lccmf10

The cello
is a fascinating
instrument, and
I am
in love
with it
because it
sings the notes
that I
cannot.

Before the concert on Saturday, a few of us YWPers were given the unique opportunity to interview two of the ECCO musicians. This is my reflection of our conversation with Nayoung, a cellist who performed at elley-long. Read more »

Written for the Piano Trio. 

Introducing an instrument
is unlike anything else,
the sounds must blend,
melt. Join. And 
from here I can see 
Soovin's fingers moving
to the vibrato and 
his arm pulling. pulsing 
notes from the wooden
violin tucked beneath
his chin.
 
Ignat's hands pass
over the ivory keys,
not like percussionist, but
like a father carressing
ailments from a
childgame bruised form. 
The notes he reads
are not words, but 
cues- art painted and
patterned, music inked. 
Music his fingers
are paused to spin. 

Carr's arms are
strong and they are Read more »

While
seas of white hats
rush about and revolt
and crowds cheer noiselessly
and black-clad workers yell
at the top of their [silent] lungs
and blood is spilled
as feet hurry down
city steps

The pianist
plays on&on
occasionally
crossing one hand over
the other.

I found this recently- a handful of words from last year I had saved in a document called 'Keep Me'. Even when I finally finished it today, the title stuck.

A double is a step forward
In a world so full of steps back.
Who are we to prevent double stop
In such a concentrated illusion?

A cellist is comforted
By the solid feel
Of a presence to curl around;
They have a second body-
Human substitute-

Granted,
It is comprised of wood
And varnish
And curves

(But humans are comprised of bones
And blood
And curves

And how is that any different?)

The highlight for me, what summed up not only Matan Porat's artistic process but also "The Battleship Potemkin", was a single moment. A fraction of a second. A fleeting thought.

The cello player
is a mad scientist,
hunched over his work
(his instrument).

First piano notes,
low and loud and ominous.
Chords changing
from minor to major to
something weird,
then back to minor.
Violin joins in,
a tragic melody,
the mourning of
a lover lost.
Cello joins in,
the other lover,
equally lost,
mourning with
its own low melody.
Or is the cello
playing the high notes
and the violin
playing the low notes?
(I can't tell anymore)
And are those flowers
on the stage
behind the players
real or painted
onto the wall?

Cello starts
with high notes.
(I didn't know
cello could even
play that high)
Violin comes in
with lower notes.
A backwards duet,
cello above,
violin below.
Piano joins,
the third and
completing instrument,
playing the
lowest bass notes.
(I wish I had
a better seat so
I could see better)
Now the cello
is playing
the low notes.
(The "normal"
cello notes)
(The notes that
make me jealous
of the cello's
singing ability)
(How I would love
for my high voice
to be low
like a cello's)

You know
how sleepy I get
listening to such
beautiful music.
I can only Read more »

R09_0066.MP3

The cellist is rocking back
and forth
a tiny fishing boat
tossed
and lost
amidst the waves

The musicians
smash
into chords with their entire bodies
again-
and again-
throwing themselves
so completely into
this music, this storm
Everything is
lost.

And suddenly-
they are the eye of
the hurricane
a strangely still
sky
a single foghorn
in the dark of
night,
allowing us to-
and hope-
and hope- Read more »

1) Eyes Open
When I listen to music
with my eyes open,
I only hear the music.
I watch the musicians,
I see the players moving,
bowing and breathing and fingering,
and the actual sound
just acts as
background noise.
I can clearly see the
violin players moving
their bows, and
what I hear
matches what I see:
fingers move, and
the note changes.

2) Eyes Closed
But when I listen to
the same music with
my eyes closed,
I don't only hear the music;
I see the music.
I feel the music.
I can actually see
waves of sound
from behind closed eyelids.
So I sit with Read more »

Some music was written to be listened to. It evokes no true emotion, nothing of any sustenance. It is real music, of course; I do not think that there is such thing as fake music. It is still art, but it is easily compared to a painting of cows standing in a field, or a sailboat on an undisturbed lake. It is pretty music, leaving the taste of vanilla behind on your tongue, and maybe a slightly dumb-looking grin on your face. Still, I admire this music for its impeccable harmonies, flawless rhythms, and unreasonable ability to make people happy. Read more »

Star-cross'd lovers
would find a place
beneath the black
night of this melody.
The bass forewarns
of lesser happiness,
but violins comfort
in perfect chords
for they do not know
the fate of love.
Across the room,
eyes meet, and a
string is pulled tight
between two hearts.
Their masks cover
the troubled truth,
as this music
masks a tragedy
unknown to us.

Love quietly
until the last note fades,
never forgetting that fate
is not easily persuaded.

Written for the Gioachino Rossini String Sonata No.1 in G major.

colours of 
spring
like the teething sun;
the green of
grass clearing months
of ice & mud. 
colours of spring 
are painted 
on our ears 
one artist, but
four hands, each
with a different plan
to show us something
of beauty. 

opening flowers
with finger kisses;
freeing brooks,
handing us new hues 
for our hearts. 
if only we knew 
brushes
that could claim such art.     

Written for the Gioachino Rossini String Sonata No.1 in G major.

If you were to play
this beauty on my neck, I 
would surely sing Spring. 

Written for the Gioachino Rossini String Sonata No.1 in G major.

She would lift her bow
& pull music from the air

he would pluck it from the
strings & they 

would harmony. Breathe
melody, tears rolling

from their fingertips &
landing like 

ritard-
andos in scores on the floor.  

For the Antonín Dvorák Nocturne in B major; performed on August 25 by the ECCO. 

The violin sings, &
the cello hums, unable 
to resist. The bass chuckles 
and snaps his tongue 
in his mouth. 
When the violin begins 
to dance, the cello stretches
out a hand and swings
her in larghetto arches
as her sister catches the 
tune and trills. Harmonizing
with the viola who
has arrived with a pipe
& a beat in his throat. 
The bass is unimpressed,
leans against the cellos
chest, gives him a 
'take it away' sort of
glance. The violin picks
up her step, rises to Read more »

R09_0065.MP3

As a response to David Ludwig's composition, performed on Wednesday, Aug 25 & titled, 'Aigaios'. That night David explained the piece as a musical interpretation of a scene from 'The Perfect Storm' in which the waters swallow a ship & eventually silence into calm.

There are crows in 
this ceiling 
with wings of ocean
waters and beaks of 
shattered glass. 
They take movement
like waves take 
shadows and fold them.
 
These crows are
greenblue like
sunsets reflected 
on the calm of past
& lasted perfect storms. 
These crows catch long notes 
& draw them.   Read more »

While listening to the rehearsal of Brahms String Sextet No.2 in G major.

Can words swell & wane
as a melody may?
Although, I suppose
words carry more likeness
to the bows & fingers,
playing on instruments of
page & producing, instead 
of music, bruising thoughts 
& drowning emotions-

similies as rhyme &
crescendos the realization
of some sort of purpose. A
poem would be this 
sextet, in that the layers
of line, stanza, verse
return to each other & tangle
into chaos that emerges as
beauty- as bliss. 

What is a word without a verse?  Read more »

A piece I jotted down as I was drifting in and out of sleep in the hallway at Elley Long during a rehearsal

Cup of coffee cooling in my limp hand, the dissipating steam
being enveloped by staccato notes and black piano keys.

Slowly drifting off to sleep,
red and lavender swirls pass under my eyelids.
Taking in shallow breaths of cello drones and
the rustle of music sheets against my cheeks.

Awoken

Not by the music, but by the pause.

The break.

The sharp

intake

of breath as the crescendo ends
and consciousness begins again.

UU 1.MP3

Based on what I heard Tuesday evening on church street. The ECCO quintet playing Mozart's no.4 in g minor.

An argument of sounds 
is a dance of sorts-
a battle of chords,
taking swings with things
like a sharp and
g flats. the musicians,
I can imagine, would 
stand, a trance fueled 
by the music in their
hands
and give each other battle
scars, cock their 
violins like clubs & 
their bows like swords;
tangle in a
brawl of sorts- or a waltz. 

Music fills a room
with a humid 
atmosphere comparable
to that of a heated
fight- to that of
the maple dust
in my head. Read more »

R09_0064.MP3

Based on Aigaios, composed by David Ludwig, performed by musicians selected from ECCO

It is the sound of broken glass,
each piece chasing the other
running from a wall of water
trying to escape the turmoil of
their own creation. The chime
of glass, that starry sound, is
nonexistent, turned to a fearful
shriek, overpowered by the
sounds of metal. The shards
take refuge in the sea foam and
even underwater, they scream
against the rusted metal hull of
the boat they once belonged to.
To think that strings could make
this sound, of glass and metal and Read more »

A haiku by young composer Molly Joyce

Are you sure
Love heart shaped box
Fear broken triangle

A poem by young composer Gabriella Smith

Because

the krrk, crick, ch-ch-ch,
the oops, ching, clang, thu-ee

butt-clef chickens

loop the fractal hold of shaking,
breathing, murhming, choo-choo-ing
feather beds and spiral trains.

Tall, shades, formal dress,
he cradles his violin
tempting out a song.

UU 4.MP3

Dangerous,
low,
mysterious,
melting
into innocent melody.
If I close my eyes,
I forget my surroundings,
hear only the song
drawn by bows
with such pure beauty.
The danger returns,
pounding heartbeat beneath
sorrowful refrain--
and then it is past,
forgotten,
lost in the soaring
flight of birds
and calming
whisper of wind.

Dreamscape by Dylan Mattingly

---------------Chalk mountains
--------------------thousand autumns down cloudwinds

all West,
-----------Howland Island
-----------sometimes lowflying over Ameliaʼs marker rock

missed islands, like cloud cover
-----airstrip built, lost, bombed
“like a photograph of the earth taken coming back from the moon”
-----without ever feeling rubber

—last final shaking B fades out. snare, C, dm7, “once upon a time you dressed so fine,”
plexiglass window, citiglow shakes red trees, little lights fly, collide train horns into black, Read more »

A short story by Joshua Morris, a Young Composer at LCCMF 2010. Based on several key words associated with an interpretative drawing and expression.