. BUT … failing that 6 credit course was a blessing! To make up those credits (they wouldn’t count towards my degree – and – since they wouldn’t count, the C wouldn’t figure into my GPA! It was as though I hadn’t even taken the course!) I was able to take a Special Research Project with my composition teacher and a Graduate Studies course in Schenkerian Analysis – and I received top marks in both courses, graduating Magna Cum Laude. So, failing was an opportunity to learn, an opportunity to grow – and an opportunity to grow some humility. Nobody is perfect.

Our greatest perfection lies in the recognition of our imperfections. It is only when we are able to look into ourselves and see the ugliness looking back that we are equipped to deal with it, to look back and, instead of cringing,  look the ugliness in the eye and declare, “I know you; I recognize you … I’m going to change you.” On the occasions that I do take the time to listen to the Talking Heads who seem so intent on invading my space every evening at 6pm I am astounded at the level of frivolity that accompanies what they deign worthy of being called “News” – certain “human interest” stories (Man Bites Dog: Dog Gets Rabies … etc.) that seem to be just two steps beyond the inane level. At the same time, it makes me wonder, how much more some of these people need the beauty of music in their lives. Perhaps it isn’t such a frivolous existence after all, not when you consider how much music can bring people together, if only for the few moments the piece is being played, there is total equality for (my) music does not judge. There is no race in music, there is no religion, no strife, no violent struggle against right or wrong (and if there is, there are no casualties!), and there hatred, only the joyful noise that celebrates the love of life in all of its glory.

So, with all the glory of life and music, why is it I want to die every now and then?

Bipolar Disorder, otherwise known as “Manic Depressive Disorder” is, in many ways, the best and the worst of what you could ask for (not that anyone would ask for a mental illness). Type II of this illness indicates that the individual does not experience a full-blown manic episode, which may often end up resulting in a stay in the hospital. Mania is a serious thing, not something to be joked about, and definitely NOT something that you want to experience. I’ve seen people during a manic episode and it is not pretty. I am lucky (yes, I said it) in that I only (only) experience hypomanic episodes. “Hypomania” is, quite literally, a “small” mania. I like to compare the two like this: Mania is like someone running down the street, naked, singing Black Sabbath songs … while twirling a parasol. Hypomania is watching the person experiencing the manic episode and saying to yourself, “that looks like a lot of fun, but … I think I’d choose the Beatles instead … and no parisal” – but – the person with hypomania does NOT go through with it, that’s the difference. Hypomania, when I experience it (not very often – perhaps a few times per month, if I’m unlucky) makes me feel as though everything is running in triple-fast-forward; all of my senses are in overdrive, and it feels as though my entire body is “thrumming” with energy, that I could, quite literally, lift off the ground just by thinking about it – or by taking a small step into the air. Unfortunately, these episodes do not usually result in a great amount of creative lucre – I am usually too easily distracted by … anything … to harness the energies of the episode and create something. On the rare occasion that I experience a “switch” into hypomania while I’m already at work on a piece … oh my … that can be an incredible session and produce amazing results, or crap. Yes, sometimes this has happened and the next time I looked at my work I ended up deleted several hour’s of work because … it was CRAP! But, that happens. Part of the maturing process as an artist, and particularly as a composer, is being able to look at what you’re writing and recognize when something is worth keeping and something is not (I’m not talking about false modesty here, “oh, nothing I write is worth saving” – that’s a load of crap – if you believe that, become a garbage person, not an artist).

Most of my creative energies come from a place that is between hypomania and the depressions that I experience, though they (thankfully) don’t last very long (usually), thanks to the medications I take. When I’m working it is as though my mood reaches some form of artificial “stasis”, blocking out everything including the pain from the constant migraine that I’ve been living with since high school. As long as the music is flowing (that which I’m hearing in my head) it is possible to maintain this “cone of creativity”, but – once I stop my composing session for the day … the tsunami washes over me with overwhelming force.

So, the struggle continues, and when I make the mistake of listening to the Talking Heads I allow myself to question what value there is to putting a bunch of black notes on paper, making marks and lines that may never be played or heard by others – in my lifetime. I have to remind myself that composing is not really about the “here and now” (or the “hear and now”), but rather about an investment into the cultural future of our species. Yes, that sounds incredibly grandiose, but think about it for a moment, how many manuscripts of Bach may have been lost because of the manner in which he composed and how the finished scores were transmitted, stored, and etc.? Beethoven? Mozart? Several, for each, and that is a tragedy. Contemporary composers face similar issues, even (and especially) when writing music that creates scores on the computer, but when we produce music, even if it is not performed in our lifetime, it exists, and will be around for future generations of performers looking for “something new” from a particular generation. Composers are adding drops into a giant time capsule for future generations to open and enjoy. That’s why I’ve always said “you do not become a composer of contemporary classical music to become rich”.

I have to remind myself that Depression is a liar, and it’s very good at it as well. Depression will tell you that you’re a failure, that you haven’t achieved anything, and that you’re never going to achieve anything. Do Not Listen to it’s voice. Depression is something that can be, should be, and must be battled – at all costs. Do not fall into the lie that “I can beat this” on your own, that’s one of the lies Depression uses to entrap its victims into its cycle of defeat, desolation, and disintegration (of self). Depression cannot bear the light of day, the sound of laughter, the smile of another, or the touch of a loved one. Depression must be treated as the dangerous serial killer that it is: if you or a friend/relative are experiencing a serious depressive episode PLEASE seek help from a qualified medical professional. If you have been considering harming yourself IN ANY WAY, PLEASE call the Emergency Services (911 in Canada & U.S.) and call for help immediately (a Canadian resource). There is nothing to be ashamed of, this is an illness that must be taken seriously before it takes another victim. There’s no point feeding the dragon when we have weapons that have been forged in flames to defeat it.

While Bipolar disorder is an illness that leads some people to take their lives, it does have a silver lining in that it has been shown to enhance the creativity of the afflicted. One might say, in closing, it is a bitter pill to swallow, but I wouldn’t change it if I could: I’ve never known another way as far as my creativity goes; how could I be sure I could compose without this Mercurial, Psychotic Muse paying me her regular visits? It is a chance, thank you very much, that I would not take. For now, and forever, I shall remain the CrazyComposer – thank you, thank you very much … and the beat … and the beat goes on … and on … and on.


Making it Work: Creatively Crazy


Confucius once said, “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” I cannot think of any career where this can truer than in the field of music: we speak of “playing” instruments, “playing music”, and, for those of us lucky to be in that position, we create music out of thin air. How much less like “work” can be the creation of something that will bring joy to the lives of others? Certainly, it takes effort, but who would trade being a composer (or musician in general) for, oh, I don’t know … how about a coal miner, or a fisherman on the Bering Sea? Thank you, very much, but no; I am quite cognizant of the fact that I lead a life tremendously blessed by virtue of the fact that I have been afforded the opportunity to follow my dream of being a composer, even though this “blessing” has come at the result of two chronic illnesses; were it not for these illnesses it would not have been possible, in all likelihood, for me to pursue this “career” without caring so much about the financial side of the game. In effect, the reason that I’ve been afforded this opportunity is, largely, the result of those two illnesses which have exerted an intense influence upon my life over the past thirty years: bipolar affective disorder, and fibromyalgia (accompanied by a chronic migraine that has not gone away since my time in high school).

One of the things that Confucius definitely had right about his comment was that if you really love what you are doing, it can never really feel like you’re doing work: the only downside to this is, and this also applies really well to music, it makes it very easy to see yourself doing a lot of “work” without receiving much, if any, remuneration for the tasks … because, after all, you’re doing it “for the love of the music” – you’re not “in it for the money”, right? Of course, this is true, and in my case, I really am not doing it for the money: as a result of the fact that I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar disorder (type II for those keeping score), as well as fibromyalgia (don’t forget that migraine – it’s there, 24/7/365/21,900/1,314,000); as a result I’ve been on permanent disability since 2000 (Ontario Disability Support Program). When it started I had gone through an intensely devastating period of over a year where I could not compose a note due to the intense depression that I was experiencing. This was an absolutely horrific thing to go through: I couldn’t compose or write, save for the occasional poem, which probably prevented me from losing all hope in life. It took many hours with several doctors, experiments with several medications, but … the music that I had been so used to hearing all the time in my head was there again, as though it had never been gone … and I have never looked back. But, sometimes it would be nice if somebody thought what I was doing was worth my being paid something.

This isn’t to say I have never been paid for my music, of for a composition: I have, and it makes me quite uncomfortable when someone asks “how much” I want for something … I really am not in this for the money … but … life doesn’t really know that. This past year my cat had cancer – and survived – but that means that I am now making monthly payments (for the next several months) to repay the lovely people that put the price of Seussie’s surgery on their credit card. I could have bought an extremely expensive concert guitar for what I’m paying … I now tell my cat, “you’re the most valuable thing I own” (he looks at me, yawns, and goes to sleep … a perfect cat). The idea of life, however, without him, was not possible. Paying the vet bill is just something I have to do … the cost doesn’t matter.

Whenever I have an appointment with my psychiatrist (a charming doctor named Dr Miura, who hails from Argentina and is of Japanese and Argentine descent) at the Royal Ottawa Hospital, the first – and most important – question that he always asks me is: “how is your music going?” He understands, quite clearly, that if my music is “going well”, if I am composing he knows that my mental health is not anywhere near a critical area. The same can be said if I’m writing other things as well: the creative process is equally transferable for me; so, I’m fine if I’m writing and not composing … for a short period of time. My mental stability is inexorably connected to my creative process: when I’m writing (music or otherwise) I’m in a “good place” – when I’m not … that’s one of the most important “warning signs” that things are going downhill … really quickly. This is an especially important thing to observe in my situation since I have been diagnosed with the type II variant of bipolar disorder, and have been further classified as a “rapid cycler”, meaning my moods have a tendency to “switch” much more quickly than someone who has the type I variant of the illness, and experiences full-blown mania. I’ve never had a full manic episode, thankfully, but that doesn’t make the type II variant any easier to manage: it has become something of a job as it requires a great amount of observation and dedication to monitor things, how they affect me, and etc., and to constantly monitor my physical and emotional state so that I do not over-exert myself (which is a no-no with fibromyalgia, resulting in several days recovery time for the slightest exertion) or allow my emotions to get (too) out of control. It all boils down to self awareness: understanding how you will react under certain situations and, knowing that, making choices as to how you will participate – or if you will participate.

It became clear to me, when I was younger, that if I wanted to pursue my dream of being a composer the thing I had to do was compose (Just do it? In a manner of speaking, yes … but I also studied, and practiced, and practiced, and studied … ad nauseum). Yes, that sounds silly, but I mean it just the way it sounds: I started writing music at every opportunity that I had as a student, on everything, in everything; in harmony and theory assignments, extending homework assignments, “doodling” in classes … it was probably maddening to some of my professors, but it helped develop my “chops” as the composer that I ultimately became. When I was a student in college and university two things were important to me: playing the guitar and composing; the further I progressed in school, studying more contemporary music with a brilliant composer named Steven Gellman as my mentor the guitar began to take second fiddle to my musical interests and composition became my primary passion, a passion that has not waned to this day. In fact, after my 3rd year guitar recital (which I performed in my 2nd year at the University of Ottawa) I almost stopped playing altogether, in part to dedicate myself wholly to the task of composing, but also partly because I had been playing with a great amount of pain for several years, and there was no reason to put myself through that anymore if I had no more recitals to prepare for or juries to appear before.

Fibromyalgia is not something that I would want anyone to have to experience, but for those that have it, and live with the pain and discomfort that it presents, you can understand how easy it is to give up on something if, in your mind, you are not actually losing anything in the act. When I stopped playing the classical guitar I really only stopped practicing six to eight hours a day, but I would still play the instrument … for a while. That extra time, for the most part, ended up being used on other projects, like composing … so, it was all good. When I did return to the guitar, however, it got to the point where I was unable to maintain the technical level that I’d had as a performer, and that was unacceptable to me: I didn’t want to be an “okay” guitar player after having played concert repertoire, so … I stopped playing it altogether … and, oddly, it didn’t bother me at the time. I was, after all, composing. Everything was working fine. For a while.

Since I was on disability it was as though – in my mind – I was being paid to compose. Being a “Creative” had become my job by virtue of the fact that I had to continue being productive, and was now “employed” by the Government of Ontario (the Ministry of Community and Social Services, to be precise). So, I was “only” a composer – that was fine by me … but, unlike many of my colleagues, I was in a position to write music for anyone – and not have to worry about the politics of grant applications and commissions in order to get things done: if someone was interested in my music and wanted to play a piece of mine, a commission was created. Period. I would compose the music and they would perform the work and record it … simple, sweet, and elegant. It is an arrangement that has worked for me, and the performers involved, for the most part, for the better part of twenty-years. The only problem is that even when Confucius is deferred to and you are not “working”, per se, the idea of receiving remuneration for something that you have created is not necessarily a bad thing, particularly if it is going to help you in the pursuit of your art – or, just to help you make ends meet when you discover that living on a disability pension is not necessarily as luxurious as it sounds (if I’ve said anything to make it sound luxurious, I apologize … and retract every jot and tittle … there is nothing glamorous about subsistence living … though it is better [much] than living on the streets). Or, if your cat gets cancer … things like that. Life. It sometimes gets expensive.

Seuss reclining - his favourite pose

Seuss reclining – his favourite pose

No. Unfortunately I’ve discovered that one of the definite disadvantages of composing “for the love of music” means that, on occasion, being taken advantage of is standard operating procedure. Once, for example, an orchestration that I was commissioned to create – and this was an actual paid project – was delivered, and then the payment was never made. They simply denied ever having discussed the price with me, and since we had no written contract … there was nothing I could do about it (the piece has since been premiered and you can hear the performance on my SoundCloud page here). Other projects have ended in disappointment, but – once again, there haven’t been contracts memorializing the terms and conditions, so, in one fell swoop a major chamber work and two solo works were tossed aside because … well, the concert they were going to be performed in wasn’t going to happen and there were no plans to put them in a future concert. There wasn’t anything I could do, so … I started composing other pieces and began shopping around the chamber piece, looking for other performance opportunities.

While I may not be making my living (aside from occasional residuals, which are very occasional, and not enough for anyone to live on) from my music it is equally disheartening that it seems so easy for some people to casually dismiss what amounts to hundreds of hours of creative endeavours (in other words: work; it may not feel like work, but it is, in fact, exactly that). Composing may not be true “work” but it takes time, effort, and a tremendous amount of intellectual energy. When I spend four, five, or ten hours composing it feels as though I have worked at a physical job when I finally stop. The reason for this is quite simple: the pain. While I’m composing I’m able to push aside the constant pain I live with, to the point that I don’t even notice (for the most part) the migraine that has, at times, led me to the Emergency Room for shots of heavy-duty opiates when I was in high school and college (not necessary today because of the medication I take on a regular basis, thanks to a doctor who understands pain management and the ramifications of chronic pain left untreated). When a composition session of mine ends there is a short pause and then a flood … a torrential wave of migraine, washes over me … and it happens virtually every time. Day in, day out; if I can write, I can block the pain, but when I stop … it returns; with a vengeance. Of course, if I’m not writing or composing the pain becomes even worse … something that cannot be tolerated without intense concentration.

Living with pain has become something of an art form, something that I have to do if I want to continue living and working, but when it interferes with my work, when it becomes an impediment to that which makes my life worth living, that’s when it becomes too much to handle. If it weren’t for the pain management that I have, thanks to a very caring doctor, the greatest truth is that my compositional career would have ended many years ago. Unfortunately, many composers out there have not been afforded the luxury that I have, to write without worrying about money; many composers are restricted by economic circumstances as to what they can, and will, compose. I am only confined by what I want to compose, so long as someone is interested in performing the music, I will compose for them … but … I have to ask the question … is there really something wrong with composers receiving something (something?) for that which they create? On the other hand, I often compose pieces just for the sake of composing … without having anyone asking for it … just because I’m inspired to compose the piece. Following your inner inspiration is one of the greatest ways to allow your creativity to lead you into an undiscovered world of discovery. Composers compose … it’s what we do.

I don’t want any of this to sound carnal, but … truth be told, I started playing classical guitar again a few months ago (more about that in a future post) and, well … there’s a guitar maker that I would really love to buy a guitar from … alas, his guitars are not the type of thing that fit into my budget. So … aside from paying for my cat’s surgery, it would be really wonderful to be able to purchase a concert guitar – perhaps not the “Rolls Royce” version … but … something nice.

A Generalized Theory of Work


Lately I’ve been wondering about the amount of work – not stuff that I necessarily hate doing, just a lot of stuff – has been accumulating. This is mostly because I keep finishing compositions that must then be entered into a computer program I use called “Finale” which generates the final copy, the score from which a performer will (eventually – I hope) perform the piece. The process of entering a completed composition into Finale is not my favourite part of the compositional process – in fact, at times I really dislike it, for the simple reason that I’d rather be working on a new piece, but – if I don’t finish this piece … if I don’t make the nice, cleanly printed score … there is little to no chance of it ever being performed. Composers have always had to contend with copying their music so that others could read their handwriting – I’m lucky enough to have at my disposal a computer program that makes the process go by much faster than if I had to do it by hand … which I did, many times, when I was a student in college and university … so, I’m not complaining (really!) about having to do this final process when a composition is completed.

However, there is even more (yes, more) work that I’ve been wanting (Did he just say “want”? Yes … he did.) to do – I’ve been working on a novel for quite a while, but I keep putting it off to work on my primary passion, composing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never complain about being so busy with composing that I don’t have the time for other creative endeavours; when I’m composing I know it means that my mental health is just about as good as it gets (that’s something else that I’ll be blogging about in the future) – and that’s not something that I should complain about. But, I know that there is more that I can – and should – be doing … I know how much time I don’t use, and what I want to do … and I believe I know how to effectively bring myself into a more productive state of being. It involves something that I’ve come to call the “Generalized Theory of Work”.

Unlike Einstein’s Theory of Relativity my “Generalized Theory of Work” will, in all likelihood, not change the way you view the universe… but it just may change the way you live your life as it is based on things that I’ve observed and practiced at various times throughout my creative life. The Generalized Theory of Work states: The amount of creative Work that anyone may accomplish during any given interval of TIme may be increased proportionally to the increased amount of Work they attempt to accomplish during an interval of similar duration. In other words, if you try to do more than you have been (for whatever reason), you shall succeed.

That may sound like a truism, but it isn’t as simple as is seems, and here’s where my post from July 1st comes in, why a return to blogging (or blogging more regularly) will help me with my creative endeavours: in order to enter my musical works into Finale I must use my laptop, but I don’t even turn it on every day thanks to the ease of connectivity offered by my other devices (the Samsung “Mega” phone is enough to practically replace my tablet, which I use to read music on for playing guitar – more on that in a future post, I promise!) – so – I have gone, quite literally, weeks without using my laptop. I am quite content to compose on paper – using my favourite fountain pens … very old fashioned, but that’s the way I am – writing in ink, on paper … it seems to connect me with the composers and traditions of the past. 

Blogging is something that I enjoy doing, but I won’t do it from something other than my laptop (I wrote my last post from my phone, using a bluetooth keyboard, which isn’t my preferred method, so here I am, on my laptop …), so – by making a commitment to regularly update this blog, I’m making a commitment to use my laptop more consistently… to work more consistently: to get more work done. If I want to get more of my musical work done I shall do other things as well, and in so doing, accomplish both – or more. It is a simple concept that, I’m sure, many of you have experienced without even realizing: like when you started a new routine and discovered that you could, in fact, find an extra hour here or there to do something, and it wasn’t the end of you – and everything worked out fine; or when you remembered, at the last minute, that you had another essay due – next week – but you hadn’t been working on it all semester as you had been on the other essay you were just finishing … but, you still managed to finish it, on time, earning an extremely respectable mark along the way. It happens often because we work well under pressure: we just have to remember when to take a break and recharge our batteries, lest we burn ourselves out (got that t-shirt).

Some of the things that I’m committing to blog about in the upcoming days/weeks/months ahead are the following: the recent compositions I’ve been working on, including several new works for classical guitar; my rediscovery of the classical guitar, including my challenge of playing with fibromyalgia, (chronic pain condition, one of the reasons why there are prolonged periods without updates – but that will also be discussed); and many other topics which I hope you will enjoy delving into with me as I look forward to writing, and sharing them with you.

But first … I’ve got to get some work done in the few days between now and the next World Cup games … ¡Va Argentina! or whoever plays the best ….


It’s Alive…!


As I write this the World Cup round of 16 is playing out, with Argentina and Switzerland nearing the end of the first half without having scored a goal… but that’s not the point of this post, my first in quite some time. I’m writing to say that… well, I’m going to be writing a lot more, in an effort to do more with my music I’ve come to the realization that it is necessary for me to write more words as well. That may not make more sense at the moment, but trust me, I shall explore it – right here (not now… the game is on) – in the days, and months to come.

So, to those who have been waiting (patiently) for me to post something, my apologies – I have been composing a great deal…. but more on that too, in time.

For now… go Messi!