April 1, 2012

I'm a creativity book whore. I love reading about how people come up with great ideas. There's one called What a Great Idea which opens with an interview with Yoshiro NakaMats, one of the most prolific inventors of our time. He described his process of spending a good deal of time holding his breath underwater while writing his ideas down on a special plexiglas tablet.

There are many other such books ranging from the fun "Whack on the Side of the Head" to Howard Gardner's case studies of early twentieth century creative revolutionaries "Creating Minds".

But right now I'm creeping through Jonah Lehrer's latest book, "Imagine: How Creativity Works", and it's got me thinking a lot about how we work together across our various disciplines in the media world.

Lehrer starts off detailing how Bob Dylan completely quit writing songs and retreated from the music scene only to have "Like a Rolling Stone" come gushing uncontrollably out of him. Then he goes on to describe the institutional creative process at 3M that gives rise to a myriad of products including Scotch Tape and Post-it Notes.

They make their engineers switch divisions every few years, alot time during the workday for creative play, and have events devoted to cross discipline sharing.

And they do this to facilitate connections between the disciplines because they know that breakthrough innovation happens when the brain makes unexpected connections, when people see surprising ways that their domain is like an otherwise unrelated one.

Since I work alone in a collaborative field, I yearn to find these electric connections with my colleagues.

So this is what I muse on when I'm scoring a documentary: How are the different elements in the show like each other? How do they balance each other out? How is the writer's process like the editor's process and how is that like the DP's process, etc. How is my process like that of the researcher's?

My music is always at the service of the story, and I strive to keep it (as Brian Eno so aptly put it) "as ignorable as it is interesting". It's the knife edge I live on, and it's never easy.

So here are some connections. They are more formal than metaphorical; They are not poetic or inspiring. Instead, they aim to broadly span many of the "time arts" (You are a choreographer, video editor, producer, teacher, lover, writer, storyteller, director, author, software developer, instrumentalist, animator, sound designer.)

1. Time: This is the underlying dimension shared by all time arts (duh), and though it's an obvious truism, bearing this in mind helps to conceptualize many disparate elements along a common timeline.

2. Structure (being that the parts are subdivided down from a whole): When I was teaching in the public schools, I became aware that planning a lesson involved as much attention to structure as did composing a piece of music. I found myself asking questions that I continue to ask today as I compose: Are transitions clear? Where should elements be repeated, whether musical themes or concepts? What ideas need to be repeated in order to be understood?

3. Teleology: That all the elements give the audience a sense of heading TOWARD something, whether it is a moment, a climax, a conclusion. You name it. How does what I am doing support how the other domains are developing an emerging sense of inevitability?

4. Information: every time art carries some level of information. I wish there was a way to measure and compare how much information a narration is presenting compared to the visuals on the screen, and then put that up against the sound content of both the score and the nat sound. Early drafts of my cues often start with too much; they're too busy. But then with careful weeding, the important elements reveal themselves until only the essential ingredients remain.

5. Energy: how your work sends out energy to the user or audience. In some way, though perhaps only metaphorically, your product generates an energy field. With music, it's an actual field of vibrating molecules in the air. Colorists are charged with making sure the light energy is the right intensity, hue, and so on to convey the tone of the show. What about ideas? Do they have energy? As a voice over or man-on-the-street adds their thoughts to the narrative, how is the energy coming out of that glowing box changed?

7. Affect: Our work is going to affect someone else, and this is always paramount to the way we think. Even though we sit in darkened rooms through the deep hours of the night, under pressure, under intense scrutiny, the ultimate receiver of our pitch is the audience: will they get the idea? Will this or that nuance be noticed consciously or will it add humbly to the rich texture of what the audience receives? Can we imagine the end result as we slog through myriad details?

Well, that's enough of this rant for now. I'd love to hear your thoughts.  How much did I leave out?  How little did this make sense?  Are you out there planning or creating something that relates in any way to this way of thinking?  What do you think?

January 5, 2012

Many of my clients and collaborators preface their notes to me with "I don't know much about music, so forgive me if I'm using the wrong terms…" 

They think that they need to have some kind of special training or vocabulary to describe what the right music for their project.  And this is a commonly held belief among the wider public about music: talking about music is shrouded in mystery and faraway languages. 

But that's all wrong. 

You don't need to know Italian, German or music theory or "music appreciation" to convey to your composer what you are looking for.  Any terms work, and it's up to your composer to develop a common lexicon with you that you both understand.  You might want something that is "edgy, new, a little like Trent Reznor, but with a more hopeful quality".  And it is the composer's mission to turn that into something that hits the mark. 

By using scratch music, common reference tracks, and multiple sketches, before long your composer should know exactly what you mean when you ask for something "sunny with a hint of sinister".  More importantly he should know what to change when you say, "That's too much like a romantic theme.  It needs to be bolder."

Undoubtedly, you already are doing these things to communicate with your composer or music editor.  The important thing is that you not hold back from throwing out any terms that come into your mind when you are describing what the music to do in a cut.  As you know from writing, "go for the jugular".  The same goes for giving notes to your composer.

The more richness and depth you can give in your direction, however it is conveyed, the more nuance your composer can impart to support your story. 

Any composer who looks down on using "non-musical" words hasn't yet shed his conservatory ego or figured out how to get out of his own way.  He is trying to prove something best proven by sharp ears.

September 23, 2011

Hans Christian Andersen (1805 – 1875)

I found this quote as I'm doing research on 19th Century Danish music.  I'm composing music for the upcoming Portland Stage production of Snow Queen, authored by Andersen, and adapted by Anita Stewart.

He also said, "life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale."  I could use some help buying into that one at the moment.

August 3, 2011

I've been thinking a lot about this question and ideas implicit in its answer: What makes "Heart and Soul" such a favorite to play on the piano among people of all abilities?  I have my theories regarding music that people of various abilities can play together.  In fact, I think that is something sorely lacking in our culture: if a beginner (or a complete newbie) wants to join in with experienced musicians, there is often no path for that person to take.  There is not an "easy" part to Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, Strayhorn's "Take the 'A' Train", or even "Just Dance".  There are easy arrangements, but nothing that invites a beginner to play right along with an advanced musician.

Aside from playing simple rhythm instruments that remind one of kindergarten music class (ahem), there is no way to say, "hey, join in!" to a novice in the midst of a jam session.  This is a problem, because more people deserve the smiles of spontaneous, uninhibited music making. Don't they?  Don't YOU?

This brings be back to Hoagy Carmichael/Frank Loesser 1930 hit song.  How did that song, not unlike many songs of that era, make it's way into the American avocational piano repertoire along with the black-notes-by-knuckles-song?  Here's the original recording from 1930: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8CSjDC18b0

And if you go to 2:00 of this clip, you'll get to see Tori Amos playing it with someone else's fingers.

Tell me what you think!

July 9, 2011

- Igor Stravinsky

This is one of the many mantras that I live by.  I find it more and more true as the range of projects I endeavor becomes more diverse.  This idea, that the more restricted you are in making something, the more free you are to make it, is as true now as it was in 1939 when Stravinksy delivered the Norton Lectures at Harvard.  

It uncouples the composer's ego from the music, and allows us to free ourselves from any kind of responsibility to "express" ourselves. Instead our guide, our main deity, is that of the creative box we've put ourselves in and to creating solutions to make our way out.  Expressing myself is not my job. It is to help realize the vision of a collaborator.  And that comes down to placing restrictions on the music.  Deciding what the music ISN'T, through process of elimination and whittling away at a vast array of ideas, reveals what it is destined to become.

June 3, 2011

Just watched Gnomeo & Juliet for our family pizza-movie-night. Dug the way James Newton Howard infused SUBTLE elements from Bernstein & the old Romeo & Juliet love theme into the Elton John driven score. The little bits of musical intelligence were like the many Shakespeare references strewn about (like the pelican named Featherstone coming out of the old shed with the "As You Like It" ticket tacked to the wall. Get it? Touchstone? Featherstone?) But hey, Elton John, how about a NEW tune in there? Did we really need the whole thing built around Crocodile Rock?  Maybe it helped to build the score around something so damned recognizeable.

May 30, 2011

Yes, it's true.  I didn't get those xylophones built by today like I had hoped.  As I sweated it out yesterday deciphering the plans from makeamarimba.com, I could feel the day waning.  Today was Erica's birthday, and I could feel myself stressing about the age-old conflict: work vs. the family truth.  So, thankfully, the great Wendy Silverberg is once again saving the day.  She agreed to let me borrow a few xylophones for the workshops in Boston this week and next, and for the concert in Hyde Park this Saturday.  Thank you again, Wendy!