Hello —

Some whimsical soul has suggested that, for God, music is ice cream.

Here’s an excerpt from a humorous little story I wrote, trying to imagine God’s response to human creativity:

<< God rubbed Their hands together in delight, just thinking about it. “It will be exactly the same kind of fun We had when We asked Adam to name the animals!” God elbowed One Another and burst out laughing. “Just listen to some of the names he came up with! Such inventiveness! We’re telling you: We were impressed!

“Names! Names! Some long and preposterous!
Hippopotamus! and Rhinoscerous!
Platypus and Octopus!
Ocelot and Kangaroo!
Marmoset and Cockatoo!
And this is just to name a few!

“Short names, too! --
Cow and Moose! Rabbit! Goose!
Sheep and Ox! Weasel! Fox!
Stag and Doe! Elk and Crow!
Stork and Frog! Skunk and Hog!
Ape and Snail! Squid and Quail!
Lark and Wren! Hawk and Hen!
Dog and Cat! Mouse and R-r-r-rat!

“Why, We could never have come up with those, not in 13.82 billion years.” God slapped Their knees and bent over, having a good, long laugh. >>

Back in 2007, when a delightfully florid, old-fashioned tune came a-calling, I scored it for trumpet and piano so that my trumpeter friend Chris Miller could play it in our church. I titled it “Gelato per Dio.” That’s my attempt at Italian, intended to mean: “Ice Cream for God.” I wanted the piece to have an Italian title because the tune reminds me of Puccini; the piece can be taken as a mischievous homage to that great composer.

The trumpet version has not been recorded but you can hear it played by clarinetist Laurel Bennett and collaborative pianist Carol Alexander. click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the full score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Nov. 27, 2016

🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶

Composers are fascinated by Music Theory. I came under its spell at the age of twelve. I passed hours at the piano, exploring the ‘circle of fifths’ by working through chord progressions in all 12 keys. I discerned that intervals -- the distances between notes -- are the molecules of music, each with its own rich and unique library of metaphors.

A rising perfect fifth is monumental, expansive, heroic and clean. Why?

A diminished seventh chord is unstable, sinister, so twisted that it begs for a straightening. Why?

The Phrygian mode is alien, exotic, subtly malevolent. Why?

When my head hit the pillow at night, I would think my way through musical equations until I fell asleep: A flat is to D flat as E is to A; F major is to D minor as B major is to G sharp minor.

Modes, too. What notes comprise a Dorian mode with F sharp as the tonic? or a Lydian mode on A flat? How to move, smoothly or abruptly, from one key to another? It sure beat counting sheep.

I felt like a detective, a scientist and a forensic theologian; discovering the structures of music, I traced the fingerprints God left, hand-fashioning Creation.

But there were larger questions to which I could find no answers:

Who decided all this?

What is it about music that compels our attention?

What does music mean?

Most of all, I wanted to know HOW. How does music mean?

Music Theory raised those Big Questions but supplied no answers.

Most people fear and despise Music Theory. I see it in their faces. If I say that a motif is repeated a tri-tone higher, caracoling between E flat minor and A major, opposite extremes on the circle of fifths, people’s eyes glaze over; they change the subject. Few music-lovers can tolerate a close examination of what happens, technically, in a piece of music.

Some may fear that a technical knowledge of music will lessen their emotional response to what they are hearing.

To be fair, maybe it might, for some, a little. They prefer to keep ‘left brain’ separate from ‘right brain.’ No harm in that.

But does knowing the ingredients of a dish or understanding the techniques employed in preparing it affect our experience of the aroma and flavor?

Even musicians, most of them, dislike Music Theory. How neglected, abandoned, sad and lonely the subject of Music Theory must feel. I feel sorry for it. The only people who really love it are composers and we are but few.

I remember trying to explain to a musician a little of what was happening in one of my pieces. He interrupted me with an impatient air, saying, “Just tell me if you want it louder or softer or faster or slower. I don’t care about the rest of that stuff.”

Why is this? Why would musicians, of all people, eschew Music Theory?

It think it is because, for musicians, Music Theory comes AFTER the music has been, long since, invented, notated and printed on sheet music which nows sits on the music stand in front of them. A musician’s response? Tune your instrument and play the notes! For them, THAT’s exciting, that’s where the fun lies. For them, the Music Theory is irrelevant, “a done deal,” and a technical explication of the composition is just boring. Sorry.

For a composer, it’s the other way about. Music Theory comes FIRST. It introduces the apprentice-composer to the tools and materials of the craft of composition BEFORE any ideas are conceived and written down.

When, as an incipient composer, I first entered the realm of Music Theory, I felt I was entering a master carver’s workshop with only a dim idea of the craft that was practiced there. Mysterious tools hung on the walls and were arranged on the workbench. Figurative chisels, hammers, planes, a sanding block, a tape measure. Pots of glue to hold things together, varnish to make them glisten. A dazzling variety of blocks of wood in many shapes, colors and textures were near to hand, awaiting the carver’s blade.

I yearned to learn how to manipulate those tools, how to carve those blocks into musical artifacts with pleasing shapes. I was impelled by the conviction that I would, one day, write wonderful stuff!

Because I was scarcely more than a child and every tomorrow seemed filled with limitless potential, I thought that very soon I would write music that would move listeners to “cry with happiness, love with desperation, feel they understand the meaning of their existence upon this earth.”

Grandiose notions find their way into the heads of the young composers who dare to enter that workshop!

Now, sixty years later, a master of sorts, I am soon going to escort other folks into that workshop and try to share some of what I know about the work that is done there.

This coming Thursday, I begin teaching an eight-week course in Music Theory at the University of Cincinnati’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute.

The course is not titled, “Music Theory.” No, the Institute’s director deemed that title too off-putting -- and I agreed. We considered several alternatives before settling on a better name for the course: “How Music Means.”

A better name yet would be “How Music Metaphorizes.” Except that “metaphorize” is an arcane, archaic verb. Who talks like that? Accurate it may be, but as a name for the course, it would be even more dissuasive than “Music Theory.”

Truly, between you and me, regardless of how weird the verb is, it describes precisely what music does: music metaphorizes. As all listeners instinctively know, musical art offers metaphors in sound for the experiences of life. Else why would we love it so? If it didn’t, we would give it no more consideration than we give to random traffic noises.

But ... How? How? How does music do that?

That is what we’ll attempt to discover in the course.

If you live in the Cincinnati area, consider enrolling. You can find general information about OLLI at: www.uc.edu/ce/olli

For now, let’s turn to one modest little tune by the undersigned.

Back in 2007, when a delightfully florid, old-fashioned, rising-and-falling tune occurred to me, I scored it for trumpet and piano so that my trumpeter friend Chris Miller could play it in our church services.

I titled the piece, “Gelato per Dio,” my attempt at Italian, intended to mean: “Ice Cream for God.” (For God, in case you didn’t know, music is like ice cream.) I wanted the piece to have an Italian title because the tune reminds me of Puccini; the piece is a mischievous homage to that great composer. It does “Music Theory stuff” in the manner of Puccini.

Puccini-esque, it’s more than a little “over the top” -- I make no apologies!

The trumpet version has not been recorded but you can hear it played by clarinetist Laurel Bennett and collaborative pianist Carol Alexander. As you listen, you may imagine a trumpet if you please. click on the link above.
http://www.sowash.com/recordings/mp3/gelato.mp3

If you are a clarinetist or a trumpeter and would like a PDF of your part, just ask. Meanwhile, to see a PDF of the full score, which you can print if you wish, click on the link above.