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“What about Danse Macabre?” I suggested. In the midst of going back and forth with the two separate costuming teams, I was still trying to pin down the music for the act with Roberto.

“It’s good, but …. I don’t know,” Roberto said. I could just picture him chewing the skin next to his nail beds raw, the way he always does when he’s pondering a thorny artistic question. “Tell me why you want to use it.”

“It’s got such wonderful dynamic range,” I continued. “The sections in the piece definitely offer us a lot of structure in terms of the different costume elements and sequencing them, you know?”

“That’s true, but …” he sighed.

“It’s got those beautiful lilting waltz sections with the thinner instrumentation, it’s got a big bang at the start and the end…”

“Mm…”

“Not quite right?”

“No – I think – I think it’s that, if this were a group aerial act or something, then it would make sense to me. But it’s epic, you know? The full orchestra? The pace, the volume?”

“Oh, you think it’s too big?”

“Yeah, I’m worried that it just being you on stage, doing contortion – I think a piece like this would just smush you.”

“Ahhh, okay,” I said, catching on.

I paused, allowing myself a moment to mentally let go of this fragile thread of almost-certainty I thought I’d managed to pin down. “Back to the drawing board, then!” I said, finally.

“What about the Scheherezade violin solo?” Roberto asked. “That’s what Barbette used, right?”

“It is! We could go with that – I like the idea of using a piece of music that we know she used – but it’s kind of slow, kind of romantic. I’m worried it’ll be too boring over the course of the whole act.”

“We should ask Greg to make us a little sample.”

Greg – a Toronto composer and percussionist who had come up with the original music Troy and I performed to in Paris and China, as well as the delightful and disturbing soundscape for VACUUM – had actually just messaged me two short months prior, expressing his interest to work together again on whatever weirdness was up next in my life.

I wasn’t working with grant money support on this one, though, and pride myself on being able to offer my collaborators fair compensation off the top, no matter what.

... Argh, I thought, mentally adding hundreds of dollars to the budget I have floating in my brain for this project. Why couldn’t Danse Macabre have just been perfect magically all on its own?

Roberto was right, though. Greg could blend classical with new, electronic sounds in ways that fit the world that Roberto and I were building perfectly. It was the right card to pull. And with the way this piece was shaping up – there was little point in cutting corners. It would be worth it.

“Okay,” I said, making up my mind. It'll all work out. Just trust the process. “Let me try to rope Greg into this.”

******************

That's it for this week's writings, dear Patrons! Next week your instalments start off again sharply at 09:00am EST, this time with a focus on ~*~*adventures in costuming*~*~

[to be continued]

Comments

Jerome

My wife is a big fan of Alexandre Dumas. What few people realize nowadays is that he was publishing one page at a time, in daily newspapers, which partly explains why there is such rhythm in the writing, already keeping us engaged and eager to read more, page after page, You see where I am going with this, I am sure...

Jerome

PS. I was listening to Dance Macabre to jog my memory (yes, I do like this piece!) and saw the following post which made smile in wonder... Having spent an evening in a crazy storm with nearly continuous lightning, in an Airbnb a few weeks ago, I totally resonate (ah ah). Here is the post: "I vividly remember this piece from high school symphonic orchestra and (I play trombone). We were playing a selection of "scary classical" (Hall of the Mountain King, Mozart's Requiem in D Minor without choir) for a Halloween concert, which included this piece, and we had played it all the way through a few times before that practice. The school was surrounded on all sides by a thunderstorm. Really heavy rain, LOUD thunder, and lightning pounded relentlessly outside, and it got so bad that a powerline fell a few miles away, cutting power to the school. Some genius suggested that now would be the absolute perfect time to play the Danse Macabre (the favorite of the orchestra) fully, with what we would later refer to as the "proper setting." That kid counted us out, as the band director was walking around the room trying to find a flashlight. We started up the piece, played it the whole way through, Mother Nature cloaking us in darkness from the world outside. There was not enough light to see the sheet music well, so we played from memory and squinted when we needed to. Our 1st chair violinist took out his phone flashlight, but that was it. A couple seconds before @ in this recording, a bolt of lighting, then a clap of thunder, shook the building, rattling our stands and adding an unintentional gong roll. We later decided to add the gong roll to the piece, marked mp. We finished the piece and were rewarded with thunderous applause from thunder. It would be a few minutes until the power returned. We spent that time watching a performance of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, connected to our 3rd flutist's portable speaker. And when we performed Danse Macabre at the Halloween concert a week later, we turned the lights off in the auditorium. The best part, however, was that at the performance our timpanist was instructed to add random blows from the drums every once in a while."