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Okay…I changed the name of this installment. Collaboration IS like having a child though, but it can also be like being locked up in a jail cell. You’re gonna be working intensely on the project for a long time and you’re gonna see and hear from the same people over and over again.  So you best be ready for the long haul.

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. And that means revision is the name of the game. Over the years I’ve come to view my first drafts for their potential and to trust my abilities at revision to achieve any true artistry that might be in my work.  I either over write or under write. I rarely get it right the first time.

I’ve been accused of being a perfectionist, but I am far from that. I do know however that the working end of the pencil holds the eraser.  Once put to paper, the idea needs work. Like making bread, for another over-used metaphor, the yeast has to let the dough rise so one can pound it down and let it rise again.

If that is the process for the individual, that is the process for the collaboration. These things take time and revision.  The kid’s gonna grow up, but we have to let him and encourage him with our help.

Nothing gets written overnight.

Next: The joy of rewrites!

Collaboration is marriage. You better be ready to commit.  Musicals take a long time to write. Plus there are revisions. LOTS of meetings. Lots of give and take.

Everything is open to scrutiny. It’s important to give and receive comment. How one talks about a project is as important as what one says. I like to be told when my work works and when it doesn’t.  I expect my collaborators to be of the same ilk.  We have to be that giving, otherwise the work suffers.  And if you don’t think it works, you better know why.  An unsupported critique is useless. (I worked with a very talented individual who could never say why something wasn’t working. They would just say “I need to think about it.”)

I am very concerned about structure and craft. The structure of the work is what holds it together. Forget about the brilliant idea or observation.  If the piece doesn’t work, it’s dead. Stravinsky said that genius in art is a mistake. One can’t plan those things. So the basic work best be sound. (Another potential collaborator wanted to keep a scene in because “that’s what really happened.”. Sorry, reality has nothing to do with drama, at least the kind that works on stage.)

Also do your work and I’ll do mine. (I worked with a lyricist once who when I asked questions about his lyrics would reply, “Just change what you need to.”  He thought he was being helpful. I thought, “Why should I have to do your job?  I’ve got enough on my plate!”)

Getting to the point is helpful, too.  Like in a marriage, you have to be totally honest with each other.  There is no room for error. For example: “It’s unclear what the main character wants.”, “That song is the wrong moment.”, “That lyric is confusing.”, “Yes, that dress makes your butt look big.”

Collaboration gives perspective.

NEXT: “We better love our baby”

I’m looking for a collaborator, someone to work with on projects. At the moment, I have one particular project in mind, though a more long term collaboration across several projects would be great. (Think Kander & Ebb, Stravinsky & Diaghilev, Damon and Runyon!) Unfortunately the three collaborators who I’ve had the pleasure of working with, in my belief, are not quite right for this one particular project.  Don’t misunderstand, I would work with all three again, if we had a project that was appropriate for our pairing.

Finding good collaborators is hard. These great relationships seem to be made in heaven. In the past, I have worked with people that I wouldn’t work with again.  The reasons are varied. But in the end, the collaborations and the projects never worked out.

Because one doesn’t just pull a collaborator out of a hat, I’ve decided to take action in what will probably be the least effective fashion I can imagine: I’m going to write about it here.

Over the next several posts, I will write my vision regarding collaboration and what the perfect collaborative mate would look like.

I hope you’ll read along.

It gets dangerous when I don’t have a project to work on, one that engages from within.

I’m at that spot again: What to compose next?

There are jazz charts. But there are ALWAYS jazz charts to be composed. There’s still so much to be learned in charting.

There’s a possible cello quartet to write, but that’s still not engaging me.

I’ve finished the last draft of NAUGHTY and it’s with two different entities, awaiting word of  production.  (It’s always nice when THEY ask to see it.)

The recording of “In Lieu of Hymns” and the “Bassoon Sonata” is finished.

I’m trying to stir up my next bit of film work. Talk about feeling like I’m flailing around for work. “PICK ME! PICK ME!”

Plus, I’ve an idea for another work of music theater which is kind of chewing away at me. But I’m not sure how to approach or treat the subject. Recent historical figure, very passionate subject matter. God, I could use a collaborator right about now.

Then there’s Brutus and Cassius. And I still ask the question: Why the hell am I writing an opera?

The concert/recording session went well. Performers did a great job and the audience was very appreciative. I will have the audio in a couple of weeks and post it here.

The Bassoon Sonata is a tour de force and, as is appropriate for the “Buffoon of the Orchestra”, ends with a set of variations based on the theme-song to the television show “Mr. Ed”. However the variations come first. I don’t let the cat out of the bag, or as it where the horse, until the end. It was amusing watching the audience, respectful of the mics, try to stifle their laughter when they finally heard what it was all about.

“In Lieu of Hymns” is a dense cycle of songs for its twenty or so minutes. As a narrative work, it wanders in the first few and then catches a stride and ends strongly. Based on after performance comments, the most referenced song was “Reminded”, which compositionally, is possibly the simplest. Of all the songs, “Reminded” is the only one which is a second draft. I hated the first version of it.

I’m grateful that these compositions got such a receptive hearing, though the cynic in me thinks about the Sondheim lines: “These things get hung. And then they’re gone”. I can hope that they have more life after this, but it would not surprise me to find that I’ve added yet more to that which I already must dust.