Last summer my friend Eric phoned to say that he had just proposed to his girlfriend, Mary. He and I have known each other for going on 11 years and, since he had told me this was coming, I was truly happy for them. He also mentioned that they wanted to commission me to write something for the ceremony and, since I was in an inspired mood, I sat down in one of the practice huts at Interlochen and banged out a sequence of chords that I was happy with; something proper for a prelude-or-whatever.
Then, earlier this fall, I actually sat down and filled out the sketch a bit. It was based on a 3+3+2 pattern that repeated kind of endlessly so I set about altering the pattern in select places to keep it interesting; dropping/adding a few eighth notes here and there until I was satisfied with what I had.
The piece sat for a while and I mentioned it to him a few times and all seemed well. As the date for the impending nuptials started to get closer I started to ask him about details I was going to need in order to not totally screw everything up.
It was at this point that we met to go see Clash of The Titans. You see Eric is a huge fan of bad movies and whenever one like this comes out I inevitably get dragged to sit through it. The Mummy Returns? He loved it. (I thought it was crap.) Van Helsing? Completely satisfied. (That movie is terrible.)
Before this particular piece of garbage we happened to hit the Tavern on France for supper. Over the course of the meal (they have this insane process where you can make your own burger or pizza) I asked a few more questions about his wedding and this, my friends, is when he said the magic words. Here, let me set the scene:
Josh: So what other pieces are you having during the ceremony?
Eric: Oh, I must've forgotten to tell you. Your's is the only one.
Josh: Really? Uh, where is it?
Eric: It's going to be the processional.
Josh: Really.
Now I don't say this because it gave me a sense of inferiority in the face of all the usual gobbledigook that people process down the aisle to (although it definitely did). I say this because the entire point of the piece I wrote was to not have anything close to a regular pulse.
It would've been almost impossible to process to it. I had written something that was as close to what you could call an "anti-processional" as possible.
So, back to Square One then.
And, seriously, my apologies to Eric for what I'm sure was a pretty frightening (albeit momentary) look of utter panic on my face. I would imagine that, in planning something like a wedding, it isn't comforting to see that reaction pass across the face of someone you have entrusted some sort of responsibility to.
But this should all go to illustrate how useful it is for a composer to learn everything (and I mean everything) about the venue in which their new piece is to be presented. There is nothing worse than writing something into a new work that increases the chances that A) it won't be performed very well and/or B) the audience will be unsatisfied with what they've heard.
I've been writing pieces for other people for 10 years now and there is no excuse for the fact that I should have had the presence of mind to just ask. Live and learn, I suppose.
After our discussion I re-entered the pretentious labyrinth of the compositional process to write something good for Eric and Mary...and I'm really glad I did. What emerged was a much, much better work that has much, much more integrity than the little thing I wrote freezing my ass off in a practice hut in Michigan last summer. In fact, for what the piece's intention is, I would put it up against some of my choral works that have sold tens of thousands of copies. It's not "some little thing" I wrote for a friend's wedding.
The work itself is in an exploded rondo form with an E9 chord in second inversion serving as the ritornello thingy. Here's a shot of the chord structures that I use as my cheat sheet when I play it. 
Hopefully I'll get a chance to transcribe it into Finale this weekend. This would certainly be helpful seeing as how the wedding is next Saturday.
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