Hitchhiker’s Guide 2010

Ever hit three jackpots in a row? Pull the one-armed bandit’s arm down once. 777. Again. 777. Again. 777.

OK, here’s the backstory: David Winitsky got my name from Jake Platt and wrote me note, sight unseen, sound unheard: Mounting Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galxay with “Douglas Adams’ original idea” of a “sound extravaganza.” Needed a “killer sound designer, very into the project.”

Sight unseen, sound unheard.

He could never have imagined that he’d called a guy so very into the project that I still dearly held onto my 30-year-old recordings of Adams’ original BBC series. 777.

And how could I have imagined that David had secured the folio scripts that predated that BBC production, replete with Adams’ original notes suggesting obscure (never used) music cues. 777.

And David could never have imagined that I owned all that musical arcana. On vinyl, no less. 777.

So, what kind of outré-hip sounds would Adams earmark for this space romp?

The edgy stuff we conservatory geeks listened to when our serial-box profs had their backs turned: Stockhausen, Ligeti (cf, 2001 A Space Odyssey).

Our beloved counter-revolutionary proto-minimalist granddaddy: Terry Riley.

The pop electonica cool cats: Fripp, Eno, Patrick Moraz.

Electronic muzak: Tomita, Yamashta, JM Jarré, Absolute Everywhere.

The kind of music that record stores could never figure out how to classify. “Out” “Other” “Now”

The radio series wound up sounding more coherent than it might’ve if Adams’ had gone with his original brainstorms. So what do you do with all that stuff?

My approach, unharnessed by David creative foresight, was to bring the two galaxies together: samples from all of Adams’ suggestions and a few others that fit, mashed up with arpeggios, ostinatos, and sonic filigree borrowed shamelessly from the faraway constellations of Bruckner, Rachmaninoff, Mahler, Debussy, Eno, and Gregorian chant).

I followed the Maestro Adams’ admonition: you’ll figure what what’s next when you get there. But whatever you do...

Don’t Panic!

...and the prize goes to...

The best kind of stage director for a sound designer to work with is one who:

1) Has a clear vision of what he or she wants, but

2) Is open to fresh ideas,

3) Wants original compositions — lots of them, and

4) Trusts you to go about your business.

Frank Licato is one such.

Frank directed a revival of Arthurs Miller’s View from the Bridge last year and commissioned me to underscore a bunch of scenes. In the pivotal scene, protagonist Eddie rats on his wife’s illegal immigrant cousins. He sneaks off to a phone booth to place a call. His line: “Give me the number of the Immigration Bureau. Thanks.”

I got carried away and wrote 2 minutes worth of music. I suggested to the Julia, the women on the boards, “Just fade it at ‘Thanks.’”

When I came to see the performance and that scene come up, John Fedele, playing Eddie, approached the phone, hesitated, reached for it, pulled back, paced around, reached again, grasped the receiver, froze for a moment, slammed it back, paced, again reached and held the receiver, froze, then slowly dialed (1954-style rotary), hung up, froze, reached again, dialed again, and delivered the line.

Afterwards, I cornered John. “Man that was so moving how you played that scene. Breathtaking. Brilliant.”

John said, “I was just riffing to you music.”

You can keep you shiny Best Score Oscar. Responses like John’s are prize aplenty for me.

Musical Dopplegangers 1

Facebook had its Doppelganger Week, and we swapped faces for faces. Got me wondering: How about Doppelganger music?

Try this out: Play Chopin’s G Minor Ballade. Then before you exhale, put on Santana’s Europa.
For me, these two pieces are spiritual twins. I’ll try to make the case.

-- They take you on the same ride. Slow and soulful at the start, the water breaks, then breathless crazed fury at the end. In a double-blind placebo-based randomized trial of listeners, cardiologists have measured the difference in heart rate between start and finish. In both instances, an increase on 45 beats per minute.

-- The ride starts the same. An upward arching four-note minor-key phrase, a plea to the heavens, coming to rest on sustained notes that serve only as question marks hanging in the air.

-- The ride continues along the same line. That initial phrase is sequenced a few times, adding to the pain and tension. And so it goes till near the end, when…

-- All hell breaks out. The lions’ cages unlocked a feeding time. Skiing off a cliff. Freefall frenzy. Unfettered exhuberance. Full-tilt freakout.

But these parallels don’t really make the case. It’s more than the expressive arc. More than the heart-piercing harmonic and melodic language.

For me, these two pieces were drawn from the emotional well, inspired by the same muse, and tell the same story, whatever that might be. So all this half-diminished case-making is a musicologic fool’s game. Why are the Ballade and Europa dopplegangers? Because I feel it.

Next time: First movement of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto and Hendrix’s House Burning Down.

So… What are your musical dopplegangers?

Oh… and happy 200th birthday, Piano Man.

Quiz: What do Pachelbel’s Canon, Vivaldi’s Four Season, and Mahler’s Titan and Schubert’s Unfinished Symphonies have in common?
Answer: Last year, they were all voted by the listeners of the New York area’s sole classical station, WQXR, less popular than Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations.
Huh? Elgar? Enigma?
Elgar? Mr Pomp and Circumstance? That veritable inventor of high school graduation? That doughty (yet self-doubting), late-blooming, paint-within-the-lines blue blood Brit?
Okay, granted, these 14 variations come comfortably to our urbane aural palate. But that’s not what’s so interesting. What’s so interesting is the treasure hunt — what the esteemed Sir Edward himself referred to as the hidden theme.
For the past 111 years, scholars, casual listeners, Dungeons and Dragons dorks and puzzle geeks have tried their hands at cracking the code. Elgar himself was maddening coy about the hints he proffered:
“Through the whole set, another larger theme goes but is not played.” Not played? Wha…?
“The principal theme never appears… the chief character is never on the stage.” Cute!
“Its 'dark saying' must be left unguessed.” So we’re supposed to start not guessing… when? Now?
He even waxed technical on us, drawing our attention to the rhythm in the odd bars, which are flipped in the even ones, and admitting that arc in the first four notes is similar that of the slow movement Beethoven’s Pathetique. And on and on.
Well, thanks a lot Edward! Tease!
I’ve tried poking a hairpin into the lock. To what avail?
Maybe it’s the notes in that ground bass line? Hmm… GABCDSHC… Huh? Bupkis!
Maybe the melody? BGCA DBAC BDGA. Bust!
Well, there is that fleeting Mahler reference. (And five years after the Variations’ publication, Mahler, conductor of the NY Philharmonic at the time, did premier the Variations in the US) Coincidence?
Then there’s the even more blatant quote from Tristan and Isolde (a reference apparently picked up on by the author of tonight’s play). A shout-out to his hotty? All you need is love, love. Love is all you need.
Okay, I give. Never made it to level 8.
No matter. With or without the code, the piece has stood the test of time, and sits proudly right under Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony in today’s hot Classical Countdown.

You like nested Russian dolls? Nordic ambience? Closely guarded agendas and clashing wits? You like seeing former cast members of the Sopranos and of the Producers psyching each other out in an intimate circle-in-the-round setting? Then come on down to the Garage Theatre’s production of Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt’s play, Enigma Variations, directed by Frank Licato, Feb 11-28. More: www.garagetheatre.org/current.html
You like Edward Elgar? (Think. Wasn’t that tune the band played at your high school graduation uplifting in a nostalgia-drenched kind of way?) You like Garbage? Wagner? George Duke? Subotnik electronica? Hiphop? Any of the above? There’s a little of all that in the music I cobbled together for the show. Come listen.