theoretical analysis

Master's student (and friend) Keith Koehlmoos contacted me recently about using my band piece, Moonrise, for some analysis in his theory class at the University of Saint Thomas. Besides being a euphonium player par excellence (I'm going to write something for euphonium and SSAA choir someday for him) he found some interesting things in the piece that I didn't even know were there. Reading his paper brought me back to my 20th Century Theory courses in college but with the added perspective of the piece being analyzed having been written by me. Below are two of the more verbose parts from his paper that made me chuckle (thanks for letting me reprint them here, Keith!):

A passacaglia cements the B-section together with six complete statements of the passacaglia (P1-6 on the flow chart). P1 is a statement of only the passacaglia with the tuba/euphonium stating the first four-measure call, and the low woodwinds responding with the four-measure response. P2 introduces the “a2” melody in the horns. P3 continues the horn melody while focusing all attention on the “c” melody in the bassoon. P4 continues with the “a2” melody while adding a new layer, the “a3” melody in the woodwinds. P5 makes the “a2”’ more reverential with its statement by the trumpets. These all build to the climax at P6 which continues the “a2” and “a3” melodies in the extreme brass register while adding the “b” descending melody from the A-section on top. The music transitions from mm. 69-85, continuing the “b” melody back to the ending A’-section at m. 86. Here, a short statement of the “a” melody succumbs quickly to the final coda at m. 96.

And later on:
All signs imply a climax of the A-section at m. 19. However, the realization that occurs here is a timbral one: the full band crescendo does not reach its melodic and harmonic climax together; instead, the climax is essentially thwarted when the melodic pinnacle is performed by just the high-pitched, metal mallet percussion and flutes.

I love the use of the word "thwarted." We so rarely get an opportunity to use it in a sentence. It's an incredibly precise analysis of a piece that I wrote when I was 22 and, frankly, it was very interesting to see that there was some built-in structure to the whole thing even though I certainly didn't intend it at the time. I've tried to do it on purpose before but it never feels organic and I almost always end up scrapping what I write. It makes me wonder whether or not all composers stumble upon overall structure like I do sometimes. Hmm. I'll have to check on that.

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my building was getting re-sided. I assumed they were done and, as it turns out, I was totally wrong. A week or so after I posted that entry I came home to 2 guys hanging outside my third-story windows putting covering on them to keep paint off while they were repainting the siding. As I was sitting at my desk the guy by my big window started waving his arms frantically to balance himself as he was about to fall three stories off his ladder. Luckily his buddy was able to steady it and save his friend some broken bones. Needless to say, he was done for a while (I saw him sitting outside smoking a cigarette through shaky fingers a little later on).

Anyway, when they were done with that, all of my windows were covered like this:













They stayed like that for the better part of six days and cabin fever set in with a vengeance. No windows to the outside world. I paced a lot when I was on the phone, found any excuse to flee, etc. It was awful. I felt like a caged tiger.

Then my building shed it's skin and ended up with a drab, greenish hue to its siding which, although the color is very puke-like, is a marked improvement from what it was before.













What's really interesting is, if you go back to the previous entry, you can watch the seasons (and siding) change in the pictures.