I'll probably be back .
Classic m1469 I did not know existed.
One thing that I admire about Wolfi and his work is that I can see he is very brave and courageous to be in this process. It takes quite a bit of both of those qualities, amongst others.One of my current projects is to be re-structuring and re-writing Prelude to Life. Thank you very much to both of you .
Seems like I'm a bit in a " K. phase" these days, I came back to some of your improvs, this one, Inner circle and Stampede especially. And it turns out that they have lost nothing of their fascination to me during the years, quite the contrary. I am looking forward to more To be brave and courageous in the context of creating my work seems easy to me once I reach a certain state of really accepting myself, reaching that in myself which might be an equivalent of what you call your Monsty. In that state I can see so clearly the "necessity" (though this is not really the exact word) of doing what I do. And I get fully determined to do so, feeling distinctly that nothing can stop me (although things may be progressing tediously slow at times).
This is a beautiful and soul touching improvisation! very reflective and although much of it is simple, its very deep and meaningful. Wonderful work and thanks for sharing
The relative frequency and importance of composition and improvisation over a given player's life would probably make a study in its own right. In around forty-five years I have changed from regarding written composition as the ultimate objective of my piano music to almost a total embracing of improvisation as ends, means and everything in between. In my twenties and thirties I wrote dozens (possibly hundreds, I haven't counted) of piano pieces and recorded improvisation once every few months. At sixty-three, I have written out nothing for ten years and my present recorded improvisation frequency is about a CD every two weeks and accelerating.What is gained and lost by writing things out ? By not writing things out ? I think we can dismiss the permanence of pen and paper in the electronic, digital age; that is no longer relevant to the central question. Could a composition perhaps be simply defined as a piece wherein I play pretty much the same notes, the same way each time ? I think so. Whether or not I actually make a visual approximation of the sounds on paper is irrelevant.In the end I can only comment meaningfully on my own position. Both processes are so intrinsically personal, so woven into my own psyche, that anything I try to say stands a good chance of seeming strange, or even ridiculous, to another player. My first and main practical problem with composition is rhythm - I cannot write out the spontaneous rhythms which deeply move me in easily transmissible form. I have tried and I don't think it can be done. From what little I have seen and heard of other creators and their activities I doubt they can either. In fact the better known they are the less capable they seem of grasping that a problem even exists; such is the power of two or three centuries of notational tyranny. The second problem is that everything takes too long. To write out even a fumbling, halfway decent approximation of things I like playing takes on average about a thousand times as long as it takes, not just to play it, but to create it. Taken in conjunction with the average lifespan this fact is a pretty formidable case for improvisation.Now those two reasons still do not exclude composition in the sense of a more or less permanent, repeated piece crystallising from my playing - whether written out or not. This does not happen like it used to with me. Why not ? I think the reason is the sheer volume of spontaneous ideas. Virtually every musical thought these days is a springboard to another. At every turn there is change, delight and surprise. I wouldn't have it any other way.Do I not then possess this drive for final structure, a consolidated epitome of some deep-seated psychic state in the form of the polished gems which K implicitly describes as the ultimate creative end ? Yes, of course I do, but with me the "end" is the whole evolving organism itself - my mind, life and its colossal panoply of thousands of hours of piano sound spread over forty-five years (and hopefully a few more). Form exists but after the manner of a collection of organisms, species forever evolving, reproducing, cross-pollinating, according to the chaotic impulses of their environment, not of a static cathedral designed by even an architect of genius. To steal a brilliant allusion from Bronowski, talking about his grandchild in the Ascent of Man, an Easter Island statue is in the end not worth anything compared to a baby's face.When I asked an old friend about these things many years ago he replied that people crave some embodiment of stasis to offset the truth of their own transience in a dynamic system - so they create things to "make a desperate mark on the wall - I WAS HERE !" I disagreed with him then and I disagree with him now - for myself - but I rather think he wasn't too far off the truth generally.
So what you're saying, ultimately, is that we should all be playing our own improvisations?
What if I liked yours and I wanted to play it, too?
I also think messiaen did quite well in putting into the archaic notation system, the rythms and sounds he heard in his head.
I would be curious to hear one of your improvisations. Have you posted them?
I heard you play some Debussy, I think it was.
Also, I would have guessed you to be 40 years old at the most!