I'm on the rickety train-line which ambles its way along the coast from Portsmouth to Brighton. I take these trains every day when I'm working with PK, from Fiona's house where I stay in Hove to where he lives West Worthing. Sometimes it stops at every station in the world; funny places with bizarre names which are really just caravan parks for old people. Sometimes you find yourself at your destination before you can blink. It's a lottery.
PK and I have spent the day moving our way through the second movement of the Pepys Motet at a monstrously slow pace.
The problem with using Melodyne is that it becomes almost impossible to stop once you've started. Once you've decided you're not going to accept less than perfection, the process becomes meticulous in the extreme... And highly stressful! At one point the two of us went entirely cross-eyed, and were only revived by PK's glorious partner, Olivia cooking us some delicious pancakes, which genuinely tasted like nectar.
It transpires that Melodyne doesn't respond well to opera singers. The problem with opera singers is that they can cover a multitude of sins with enormous vibrato... And it turns out that enormous vibrato makes Melodyne go into major spasms because it can't detect the centre of the note which it's trying to tune.
Melodyne shows the wave-forms of all the individual lines it's processing in attractive little patterns which I find endlessly fascinating. You can tell a decent singer by the regularity of their wave forms. If the form is a near straight line, they are singing a note with absolute precision without any vibrato. If the singer sings with a pleasant-sounding vibrato, the wave-form oscillates around the centre of the note like a series of perfectly-rounded, equally-spaced mountains reflected in a still lake. A less successful vibrato will look like childish scribbles, spider legs or an earthquake registering on a Richter scale!
I actually think wave-forms (and Melodyne) would be a really useful tool for a singer wanting to develop his or her craft. There's probably money to be made by an industrious singing teacher who can use the programme to demonstrate whether his pupils have a tendency to sing sharp or flat.
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Melodyne
I'm having a lovely sit-down before bed with a nice cup of tea and a piece of cheese. Don't they say you shouldn't eat cheese before bed to avoid nightmares? They also say drinking tea late at night is pretty bad for you. I'll be peeing all night. Wide awake from the caffeine. Waking up from a nightmare every six seconds. Oh well.
I've been in Worthing all day, working my way through Movement Two of the Pepys Motet with PK. The first studio sessions for this project were around a year ago. We're certainly not rushing to get it out to the masses! It is also the most painstakingly slow mixing process. The work is scored for 20 soloists from a whole gamut of musical backgrounds... Soul, musical theatre, opera, folk singers. It would be an immensely exciting and engulfing work to hear live but because the singers are all performing a unique line, it's almost impossible to create something with the sonic unity required for a recording. It's a'capella as well, so there are no musical instruments to bring everything together. We've made the bold choice, therefore, to Melodyne every voice. The tiniest tuning discrepancies inherent in 20 vocalists from different worlds can come together to create a cloudy sound world, but I'm after absolute rhythmic and musical precision, and a sonic experience unlike anything heard before. I realise that by tuning classical singers I'm performing a deeply sacrilegious act, which would have the people at Radio 3 spinning out of control... But I love it!
Wait until you hear the results. People considered the likes of Steve Reich to be disrespectful because they used modern recording techniques. We are doing the very same thing! I think the world could prove to be a little slower in cottoning onto my ground-breaking genius, but you never know!
I am rather excited... Whilst we were in the studio today, six new spoken testimonies came in from people in Commonwealth Countries. Invisible Voices ought to be a hugely exciting composition, if we can just get the right balance of emotion, documentary and musical chutzpah!
And so to bed...
I've been in Worthing all day, working my way through Movement Two of the Pepys Motet with PK. The first studio sessions for this project were around a year ago. We're certainly not rushing to get it out to the masses! It is also the most painstakingly slow mixing process. The work is scored for 20 soloists from a whole gamut of musical backgrounds... Soul, musical theatre, opera, folk singers. It would be an immensely exciting and engulfing work to hear live but because the singers are all performing a unique line, it's almost impossible to create something with the sonic unity required for a recording. It's a'capella as well, so there are no musical instruments to bring everything together. We've made the bold choice, therefore, to Melodyne every voice. The tiniest tuning discrepancies inherent in 20 vocalists from different worlds can come together to create a cloudy sound world, but I'm after absolute rhythmic and musical precision, and a sonic experience unlike anything heard before. I realise that by tuning classical singers I'm performing a deeply sacrilegious act, which would have the people at Radio 3 spinning out of control... But I love it!
Wait until you hear the results. People considered the likes of Steve Reich to be disrespectful because they used modern recording techniques. We are doing the very same thing! I think the world could prove to be a little slower in cottoning onto my ground-breaking genius, but you never know!
I am rather excited... Whilst we were in the studio today, six new spoken testimonies came in from people in Commonwealth Countries. Invisible Voices ought to be a hugely exciting composition, if we can just get the right balance of emotion, documentary and musical chutzpah!
And so to bed...
Monday, 28 April 2014
Beaches and sinks
As my Dad would say: this is just the ticket. I'm currently sitting on Hove beach. The sun is melting into a cloud, the shadows are long, the grey sea is calm, the shingle looks like amber. The white buildings of Brighton are glowing Easter yellow. A curiously-shaped boat out to sea makes it look a little as though the funfair at the end of the pier has floated away. Everything feels rather perfect. Calm and still. I've sat on this beach many times in my life. On the hottest and coldest days of the year and pretty much everything in between.
I left the house and returned home a grand total of three times today. Desperate. On the third occasion I got as far as Archway before having to turn around to collect something else I'd forgotten; a true indication that my brain is in melt-down with way too much to think about.
Every time I turned around, the likelihood became ever stronger that I'd get trapped in the rush hour at Victoria station and sure enough, I ended up sandwiched in a train carriage like a little morsel of cheese on the floor by the kitchen bin!
The purpose of my visit to Hove is to spend three days with the lovely PK working on The Pepys Motet recordings we did like ten years ago, and to start the new project, Invisible Voices, which I shall be writing in tandem with Brass for the next few months. We've collected a fair amount of testimonial from LGBT people in Commonwealth Countries, and I'm going to try quite an unusual process when it comes to glueing them all together, which will hopefully be right up PK's strasse. I think I'm not wrong in saying that PKs favourite kind of music is no music at all. I, on the other hand will happily throw the entire kitchen sink at a piece of music to see what sticks. It'll be fun to get a bit more sparse!
I left the house and returned home a grand total of three times today. Desperate. On the third occasion I got as far as Archway before having to turn around to collect something else I'd forgotten; a true indication that my brain is in melt-down with way too much to think about.
Every time I turned around, the likelihood became ever stronger that I'd get trapped in the rush hour at Victoria station and sure enough, I ended up sandwiched in a train carriage like a little morsel of cheese on the floor by the kitchen bin!
The purpose of my visit to Hove is to spend three days with the lovely PK working on The Pepys Motet recordings we did like ten years ago, and to start the new project, Invisible Voices, which I shall be writing in tandem with Brass for the next few months. We've collected a fair amount of testimonial from LGBT people in Commonwealth Countries, and I'm going to try quite an unusual process when it comes to glueing them all together, which will hopefully be right up PK's strasse. I think I'm not wrong in saying that PKs favourite kind of music is no music at all. I, on the other hand will happily throw the entire kitchen sink at a piece of music to see what sticks. It'll be fun to get a bit more sparse!
Sunday, 27 April 2014
The ocarina from Picardy
We're in Clacton on Sea, which is a strange kind of place. I've just been served in a garage by the most astonishingly middle class older gentleman, with very rosy cheeks. Whether this is typical of the place, I'd not like to say, but there can't be many jobs for middle class older gentlemen here. It's a sunny Sunday afternoon and the place is half empty. For a town whose wealth must be based almost entirely on tourism, this can't be a good sign.
The windswept pier is filled with amusement arcades and fairground rides but has a rather tragic, down-at-heal vibe. Lonely gangs of teenaged lads drift like listless cyphers from bench to bench dropping chips for seagulls whilst the hope drains from their faces.
Clacton is permanently watched-over these days by a farm of windmills far out in the brown sea behind a light drape of mist. They lend a majesty and grandeur to the view from the pier, which I'm sure the locals loathe.
The beach is brittle. Sad. Empty.
This afternoon we drove to Woodbridge, a charming town at the end of a Suffolk estuary. We made the decision to go there after hearing about a rather special concert due to take place at the community centre in the town. The concert included a programme of string music played by a local amateur orchestra. A bit of Mozart. A bit of Brahms. A few arrangements of Scandinavian folk songs. Exactly what you might expect from a concert of this nature; all played with gusto and great joy by the elderly players. But it wasn't this part of the concert which had piqued our interest and brought us 80 or so miles out of London...
The concert's conductor, a friendly mild-mannered chap called Andrew Fairly, is a flautist and great collector of unusual wind instruments. Half way through the concert, he stepped down from the conductor's rostrum, and introduced the audience to a very curious-looking instrument; part-ocarina, part-flute, part rolled-up tube of cardboard.
The instrument he was holding had been made 100 years ago in Picardy by a soldier in a trench. He'd used whatever he could get his hands on to make it - "Wills" tobacco paper, a brass shell case, glue, boot polish - and created a unique-looking instrument with a haunting, slightly dissonant sound.
Mr Fairly found the instrument 50 years ago in a junk shop in Middlesex and it was recently semi-validated by the Imperial War Museum. They're a cagey bunch at the IWM and are never going to stick their necks out for something which lacks provenance, but they said of the instrument; "taking into account the materials used and method of construction, it was almost certainly made by one of our troops during a period of blissful calm between the horrors of combat."
The instrument made an incredibly sad sound. Plainly most of my sadness came through association; there is, after all, a song in Brass called "I Miss The Music" which is based on countless doleful accounts I've read where soldiers in the trenches speak of becoming hugely distressed as a result of not being able to play or listen to music. I was engulfed by the romance of a soldier being forced to make his own instrument, despite the fact that the cynic in me assumes the flute was made more as a representation of the ingenuity of its maker. What cannot be disputed, however, is the instrument's empty, willowy sound; a little like a breath of wind rolling over no-man's-land. One day I might attempt to write something for it. It was an absolute treat to hear.
The windswept pier is filled with amusement arcades and fairground rides but has a rather tragic, down-at-heal vibe. Lonely gangs of teenaged lads drift like listless cyphers from bench to bench dropping chips for seagulls whilst the hope drains from their faces.
Clacton is permanently watched-over these days by a farm of windmills far out in the brown sea behind a light drape of mist. They lend a majesty and grandeur to the view from the pier, which I'm sure the locals loathe.
The beach is brittle. Sad. Empty.
This afternoon we drove to Woodbridge, a charming town at the end of a Suffolk estuary. We made the decision to go there after hearing about a rather special concert due to take place at the community centre in the town. The concert included a programme of string music played by a local amateur orchestra. A bit of Mozart. A bit of Brahms. A few arrangements of Scandinavian folk songs. Exactly what you might expect from a concert of this nature; all played with gusto and great joy by the elderly players. But it wasn't this part of the concert which had piqued our interest and brought us 80 or so miles out of London...
The concert's conductor, a friendly mild-mannered chap called Andrew Fairly, is a flautist and great collector of unusual wind instruments. Half way through the concert, he stepped down from the conductor's rostrum, and introduced the audience to a very curious-looking instrument; part-ocarina, part-flute, part rolled-up tube of cardboard.
The instrument he was holding had been made 100 years ago in Picardy by a soldier in a trench. He'd used whatever he could get his hands on to make it - "Wills" tobacco paper, a brass shell case, glue, boot polish - and created a unique-looking instrument with a haunting, slightly dissonant sound.
Mr Fairly found the instrument 50 years ago in a junk shop in Middlesex and it was recently semi-validated by the Imperial War Museum. They're a cagey bunch at the IWM and are never going to stick their necks out for something which lacks provenance, but they said of the instrument; "taking into account the materials used and method of construction, it was almost certainly made by one of our troops during a period of blissful calm between the horrors of combat."
The instrument made an incredibly sad sound. Plainly most of my sadness came through association; there is, after all, a song in Brass called "I Miss The Music" which is based on countless doleful accounts I've read where soldiers in the trenches speak of becoming hugely distressed as a result of not being able to play or listen to music. I was engulfed by the romance of a soldier being forced to make his own instrument, despite the fact that the cynic in me assumes the flute was made more as a representation of the ingenuity of its maker. What cannot be disputed, however, is the instrument's empty, willowy sound; a little like a breath of wind rolling over no-man's-land. One day I might attempt to write something for it. It was an absolute treat to hear.
Here's the flute itself
Derek
We've finally settled down for the night and are watching the new series of Derek, one of my favourite shows on television. I haven't traditionally been a great fan of the work of Ricky Jervais, but think the world he's created with Derek is spot-on. It's very similar to the world I find myself in when I make my films; the estates and the community centres in forgotten corners of the country. The people successive variants of the Labour Party have taken for granted. The people who will one day snap and help to bring a gruesomely right wing party in from the cold. Be warned.
I can't actually watch Derek without crying because it reminds me of so many I the people I've met on my journeys. Old people always light my touch papers and today's show - the first in the series - ended with an old lady singing, which utterly destroyed me. I think Nathan must be wondering what he married!
We were all over North London today. Nathan gave me a set of notes on Brass, so I spent the morning doing re-writes which were sent off to Sara and Matt to look through before they go to Philippa, whose notes, one hopes, will be the final set before the script is signed off. That will be a weight off my mind, and a significant moment for the project.
We had lunch in a greasy spoon in Muswell Hill to alleviate the pain of collecting a load of badly developed pictures of our wedding from Snappy Snaps. That's £100 down the drain.
We went to Dame Sara's this afternoon to see designer Erik's beautiful model box of the potential set for Brass, which is really very exciting. When we arrived, choreographer Matt and Sara were pushing miniature duck boards around the stage, photographing the different scenes they'd created.
We came home and spent the evening photoshopping in the hope we can trick Snappy Snaps into printing our wedding pictures with a little more clarity, contrast and vibrancy. It took rather longer than expected and by the time I'd finished it was nearly midnight, which meant there was no time left to do nothing. That's not a double negative. We genuinely wanted to do nothing. We just wanted to be. So we watched Derek, and, well, that, as they say, was that...
I can't actually watch Derek without crying because it reminds me of so many I the people I've met on my journeys. Old people always light my touch papers and today's show - the first in the series - ended with an old lady singing, which utterly destroyed me. I think Nathan must be wondering what he married!
We were all over North London today. Nathan gave me a set of notes on Brass, so I spent the morning doing re-writes which were sent off to Sara and Matt to look through before they go to Philippa, whose notes, one hopes, will be the final set before the script is signed off. That will be a weight off my mind, and a significant moment for the project.
We had lunch in a greasy spoon in Muswell Hill to alleviate the pain of collecting a load of badly developed pictures of our wedding from Snappy Snaps. That's £100 down the drain.
We went to Dame Sara's this afternoon to see designer Erik's beautiful model box of the potential set for Brass, which is really very exciting. When we arrived, choreographer Matt and Sara were pushing miniature duck boards around the stage, photographing the different scenes they'd created.
We came home and spent the evening photoshopping in the hope we can trick Snappy Snaps into printing our wedding pictures with a little more clarity, contrast and vibrancy. It took rather longer than expected and by the time I'd finished it was nearly midnight, which meant there was no time left to do nothing. That's not a double negative. We genuinely wanted to do nothing. We just wanted to be. So we watched Derek, and, well, that, as they say, was that...
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Battle weary
Nathan returned from battle this afternoon with an enormous and highly-impressive drawing on his back, which is, apparently, rather painful and needs to be treated with great care for the next week or so. Because it's on his back, the onus is on me to apply the various creams and things necessary to keep the tattoo healthy. And let me tell you... Rubbing cream into a freshly cut tattoo is a slightly bizarre experience. Certainly not one for the faint-hearted.
I spent this morning in Muswell Hill. I was there for ages, in Snappy Snaps, essentially attempting to sift through around 3000 photos from what has turned out to be a rather extraordinary year, which started with a tour of Yorkshire, continued with a visit to the Dominican Republic, and then turned into a whirlwind marriage which became a trip to France and rehearsals for a new musical. I'm intrigued to know where else this year will take me. I'll say now that I'm very much up for new experiences. Life is, after all, about living.
I continue to orchestrate the title song from Brass in every spare moment. It's a lengthy process. It continues to be the most troubled of all the songs I've ever written. I am, however, slowly winning, and believe the piece will be all the better for my diligence. I'm never entirely sure why there are so many "composers" working in musical theatre who opt not to do their own orchestrations. For me, it's the process which brings my writing into colour.
We decided to drive down to Catford to see Julie and Sam this evening, and sat in their front room eating pizza and drinking Ribena. Julie and Nathan did some knitting and we nattered about all kinds of nonsense.
It strikes me that I'm not well. I'm expecting to wake up in the morning with a sore throat, aching limbs or some kind of bizarre rash. The slight change in pace I've experienced over the last few weeks has made my body close down and now it's urging me to slow things down even more. I think I just need to go into hibernation for a bit. If only that were possible!
Whilst walking through Highgate Wood today, I overheard the most peculiar conversation between two men who were walking their dogs. Both were talking about how awful the conditions must have been on Noah's Arc! It was such a peculiar thing to overhear; like one of those passionate theoretical conversations children have when they try to work out whether a lion or a bear would win in a fight. I'm all for empathy, but this was kind of nutty!
I spent this morning in Muswell Hill. I was there for ages, in Snappy Snaps, essentially attempting to sift through around 3000 photos from what has turned out to be a rather extraordinary year, which started with a tour of Yorkshire, continued with a visit to the Dominican Republic, and then turned into a whirlwind marriage which became a trip to France and rehearsals for a new musical. I'm intrigued to know where else this year will take me. I'll say now that I'm very much up for new experiences. Life is, after all, about living.
I continue to orchestrate the title song from Brass in every spare moment. It's a lengthy process. It continues to be the most troubled of all the songs I've ever written. I am, however, slowly winning, and believe the piece will be all the better for my diligence. I'm never entirely sure why there are so many "composers" working in musical theatre who opt not to do their own orchestrations. For me, it's the process which brings my writing into colour.
We decided to drive down to Catford to see Julie and Sam this evening, and sat in their front room eating pizza and drinking Ribena. Julie and Nathan did some knitting and we nattered about all kinds of nonsense.
It strikes me that I'm not well. I'm expecting to wake up in the morning with a sore throat, aching limbs or some kind of bizarre rash. The slight change in pace I've experienced over the last few weeks has made my body close down and now it's urging me to slow things down even more. I think I just need to go into hibernation for a bit. If only that were possible!
Whilst walking through Highgate Wood today, I overheard the most peculiar conversation between two men who were walking their dogs. Both were talking about how awful the conditions must have been on Noah's Arc! It was such a peculiar thing to overhear; like one of those passionate theoretical conversations children have when they try to work out whether a lion or a bear would win in a fight. I'm all for empathy, but this was kind of nutty!
Friday, 25 April 2014
Sleep typing
It's terrible how the disappearance of one's husband can lead to the complete disruption of what little routine one has! I've already been asleep today and woken up thinking there was something I needed to do... Turns out I'd forgotten to blog, and now my face feels all hot, which must be something to do with adrenaline. Apologies if what I'm writing makes little or no sense. My eyes are half shut!
I've spoken to no-one all day except Nathan, in France, on the phone, at various stages of Tattoo-ness.
The rest of the time has been spent in front of a computer, splitting my day into morning, afternoon and evening sessions. This morning I finished off the arrangement of Love Is Everyone, this afternoon I sent off four TV pitches to Archie and this evening I worked on the orchestrations of the title song in Brass. I have typed the word title four times now, three of which the computer auto-corrected to "Turks" and then "turtle." Big fingers are no good, I tell you, for any form of iPhone functionality!
I went to bed with iPlayer playing an episode of Russell Howard's Good News, which, for the uninitiated is a topical satirical news programme. Imagine my surprise, therefore, to find it dated from 2010. Top news story was Kate and Will's engagement! Come on BBC! You can do better than that! Perhaps I should be more horrified that I watched the blessed programme! At least it wasn't the episode which seems to be on permanent loop on Dave where Howard talks about my Coventry Market musical film. It's on so often that people have stopped calling me to tell me they just saw me on telly playing the piano! That, I believe, was 2008, so I guess the BBC are two years more up-to-date than Dave. Still no real excuse... I think I'm typing in my sleep now...
I've spoken to no-one all day except Nathan, in France, on the phone, at various stages of Tattoo-ness.
The rest of the time has been spent in front of a computer, splitting my day into morning, afternoon and evening sessions. This morning I finished off the arrangement of Love Is Everyone, this afternoon I sent off four TV pitches to Archie and this evening I worked on the orchestrations of the title song in Brass. I have typed the word title four times now, three of which the computer auto-corrected to "Turks" and then "turtle." Big fingers are no good, I tell you, for any form of iPhone functionality!
I went to bed with iPlayer playing an episode of Russell Howard's Good News, which, for the uninitiated is a topical satirical news programme. Imagine my surprise, therefore, to find it dated from 2010. Top news story was Kate and Will's engagement! Come on BBC! You can do better than that! Perhaps I should be more horrified that I watched the blessed programme! At least it wasn't the episode which seems to be on permanent loop on Dave where Howard talks about my Coventry Market musical film. It's on so often that people have stopped calling me to tell me they just saw me on telly playing the piano! That, I believe, was 2008, so I guess the BBC are two years more up-to-date than Dave. Still no real excuse... I think I'm typing in my sleep now...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
