Moods of a Composer

The little tantrum I had one day as afterthoughts washed over me…….

NOBODY must dare make rules for my music for it runs free on tracks into the unknown.

But I learn this unknown path that music takes me on.

BECAUSE

Much of my sounds are memories from long ago which I don’t always remember in full and when something sparks it off, then I begin writing them in music. It also happens that two songs become spliced and I have to figure it out. When I leave it for a while and return and listen, I sometimes find the two different stories and rearrange them or split them up.

I use this language, and it talks back to me. That’s it. I understand it.

And it can happen like this:

But hey! What about this and what about that and nope, that was not the end yet!

This is the rule that I follow, NOT that which someone else says.

Some of my compositions are new experiences and they don’t talk back so much……

and if another cannot catch on or catch up, well, its not my problem and I think it is very impolite for them to speak their limited knowledge of how they want my music to be.

So, that day when it washed over me, and anger sat in me, I measured my hand over an electronic keyboard, normal piano key sizes and checked how many notes I can do in one. I checked with my fist, gosh I would have jumped on it.

That was when I composed a short piece and some measures down the little lines, the tune became calm and so did I. (I didn’t publish it but later when I researched something of which I didn’t know the understanding, I learned that even this was some music style! I simply called this one “Anger Management” since even here music managed my emotions and calmed me down.)

I then thought it is okay to really let go of my emotions as I experienced that day when someone told me that I have to decide when to stop music. Oh, and I was told it’s a mathematical thing.

(hmmm. I love maths and physics, it’s part of my everyday life in design and manufacturing and of course I’d figured out long ago already that maths form a good part of some of music’s technical elements.)

So then, I’d let go and and the emotions came in this following order in five bursts and I thought to leave it as separate tracks to make up my own teeny little symphony of emotions.

Watch my little tantrum which is the shortest Symphony I did in five movements:

Spooked (I was disappointed but for little while only)

Chagrined (as the word says)

Reduced (as much as it was suggested I must decide how long music runs)

Prepared (after I finished “Anger Management” and knew music decides)

Fugued (I thought this to be the better title instead of what I originally had in mind)

And then I went ahead and created a little animation about it. And afterwards I thought that one or other time I would like to get software with which I can make little animated stories coz I love it.

October 2010

October, most beautiful month – most painful month...

It was indeed a blissful month, as all Octobers in South Africa always are. Perfumes fill the air, colours in the fields become more prominent on a richer green and birds are breeding and may already have hatchlings.

Yet, Papa was in his autumn years, gold, gold gold. He was a bit groggy as he had shingles just before winter began, suffered all that pain, and even contracted a bit pneumonia. Papa has hardly ever been ill in his life, and it has hit him a bit on the psychological side of things. I was happy to be home in the south and could be there for Papa.

(I am still amazed at how things happened that I remained home that time.....)

End August saw me helping my daughter moving into her new home and afterwards I’d spend a week with my Godmother (Papa’s sister) and then daughter and granny girl would join us there for the weekend. And that fine Sunday we went back to my daughter’s place and she would take me home to Papa the following Sunday.

Monday 25 October Papa phoned me on my mobile and told me he bought three packets of cheese and placed in the cabinet where we’d mature the cheese. He still asked me if it was okay. I was a bit agitated to speak to him that day, I wanted to cut our conversation short and mentioned also that the unstable mobile connection can disappear at any time.

(I felt terrible afterwards, yet, when I think, we had time to say goodbye that day before the connection might have disappeared and we’d never have had to opportunity to say goodbye. I was in any case going to be home that Sunday and we’d again talk as much as we wanted to.)

On 27 October I was not feeling too well. I had something that felt like an angina and got a bit anxious. I decided then I am not going to worry and rather relax. I had some wine and took even more, ate small lunch and went to rest a bit on the couch in my daughter’s lounge. I actually slept.

I woke when my cellphone rang and recognized the number (otherwise I won’t even bother to answer). I answered and this chap simply said: “We have problems.” I asked what problems and he repeated. This went on three times then I just said to him “What problems, speak to me.” He then replied: “Your Father is dead.”

I was horrified, thinking this is a sick joke but he insisted and then asked me who the undertakers are. I was in shock and couldn’t even remember a single thing and the first that came to my mind was the name of Papa’s second wife’s undertakers.

I became like a zombie, walking up and down, lighting one cigarette from another, still not believing what this man told me. He was always so nice to Papa, how on Earth would he just say “Your Father is dead” ????? It just didn’t make sense.

I phoned him later again, I really thought it was a sick joke – yet he simply just confirmed. He said again that “we” have problems, the Police didn’t want to give him the key of our home and Papa’s car and that he couldn’t arrange anything with the undertaker because it was not the same undertaker as I told him.

(Logically the police won’t give him anything, he is not next-of-kin, why would this man have wanted the car and house keys? It seems then, this was the only problem he had, definitely not “we”.)

Later that same day I received another call from a Police Officer who informed me with tender respect about my Father’s death and that I should see him when I am back. Only then did I know, accepted what happened. Papa was in this world no more.....

Agony followed, I phoned my daughter at her work, I just wanted her to get home immediately. She was also shocked but kept a very clear head and said that there is nothing we can do for the moment, it is late and it is best that I have, or try to have, would be a good night’s rest and that she’d take me home the following day. It was already nearer five ‘o clock in the afternoon and we’d be at my home only after dark.

My daughter still had work commitments and it took a slow city rush hour for her before she’d be home. Bless her soul for the strength she had that day. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

I won’t forget the Dettol soap I used while showering, I washed and washed and washed myself as if I want to wash this reality away. I kept the water running over me, trying to rinse this horrific truth as if it never existed.

Early the next day I packed my daughter’s little Peugeot with things I had at her place which she won’t use anymore to take back home.

(At the time I also rented an additional tranquil two roomed apartment where Papa and I could spend peaceful hours together, where we hadn’t had a worry in the world of anyone interrupting us. I decided that I could use those items there. I was so confused, I wanted to believe that Papa and I would still be together.)

(My Godmother also visited there earlier, it was easier for her to move around there. She still said that she wanted to spend some time with her brother, especially after Papa had pneumonia and was hospitalized – in case she might not see her brother again.)

(She was very concerned, those two were true buddy siblings, dynamic together since they were kids in a home of 10 children.)

 (photo of them shortly after Second World War)

(All the lovely memories we’d share those days were fantastic…..)

Oh God, it is hurting so much, but I am so thankful for those blissful days, the last seven months of Papa’s life, that we could have been together.

The missing will never go away, it still hurts badly. Each time I make food, each time I brew my coffee, I miss this great man of my life who’d greet me in the mornings with “Hallo Mrs Coffee” when the aroma of my early morning java floats around.

October is beautiful, it is also the month the Almighty chose to take Papa home. Praise the Almighty for how He decided to choose.

My music began to play so loud - less than a year afterwards, so strong as if even Papa is also conducting this gift, cheering me on.

How Long Ago?

It could have been years but in reality it is only a few months since I’ve last commanded the notation software, get a new sheet and pour my song out.

This knowledge crept up on me in the early morning hours and suddenly confronted me so severely, I felt as a piece of soft clay, molded to the truth of my whole being and I listened.

Who am I? I know that my first purpose is to answer and serve  - I humbly receive my tasks and fulfill them, not just immediately, I also plan each step I have to take for some are quite challenging and trying the last bit of intelligence and logics which is after all, another duty to enrich my field of thinking.

The past months were as normal as any time in my life, serving the purpose that each duty requires. Normal daily routine the human is subjected to for basic maintenance of a body and environment and whatever branches further.

I am an old tree, many branches, many responsibilities. Thankfully I do not see responsibilities as most people, it’s rather a pleasure to care for that which is dependent on my input. At the end of the day I and all those affected of the (my) day and investment for future, can retire. Tired, but happy. Cared for.

(to care where it is required is often a care for myself, I learned)

So I ask: Where does my song fit in?

No. Song does not ‘fit in’. It is there all the time, like a sponge, absorbing my each moment, formulating it into the language I know best to speak it when time is right.

I suddenly realize that besides using this magnificent language to ‘paint’ pretty pictures for the ear, the main purpose of it is to speak what is deepest inside me.

There are many pieces that came in script already, but most are processing inside me amongst a very big noise.

It is the noise that is being filtered into segments and filed under various heads. (I cannot call it topics, for each topic is but a single book of the segments of my life – topics are the parts that make up this book. Same as movements in a symphony. Something like that.)

So then, when last? Yeah, I’ve forgotten when last but I know that that which is matter for the human senses happens when all is in place, ready to be understood by those who have senses, whether able to listen and to hear, look and see and such.

I have experienced this all the time. Over five decades came rushing when I found the valve and even is there still so much to pour out. (Most are probably pleasurable paintings of sound, I don’t know - but those are not as urgent as that which will force out before them.)

I’ve learned already, experienced the path in my second Symphony. Although that one happened in hardly more than a month about a year ago, much, much more sneaked in between during that time, memories of long, long ago. And it also formed the base for actualities during those days.

Although I composed eleven movements in just over thirty days then, I also composed old memories and new experiences during that time.

In a way I hope to not ever experience such an urgent fever again. I was so tired, hardly rested. Whatever spare time I had, I was composing. Coffee or tea on the side and sometimes a snack. I’d even nip off some sleep just because that music would wake me up so loud as if a big orchestra was playing it. Vivid dreams of working, I woke up dead tired at times.

Whatever lies ahead is something I don’t know. The ‘how long ago’ is but a short time but it is a great noise falling into place faster and faster.

The duty I have to finalize first is for my Papa, his voice which, by some weird deal, is being ignored. Papa is also part of my music and I know that he shall triumph. It is my responsibility to show the way Papa wanted and it shall all in all pave the way for others.

So then, my duty is to answer and serve the purpose and the final pieces will fall into place.

(A parallel of the case I took for Papa will be published elsewhere. Some do know and studied everything and if one can consider it all as a jury of the world – one will know that it is out of my hands. Truth cannot be destroyed and each being in this world needs truth. Even the guilty in order for them to rectify their wrong, make it good again.)

How long ago I composed? I checked and saw that amidst all the rubble, there are quite a few I did. I didn’t even realize I finalized a few already.

When will I compose again? Well, everything is formulating as I mentioned, and I must admit that I am a bit anxious (okay, scared like nothing you can imagine) that it all will come as a full surge.

Music does come as a surge to me when it’s ready to be spoken. Yet, I am concerned that I needed to suppress quite a bit due to duties and that it is going to become so overwhelming again.

I’m a tad stressed about it all. So, I am trying to focus on the pleasures I had when I finalized a piece before and will use it to kick myself.

And I hope to remember the bit I researched (studied) about music so that it can go quick.

(what I learned in the meanwhile about notation and gizmos and stuff, I’ve applied to most compositions already in order for my little people in their digital orchestra to play a bit better, the way I know it should sound. This means that I’ll eventually, when I can afford it, pull off all old releases to replace it with new editions which sound so much nicer and more to how I hear my music)

(I miss Papa. He would have loved this and be with me all the way. He loved music. But surely, he also knew that I was there for him always and even now while his voice is still in this world, unheard. His human rights are most important to me.)