notes from the kelp

…click to listen:

…about the music

Music from home.

It’s been too long since I’ve posted, and it’s certainly time I got back on the blogwagon now that I’ve found my land legs again. It took a few days after we docked for them to finally wash up on the Atlantic seaboard, and then a few more days to wring them out and get ’em functional again. It’s hard to walk with soggy legs, and yep, after 12 days at sea, that’s actually what they felt like. My body had become so used to adjusting to the constant motion of the ship that on solid ground I continued to sway gently side to side, giving me the official look of the drunken madwoman people suspect I really am when no one’s looking.

The happy buzz of the cruise stayed with me even longer than those wiggly legs, and the glow of those unique, physically off-kilter music-making experiences with so many lovely people remains, always. Now I’ve traded the frigate birds that fascinated me in the Caribbean…

…for the bald eagles that compel me here in the San Juans…

…and the work pace the moment I opened the studio door has been non-stop.

Immediately upon returning, I was thrown into the gleeful chaos of juggling a heck of a lot of Things That Can’t Wait. We all have them, those Things That Can’t Wait, and they are often attached to Very Nice People Who Need Things Now. And those very nice people have paid good money for Those Things that they Need Now. Those of you curious for a snapshot of the professional side of my existence can click over to the bevy of all updated info for a short scroll down a long page.

I, being a respons-ible Type A type, always meet these demands with a Pavlovian response of… responsibility. As such, I sleep a lot less some weeks than many saner people. I begin ardent work around 11am, do all the things that require interfacing with live people via phone and Skype throughout the afternoon, and then get my best energy in the late evening. By 2am I’m in the thick of the most productive part of my day. Uh, night. I’ll often hit the hay around 6am and then I’m up again in the mid morning, eager to get back to what I’d left just hours earlier. Everyone has their own natural rhythms, and once discovered, they can be a great source of order in an otherwise free-wheeling existence. Obey thy natural rhythms whenever possible!

I’ve admitted before that in daylight hours, the constant activity surrounding me is quite a happy distraction. It’s amazing I get done all that I do, since it seems as though between every email response my hand is reaching for a camera. But when darkness finally returns, the world and my relationship to it turn inward.

At night, there are only two distinct things I can see out my window: an intermittent “please don’t bash into the rocks” beacon off the tip of Canada’s Saturna island, and an intermittent “we told you before, watch the friggin’ rocks” beacon off the tip of the U.S.’s Spieden island, winking at each other in a polyrhythmic secret handshake (that’s ‘cos they know where the dangerous rocks are and the boaters don’t). There’s often a pale glow in the sky above the beautiful city of Vancouver, hiding from view behind Spieden. And Sidney’s town lights can twinkle at me in the distance north of Victoria on a clear evening. The visual stimuli of my finned, winged, tentacled and pawed neighbors is no longer present, replaced some evenings only by the subtle sound of their bodies gliding through the water, or their voices skimming across its natural amplification. But people? Buildings? Cars? Nope. Not one. No planes in the sky, either.

I realize that for some folks, I’ve just described hell. How could anyone possibly enjoy being so alone? What kind of sociopathic nutcase would choose this isolation? Yup, you’re reading her blog. It’s insane enough that you can’t even drive off the damn island to get a little humanity fix– but heck, you can’t drive from the top of the island to the bottom anytime after, say, 9:43pm on a winter weeknight, and even pass another car on the road.

Looking out across the dark sea late at night, I love to imagine that the rest of the world doesn’t exist, and that I’ve just landed on some lunar-but-pleasantly-warm planet to call my own. Ah, yes! I admit it: I’m a megalomaniacal composer! [cue: sinister laugh]. Lemme tell ya, this ain’t a profession that lends itself to such delusions, so ok, it’s official: I’m especially strange.

My only sense of the surroundings comes from the faint outline of the moonlit islands. And when there is no moon, there is near-total, wonderfully disorienting darkness for many, many miles.
Heaven.
Stepping outside to the front of the house and staring into 30 uninhabited acres of trees and open meadow without a single house in sight?
Heaven Pro 2011, Version 3.5.

There’s something about the lack of human vibration where I am that plays an essential role in my sense of peace and calm amidst a busy schedule. Fair readers of this bloglet know I travel a great deal, and those travels virtually always involve Large Gatherings of Humans to Whom I Speak Many Words. My sanity (yes, I still have a little left, but supplies are limited so I have to act fast) is balanced by the artist retreat of this rock. I’ve created a happily bifurcated life between the highly public and the highly private. And in each case, I can remain highly connected to others via the web.

But despite the lack of humanity, there’s still a lot of vibration here that comes from elsewhere: the wildlife, the wind, the water… scroll backward through these pixelsonic pages and you’ll see hundreds of photos that are alllllll about vibration, none of it man-made. I’m never alone, that’s for sure, and I feel well protected. This week’s photos are a summation of my security detail, which included this comical pair of oyster-catchers:

No, I did not Photoshop the color of these beaks.

And this otterly adorable guy:

And ok, two man-made entries:

Could the U. S. Coast Guard look more poetic, with the Coast Range of Canada’s mainland in the distance, and a bunch of golden Steller sea lions hauled out on the point?

And here comes the Canadian Coast Guard!

Because I guess everyone needs someone with a little vibration to watch over the home turf!

…click to listen:

…about the music

Ice work if you can get it.

The cruise continues to go wonderfully, and I sense that both musicians and our audience are a little glum about leaving floating music camp tomorrow. As we gradually head back north up the wintery Atlantic, the temperature gradually heads south, yet passengers defiantly wear shorts and T-shirts hoping to stave off the inevitable for just a while longer.

What is inevitable is the somewhat rockier sea, as waves and wind reflect the month of the year. Things, and people, move and creak and bob and sway, and it’s not too hard to begin to lose one’s balance while walking down a hallway. Last night was another “formal night” in the dining room, and it was a fun spectator sport to watch some women, their center of gravity already challenged by a tad too much time at the buffet, attempt to saunter gracefully in 4 inch heels. If someone actually walked in a straight line, you knew he’d had too much too drink. When I emcee’d the evening’s chamber music concert, I found myself gripping a structural pillar on the stage with the focused glomb of a pole dancer.

Adding to this extra bouncy bonus was a friendly announcement over the ship’s PA informing passengers of a screening of a film about the Titanic showing in the ship’s theater. I’m guessing Celebrity’s programming director has a wicked sense of humor. As does the media director: when I arose this morning and flipped on the in-house TV to check our bearings, there before me blithely chatting away was a man giving a lecture on both the Titanic and that other ill-fated cruise ship, the Lusitania. But perhaps most hilariously twisted is the company’s art director, who has placed large, quite beautiful photographs of icebergs throughout the cafeteria (as seen here), as well as on the walls of some of the stairwells and hallways. Given that this ship also sails in northern Europe, I view this choice of decor to be a potential version of performance art.

This morning after an Archipelago rehearsal, I’ll get an invitation-only tour of the engine control room. Wow! Two days ago, I was excited to be given a tour of the bridge. Always good to see the redundant navigation and safety systems in place, and be reminded that there are actually people upstairs running this bobbing behemoth. This afternoon, the amazing Jimmy Lin performs the Barber Violin Concerto, and Larry Rachleff gives us an absolutely inspired Beethoven 7th. Tonight: Archipelago. Rehearsals of this tricky piece have gone really well and I’m excited to present it to the audience on this final concert of what has been an incredible journey across musical waters and new friendships. But on our way back to the snowy north, I’m on the lookout for icebergs!

…click to listen:

…about the music

What it’s all about.

Well, no one threw me into the drink after last week’s Atlantic Ocean premiere of Current Events, and I certainly enjoyed one after the concert. Ok, maybe even two. The piece was played beautifully by members of the orchestra that’s been contracted for this Symphonic Voyages cruise on the Celebrity Mercury, which after less than a week at sea has begun to feel very much like music camp for happy, well-fed, and newly relaxed geeks like me.

The final night of our 12 day voyage will feature a still-recent piece of mine for strings and woodwinds aptly titled Archipelago. I had no idea when I composed and then named this dectet just how apt it would be a little over a year later.

A particularly charming moment in my life as a worker bee composer occurred in the Chicago area one afternoon during a November 2009 rehearsal of this music with the Fifth House ensemble. After the first run-through, Nick Yasillo, who had joined us to hear how the piece he had generously commissioned for the group was going, pulled out a large bag and began distributing ball caps he’d had custom made for the occasion of the premiere. To say the least, we were all very touched and proudly wore the caps (as modeled by a table, above in St. Kitts) for the rest of the rehearsal. I even popped it on my head during my talk to the audience the next evening before the performance, pointing out just how special the relationship between a patron, a composer and an ensemble can be.

As I type this, I’m on my wonderful deck balcony watching large frigate birds soar against the sunset sky and tease me as they buzz the stern. I’m hopeful that they’ll avoid bombing my laptop, since I don’t think the Applecare protection plan includes a clause for guano. The ship’s engine has rumbled to a start, and we’re backing out of the dock here at St. Kitts and making our way to tomorrow’s port on Antigua, where I’ll spend the day sailing around this amazing archipelago in a chartered excursion boat that’ll allow me and just five others some helm time on a Farr 65 racing boat (see updated pic, below, for proof of a great time and even greater wind). One of the two snorkeling trips I’ve taken in as many days got us all to a reef via a 48 foot catamaran, and it felt terrific to ride the waves and free up some musical notes that had been clinging too tightly to the side of my brain. I knew I needed more sailing time!

This is not the boat I skippered. But at the helm, mine felt almost as large!

THIS is the boat! Notice the arm holding on for dear life as I get her heeled over for speed! Wheeee!

Assuming I don’t go flying overboard and bonk my head on a poor unsuspecting sea turtle, on Tuesday I celebrate the beginning of my 50th rotation around this fiery orb in the sky that has brought some much needed color to my face this week. I’m overjoyed for such an extraordinary year of bookends. To have composed this piece in one stunning archipelago, and just 13 months later hear it again at sea in another one thousands of miles away, is the very best birthday gift a composer-in-flotation could ever ask for. All the more fittingly ironic is that both Nick Yasillo and Symphonic Voyages’s impresario Eric Stassen each happen to be from the Chicago area, and each happened to stumble upon me out of the blue via the internet. And now, here I am a long way from my studio, using the internet in the middle of an ocean to communicate this joy with anyone who happens to stumble upon this blog. I may be only partway around the world from my home, but the story of this piece has come full circle. Wow!

“Archipelago,” page 1, Antigua. Who’d have guessed?

…click to listen:

…about the music

Blues. And, greens.

It’s really nice when 17 degrees is the latitude, not the temperature in Fahrenheit.

And it’s equally nice when the color of the sea water is exactly the neon electric shaved ice blue you sea see hear here, as viewed from a little boat that returned me from a morning of snorkeling off the coast of St. Croix with schools of exotic, colorful, and clearly quite well educated fish. Gliding between the canyons of shallow reefs and tons of [obviously very smart] brain coral, I came upon an impressive herd of barracuda, who gathered in a beautifully intimidating group of six and from whom I kept a respectful distance of a few yards, lest my brain, and body, be unexpectedly schooled in the ways of the territorial wild.

…click to listen:

…about the music

Calm seas, and chakras.

Above, last night’s sunset. Or, more accurately, sunsink. Somewhere around 25 degrees latitude; everywhere, balmy. Shortly prior to this, the Symphonic Voyages passengers were treated to a terrific symphony concert of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, plus sea-faring soprano Susan Lorette Dunn’s wonderful performance of a set of fun songs by Canteloube. Thanks to the combination of seasoned pro musicians and conductor Larry Rachleff’s truly magic wand, everything sounds very, very beautiful and cohesive. A man said to me, “I expected this to be good. But I didn’t expect it to be this good!”. Yup.

And I gotta say, there is absolutely nothing to compare to the experience of listening to this level of music, while sitting comfortably in an 800 seat theater on a long, plush velvet banquette with plenty of room to stretch your legs, along with a little glass table that can hold a beverage, should a listener choose to enjoy one during the performance. I wish all concert halls were designed as well as this one was to accommodate something as common as four limbs joined together by a torso. While the acoustics are no match for L.A.’s Disney Hall, the pure enjoyment of sitting in a relaxed, natural position allows the music to infiltrate my heart in a way that Disney’s ultra-cramped seats cannot. I’m not a very large human, yet the mere act of attempting to cross my legs in that venue requires an athletic skill set I’ve yet to master.

Ahhhh…

The one thing that everyone, whether on stage or in the audience, has had to get used to as an accompaniment to all this great music, is the constant, gentle [usually] swaying of the boat. The trip has been very calm, but this is a big ocean with some swells that you feel more than actually see. The intrepid soloists anchor their feet to the floor with a wider than normal stance to steady themselves, and Larry Rachleff does his best to not look at the curtains hanging behind the orchestra that occasionally move back and forth at, unhelpfully, a different tempo than the band. All I can say is that performing at Carnegie will be dull after this.

Then, shortly after the sunsink above, I emceed a lovely woodwind quintet concert held, like the concert of my string quintet the evening before, in a 300 seat nightclub. The audience sat in comfortable club chairs at small tables, and I got a kick out of the multi-colored LED lights flashing ever-so-gently over the performers’ heads. While I find the 20th century Barber and Ligeti quintets really compelling, a little of the 18th century Reicha goes a long way for me, and by the third of the four movements I was glad to have the disco lights dancing away to the bouncy music.

After all this music and comfort, it was on to join my entertaining table mates (some Symphonic Voyages music people and others our music patrons) at the second seating of dinner, and after an especially good meal and set of conversations, six of us ambled upstairs to a small lounge for a private bourbon tasting. The presentation of a flight of five little snifters of this quintessentially American spirit was given by Olga, a gorgeous Russian woman with an accent so thick it could cut through the heart of the steeliest KGB agent. Yet she turned out to be incredibly knowledgeable about bourbon. Unlike me, Olga turns her nose up at her native WODka.

There are so many levels of meaning in this photo.

Inspired by all that really excellent bourbon and further hilarity (which was also inspired by all that bourbon), our happy herd of six musical mariners decided to hit the casino. While it’s usually a good rule of thumb to never enter a casino after a private bourbon tasting, and especially after a private bourbon tasting which followed a wine-infused dinner, we ignored that rule. And while everyone knows that the worst odds in the house are at the roulette table, I ignored that tidbit of wisdom, too.

But the Patron Saint of Ignorant Composers-in-Flotation was smiling on me, and I actually tripled my money within the hour. Whoo hoo!

Now, had I put down some big bucks, this would be a great story. But the sad, timid truth is that I only gambled twenty bucks. So I enjoyed the glee of creating neat piles of bright yellow $1 chips that smiled in front of me, and once I completed a row of six stacks of ten, I just stopped. And cashed in.

My deck is dead center, overlooking the stern, as you saw in the video below. But thanks to the magic of TV, I can also see the bow!

As I type this I’m 1571 miles away from Baltimore, and many more than that from my usual daily routine three thousand miles from there. We’ve gotten to 22 degrees latitude, not too far from the Dominican Republic, and we arrive at St. Thomas tomorrow morning. Snorkeling awaits! As does a recital Cho-Liang (Jimmy) Lin and accompanist Jeewon Lee will give this afternoon, and a single malt tasting this evening. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna give “composer in flotation” a new meaning! Watch this space for further developments and more reports from the happy high C’s and F-sharps!

Where in the world is Alex?
I’m not quite sure… but I’m heading southeast into the Atlantic with a boat load of really amazing musicians! Today was the opening orchestra concert, and conductor Larry Rachleff and the Symphonic Voyages orchestra totally rocked an all-Mozart program, with the help of a stunningly beautiful performance by Jimmy Lin on the 4th violin concerto. Gorgeous.

This evening I’m up at bat, presenting my aquatically-themed string quintet Current Events, which is in great hands with this crew of players. “Lilting phrase” gets new meaning at sea, when everyone is leaning a couple of degrees to begin with.

This is a little bit like “Survivor: Cruise Edition.” I’m hoping that the audience likes the piece and doesn’t vote me off the vessel. If you hear a moderate sized splash off the stern later tonight, well, you’ll know how it went.

Three musical shots taken at my writing desk: Finian’s journey to the pot o’ gold…


…click to listen:

…about the music

Quite the voyage.

Well, my week in Chicago was fabulous and productive, filled with incredibly wonderful people day and night (and another visit to the thrilling Art Institute collection). Over the last few months I’ve been juggling a lot of diverse projects simultaneously, and my meetings this past week reflected many of them while my brain just did its feeble best to keep up. It happens that several of my patrons, clients, commissioners, and all-around kind people who pat me on the head for the music that haplessly spews from it, are either based in Chicago, or were there just as I was for the huge Midwest Clinic. It was all I could do to keep my chamber music, electronic music, solo music, educational music and symphonic wind band music straight.

When a composer discusses a piece with someone, particularly if that someone has had a hand in bringing those notes into the air as either patron or player, it’s awfully helpful to remember what the music actually looks and sounds like. One moment amidst the conference din, a musician enthusiastically declared to me how much he liked playing something to which he referred as “that piece with the cool stuff.” To which I gratefully mumbled back something about “the paper.” At which he shook his head at me quizzically and said something about “key clicks.” To which I replied something about “low flutes.” To which he protested, since he was a euphonium player. At which point I finally deduced which piece was “that piece.” Sigh.

Each piece is a beloved child, but they’re all running loose around the house, wreaking one level of havoc or another. Some works have recently been premiered and upcoming performances tug at my hem for attention; other commissions are newly delivered and published with imminent premieres, and yet others are in the process of being written. As with a good book, I’m riveted to find out exactly how they end. People often say, “I can’t wait to see it!”, to which my immediate and bemused response is, “yeah, me too!”. Obviously, I wouldn’t have it any other way or I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this fine mess.

So I was busy enough that I barely noticed the low low low temperatures or the fact that static electricity does some really fascinating things to long straight hair in the winter. Remember, I haven’t lived in winter since I was 21 and that was, like, y’know, 57 years ago. But I certainly make a lot of visits to winter in the name of music-making. This year: Minneapolis, Chicago, Columbus, New York, Baltimore (it still counts!). And last winter was no different, as I whined in this post.

…Mother Abbess’s mountains to climb– ev’ry one of ’em…

Well folks, The Universe, in all it’s groovy, Universe-like power, must have heard me whine. Out of the blue, within weeks of me making a conscious note-to-self that read, “Alex: next year, try to line up WARM weather gigs in winter, would ya?!”, I received an email from a lovely fellow in Chicago named Eric Stassen, who had read a comment I had posted on a music blog called Adaptistration about attracting people to the symphony, and clicked on my name (no doubt wondering, “who’s he?”). Despite having never met me (or possibly thanks to it), after reading some of what I have to say about art and audiences, he invited me to be the composer-in-residence of the very first classical music cruise. It takes place on Celebrity Cruise’s ship Mercury, which he has arranged for a remarkable trip called Symphonic Voyages, that sails from (and with any luck, back to) Baltimore to…

the Caribbean.
Five Eastern Caribbean islands, to be exact.

Wow. I already live in a seaside paradise; to be hired to spend 12 days working in one, on a ship filled with music lovers and… are you ready for this?: a 50-piece orchestra, conductor, and soloists… is beyond awesome. There will be sea-faring performances of two of my largest and, not surprisingly, water-themed chamber works: a string quintet titled Current Events, and a dectet for strings and winds titled Archipelago. Steve Robinson of Chicago’s classical music station WFMT was kind enough to do a one-hour interview with Eric a couple of weeks ago, during which he broadcast the live premiere of Archipelago, performed by Chicago’s Fifth House ensemble.

See that nice graphic on the right side bar? The one with the big ship? Yup. That’s it. Picture me with a camera or binoculars, standing on the deck wearing SPF 246 and a big goofy grin. If you’re curious about the wonderful musicians and the schedule, click; it’s a very nice website. My favorite part is the page titled Community: not only will I be invested in leading the charge and taking down the fourth wall between the audience and the performers, but we’re inviting passengers to bring their instruments! Flash mob jamming on the Atlantic. Just think of the possibilities…

I’m told the ship is nearly sold out, but if you happen to be free between January 3-15, could use a little natural vitamin D, fresh ocean air and live music, and wanna hang out with me and a lot of very fun musicians, there’s still room. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to blog from the ship, as the very first Composer-in-Flotation. Fair seas! And, E-flats!

… and Bud Frump’s way of succeeding in business without really trying: just show up and stand around!

Warning: objects in photo sound louder than they appear…

…click to listen:

…about the music

Roar, groan and moan…

I admit it: I am a wildlife paparazza. Giddily obsessed by my surroundings even at the eleventh hour of a deadline, I find myself unstoppably drawn to my camera whenever I see, or hear, something fascinating. And to me, just about all of it is fascinating. My favorite studio companion (ok, next to Smudge, who will become even more favorite once he learns to extract parts from scores), is my telescope. With a variety of eyepieces I can zero in on the action and hover, mesmerized, for far too long. And then of course, I’m compelled to get my camera to see if I can capture what I’m seeing to share it with you.

Some people over-eat. I over-gaze.

I did purchase a camera mount for the scope, but since this is a perfectly nice but low-on-the-astronomical totem pole model refractor, the weight of the mount plus the camera send the scope tipping up, which, while perhaps a nifty film technique, is not particularly helpful when one is attempting to take a still picture. Thus, I have a silly habit of standing on my tiptoes, carefully holding the smaller of my cameras against the eyepiece and moving it just so, until I can block out enough light and get it to focus on the subject at hand (which is always a lot further away than my hand). I am a ridiculously goofy composer. And a fairly short one, too.

I’ll keep trying for better, closer shots––especially an action pic of a male Steller sea lion thrashing in the water with a large squid clamped in his jaws, slapping him in the face with various tentacles. You now know why I neither have nor need TV reception. But for the moment, here are a few glimpses of the scene across the water (where the rainbow ends in the first pic is where the 1 ton, 9-foot long critters are resting). In place of my usual Shapiro-created musical offering, I thought you’d enjoy the music that has been accompanying me as I work late at night: that of the Steller colony itself, over 30 of them, hauled out on the rocks nearby. I recorded this on my iPhone a few nights ago, and you’ll hear the water and the bumps of wind along with the featured vocalists. As I type these words, I’m enjoying yet another free concert. And you can bet that my sonic pilfering abilities may be put to use in a future piece with this and other similar tracks I’ve snagged. Hey, they’ve got quite the rhythmic sense.

I often say it’s amazing I get any work done at all. But work, I do––I think I’ve delivered seven pieces, new ones and adaptations, in the past four months. I’m guessing that this place is more than a little inspiring, despite the endless, sometimes very loud, and always fascinating distractions.

ah, nothing like the shade of a dayboard beacon for romance.

A raft of ’em, often seen with their flippers up in the air…

lunch time… today’s menu: fish!

…for the gulls, too!

…click to listen:

…about the music

Calming sounds.

Well, it’s howling again outside, and no, it’s not the sound of Smudge the wonder kitty lodging a complaint about the food service around here. Big winds tonight, but this time they come from the southeast, and bring nearly balmy temps of 41 degrees rather than the last storm’s bone-chilling 15. So I thought it would be nice to post three photos I took through the window a couple of weeks ago, as a reminder (mostly to myself) that the seas around here usually aren’t quite so daunting.

It’s easier to work under these conditions, that’s for sure. The studio house is warm, the windows look more like calm reflecting ponds than the fun-house mirrors they became a week ago, and the structure only shakes, quakes and groans occasionally from these gusts, predicted to get as high as 60 MPH. I’m plowing my artistic way through a number of pieces simultaneously, energized by the negative ions in the air and the looming deadlines on my calendar. I write this little entry as I run one of two track mixes I’m delivering tonight, before copying out the parts for a short string orchestra piece premiering in L.A. in January. Soon I’ll resume composing for the rest of the long night. It feels wonderful.

There’ve been lots of sea mammals floating by my desk the past few weeks, in the form of otters (seen, bow to stern, in the second and third pics), harbor seals (pic one), Steller sea lions (coming soon to a blog near you) and random kayakers (doubtful here; until they grow fur or a cool looking shell, humans are far less interesting). About three days ago, I really wanted to get a photo of the very first river otter I’ve ever seen outside of the water. At first glance, the corner of my eye thought it was a ridiculously large cat, or a raccoon who lost his stripes in a bad bar bet. As soon as I realized what this lush, dark auburn furred creature was, it loped off of my deck and back onto the rocks in the cove below before I could pick up the camera. Next time.

Tonight I’ll stay in the studio and keep all this wind company. But much of the time I commute home, and enjoy decompressing on the drive down the island. Two nights ago as I closed the front door and began walking the few yards to my car, I heard the most amazing, other-worldly roaring from behind me: sea lions who had come ashore next to the house and were making sounds I don’t think I can imitate no matter how much bourbon I’ve had to drink. Had I not already closed up shop, I would have recorded it (not only for kelphistos to hear, but for my next piece!). Next time.

Also in the Pinniped Daily News Update, I’m hoping to get some great close-up pictures to show you of what it looks like when an eleven foot long Steller sea lion chows down on a large squid. I’ve been watching this show daily. Here’s a preview: pink, white, and rather messy. Lots of flailing, violent head shaking and splashing, accompanied by a riot of seagulls who have a charmingly parasitic relationship to these beasts, and flock at the chance to snag some of the… uh, leavings… left behind in the struggle. That’s a lot of tentacles to contend with, after all. File this latest report under “fresh ink.”

Ahoy!

Get your Dramamine. Not just for the roiling sea but for the shaky camera work. More on this fun, in the post below!

P.S.– the howling wind you hear is what it sounded like inside the house.

…click to listen:

…about the music

Literally, events of the current.

Well, that was an… uh, invigorating… experience. Yesterday was the peak of a very significant storm that flew in from the northeast on Friday and made a direct hit on the Pacific Northwest. The San Juan Islands were pummeled, but like any proud prize fighter, they defiantly bounced back up after each punch. And wow, there were an endless stream of them. Smudge, the commuter kitty, and I watched as the Washington State Ferry Elwha valiantly made its way through the channel from Sidney, B.C. toward Friday Harbor. Smudge was placing bets on how many measures of music I was going to be able to churn out as the seas churned up around us. Turns out, whoever bet the lowest, won the pot.

Just like going a few rounds in the ring with someone a lot larger than you, it was dizzying. The mostly glass-walled studio happens to face northeast. And is perched upon the tide pools, somewhat precariously, at the very, very northern, exposed edge of this beautiful island. There’s a nifty corridor of open water between my enormous windows and those many miles away on the Canadian mainland just southeast of Vancouver. Perfect for some bad-ass 50 MPH winds that feel like taking an unobstructed joyride across the Salish Sea, looking to get into a little bit of trouble.

Photos offer a glimpse, but they can’t help me share the oh-so-unsettling feeling of the constant, 2.0 earthquake-like shaking of the house from the wind and the waves that pounded under the deck (imagine sitting on a train as you gaze at these, or better yet, just start rattling your desk), nor can they bring your ears the intense pitch of the woefully off-key, 40 decibel, non-stop howling (accompanied by the occasional, louder feline complaint) that surrounded me from every angle. It was 24 degrees outside, and I couldn’t get the house warmer than 58 despite turning the thermostat to 80, making typing with thumbsicles a bit of a challenge.

By the late afternoon, each of the huge windows were buckling so threateningly against the endless gale (offering a visual like an acid trip minus the acid), that Smudge, my laptop and I finally threw in the towel and retreated to a back bedroom with good heat, out of harm’s way should an old pane succumb to its fresh, powerful opponent. Glancing at the plastic tarping with which I’d covered the most vulnerable 9-foot wide window only reminded me that if the glass went flying across the room at top speed, so would the tarp, looking like some sort of wild, opaque-winged, poltergeist muse on a protest rant against my latest wrong notes.

I threw a comforter atop my gear to at least give it a fighting chance in the unlikely event the above scenario were to occur, grabbed a flashlight and a decent bottle of cabernet (I’m no fool), and managed to get the rest of my work done reclining on the bed with Smudge and my MacBook keeping my legs warm. Every 30 minutes I’d get up and poke my nose into the cold and way-too-dynamic living room to see whether disaster on one level or another had struck. Not that I had any clue as to what to do if I were greeted with the sight of all my stuff swirling around in mid air. Wait, I know: drink more wine.

Today: bright sunshine and calm seas. Place your bets: there’ll be many more measures on the page. How fortuitous that I’m composing two very fast, dynamic pieces right now! Inspiration blows in from all directions in life.

…click to listen:

…about the music

Click and hear the brand new recording of Paper Cut. Craig Kirchhoff conducts the U of M symphonic wind [and printer paper] band.

I’ve been in heavy “studio mole” mode, scribbling away at music that needs to be on a lot of other people’s music stands very, very soon. Thank goodness for multiple web presences, because when I lack the time for a thoughtful or entertaining blog post yet crave a way to procrastinate from the work at hand, in addition to snapping all the pix you see on this blog (the ones in this post were taken while at the desk pictured above), I still manage to toss a few pixels around on Facebook. Recently, my offerings there have been a mélange of info about my latest electroacoustic symphonic wind band recording, Paper Cut, (which can be heard above– play it loud!), and my latest rants against the Draconian, unconstitutional personal molestations searches now being doled out by TSA agents each time we fly.

And fly, I do. A lot. If I were solely an Executive Professional Note Alignment Specialist and nothing more, I would not get on quite so many airborne tubes. But my passion for yapping at speaking to anyone who will listen is a happily concomitant part of my career now, as is my penchant for volunteering time with non profit organizations I strongly believe in, even in the face of my looming deadlines. Hey, it keeps me on my toes.

I always assume that anyone who finds themselves on this blog will click on the link with my pic at the upper right of this screen if they’re curious about my day job. So I use this separate sea-faring space to share my utter delight at mostly very non-musical things, like frogs, baby alpacas, kayaking, hummingbirds, and visitors to my yard. But of course, they’re each a big part of where my music comes from, so it’s all inseperable. Nonetheless, I haven’t really mentioned much about my music life here in Kelpville since way back in July, so here’s a little run-down of what’s going on.

In late October I opted out of entering an irradiating body scanner and striking a pose like a surprised criminal, and instead endured a groping far more sexual than anything my boyfriend in 8th grade ever managed, in order to fly to Minneapolis where I spoke on a panel for the Minnesota Orchestra Composer Institute. If ever there was a composer ready to be institutionalized after my disgusting degrading appalling experience at the airport, it was I.

It was a busy few days: I also rehearsed one of the three movements from my newest symphonic wind band piece, Immersion, at the University of Minnesota in preparation for the premiere there in February, met with a videographer on the multimedia aspect of the performance, and rehearsed a different new symphonic band piece, Paper Cut, that we then recorded at the end of the week with yet another terrific band at U of M. I had an American Music Center board meeting that also took place in Minneapolis that week, and attended lots of lunches, dinners, receptions and very late night impromptu single malt scotch tastings. Gulpings, perhaps, at the rate we were going. I believe in furthering my expertise, and just like getting to Carnegie Hall, it requires a lot of practice.

Then it was time to be treated like a sex-starved criminal once again, as I was on to NYC, where after a night of Hallowe’en dining, dancing and carousing in Manhattan with a dear gal-pal, I chaired a day-long meeting for an organization, and the following day gave a two hour workshop for Chamber Music America for their composer/performers, offering a few thoughts from my little brain about effective career-building ideas and techniques. My attitude has always been, “why should anyone else have to bang their head against the wall when I’ve already excelled notably at that, and can share what I’ve learned?” Step 1: stop banging my head against the wall. [I love the old joke: Patient: “Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” Doc: “So stop doing that.”].

Returning to my paradise on the sea, I found myself, and the brain that [usually but not always] accompanies my self, juggling the preparation and delivery of parts, scores, and in one instance a final mix of a recording for six, count ’em, six different pieces for six different musicians/ensembles and six different performances/recordings. All in a matter of days. These were all pieces that had, thankfully, already been composed (by me, as it coincidentally turned out), so heck, at least I had a head start. But this was the nitty-gritty of publishing that I was dealing with. At one point, after I changed gears in just one afternoon from a piano and electronics piece to a string, woodwind and piano sextet to a bass flute and electronics work to a symphonic wind band piece to a solo piano piece and back again to another electroacoustic band piece, I thought it was possible that my head would finally explode, gushing out a whole lot of notes onto the carpet and turning it from shades of beige and brown to a bunch of slightly singed black dots strewn everywhere. Not a pretty sight. Luckily, my skull withstood this intensive ramming from within, and managed to remain intact. This time.

Now I’m back to composing-on-a-tight-deadline mode before I leave for yet another T & A TSA-approved groping for yet another long trip in two weeks. My first personal-assault-worthy stop is a return to New York for a MacDowell Colony board meeting and fundraising dinner dinner honoring the board’s marvelous outgoing chair, Robert MacNeil, and an ASCAP Symphony & Concert committee meeting. Then yippee, I get to get felt up (and, um, down) by a stressed-out, underpaid stranger once again! Hey, they should be paying me for this thrill. I’ll be off to Chicago, for several meetings with clients and to bask in the [loud!] glow along with 14,000 other music-makers at the Midwest Clinic, where, when I’m not pow-wowing with the music directors involved in my current consortium band work, Immersion, I’ll be holding down the tablecloth at the American Composers Forum BandQuest booth, helping them hawk the newest addition to their program that commissions new works for middle schoolers.

Like many artists I know, I do well under stress; there’s something about abject fear that’s quite the effective motivator. When I see very public advertisements for upcoming concerts proudly announcing a premiere of a Shapiro piece for which I have yet to write the first note, much less the final one, I admit that an odd sensation runs through my body. I would describe it as terror. Okay, terror, mixed with the thrill of a fun challenge to delve deep and express myself in a manner hopefully worthy of the faith all those kind people have placed [possibly very misguidedly] in me. But mostly terror. Ah, I’m a glutton for punishment.

And if you’re thinking to yourself, “gee, this is an awfully long post for a chick who’s under such a tight deadline, ” you’re right: I am writing this missive at the moment, rather than writing the piece that’s due momentarily, because sitting a few feet behind me is a wonderful piano technician who is busy plunking plunking pllllluuuuNNnnkkk–kkkkk—KK….ing- ing-ING-ing….. away, endlessly, as he carefully tunes my piano. Whatever few talents I may possess, being able to compose in the same room as someone tuning a piano ain’t one of them!

Next post: the amazingly kewl gig I’m doing in January! Stay tuned. Or at least be microtonal.