Today, for a change, I’ll be brief!

We usually expect that music written in a minor key will be sad and gloomy.

But consider “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” It’s in a minor key, yet downright jolly.

And we usually expect that, unless it’s by J.S. Bach, a fugue will be a dry affair, an overlong intellectual exercise.

But consider the “Fugue” that opens my little bouquet of miniatures for violin and cello, entitled Convivial Suite. It ain’t Bach, but it ain’t half bad. Not dry. Juicy.

Short, too. Less than 2.5 minutes.

Though the key is D minor, the mood would please Ye Merry Gentlemen, God rest them.

Just listen to violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King play “Fugue" from Convivial Suite, by clicking here:

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

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I venture to say that, in your circle of acquaintances, there is not a more ardent fan of Sherlock Holmes than the undersigned.

When I say, “Sherlock Holmes,” I narrowly refer to the Conan Canon, the sixty short stories and the four novels lavished upon us by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And to the television series. Not the current one, please no. The Sherlock series I love is the one produced by the BBC between 1984 and 1994, with the incomparable Jeremy Brett in the title role. Recently, I’ve been watching that series all over again, in sequence.

This marks my fifth or sixth viewing of the series since those happy days when our kids were infants and we’d get them settled by 8pm on Thursday nights so as to watch the latest episode. Scrupulously accurate, lovingly made, they delight me as much as ever. (The Holmes episodes, I mean, not the kids, though they also delight me as much as ever.)

I mention my enthusiasm for Sherlockiana because the music I want to share with you today strikes me as Holmesian in several respects. I wonder if you’ll agree?

It’s the Waltz from my Convivial Suite for violin and cello, written in 1999, exactly a hundred years, come to think of it, after the era in which the Holmes stories take place. It’s a suite in seven short movements:
I. Fugue
II. Waltz
III. Blues
IV. March
V. Adagio
VI. Finale

We know Sherlock played the violin, and very skillfully, too, but what about Holmes’ friend and colleague, Dr. Watson? He never claims the ability to play a musical instrument. But what if he did and just never got round to mentioning it? Might we imagine Dr. John H. Watson passing a rainy evening playing the cello alongside Sherlock’s violin? What sort of music would find favor with that convivial duo?

And they are a convivial duo, one of the great convivial duos, right up there with Huck & Jim, Frodo & Sam, Bertie & Jeeves.

I wrote this convivial "Convivial Suite" for two pairs of friends who enjoy playing the violin and cello together. One was a pair of Cincinnatians, Christine Nichols (violinist) and Bernice Robinson (cellist). Bernice suggested the idea and I was toying with it when another cellist friend, Terry King, happened to make the same suggestion, asking for a piece he could could play with his violinist wife, Laura Bossert.

Because it was written for friends, I decided to call the piece “Convivial Suite.”

The Waltz movement is the most Sherlockian of the set. Why? Because it shares many of the qualities we love in the best of Watson’s (really Doyle’s) accounts of his adventures with Holmes.

First, this little Waltz is cozy. All the Holmes stories begin in the cozy comfort of that famous apartment at 221B Baker Street. We’re given delectable bits of information about it; the Persian slipper on the mantle in which Holmes stores his pipe tobacco, the bullet holes in the wall that spell out “V R” (Victoria Regina), the chemistry set, the gasogene (a Victorian-era device for producing carbonated water), the files of past cases, the newspapers strewn on the floor, the comings and goings of the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, who brings in meals and announces strange visitors.

I love to imagine the conversations Mrs. Hudson must have had with her friends. She must have had friends, though they are never mentioned in the stories. Good friends, admiring and envious friends, elderly widows like herself, landladies. She must have held her circle spellbound with accounts of the eccentricities of her famous second-floor tenant and his bizarre, outlandish clients.

We are made to feel all the cozier by the reminders of the weather, which is usually foul; there is rain and fog and the splash and clop of hooves resounds on the wet pavements but a few feet away. Still, in this apartment, we are warm, dry, well fed and safe. I say “we” because Doyle contrives to give us the feeling that we are present, that there are three of us there: Holmes, Watson and you, we, us, the gentle Reader.

Then arrives a visitor with a curious tale and a problem. Evil is a-stir and malevolent doings demand a close investigation. We are off! As Holmes says, quoting Shakespeare, "The game is afoot!”

Cozy as the music is, I think you’ll find that there is something a little odd about it, too. A certain savor of the exotic and sinister. The tales are replete with the exotic and the sinister. Curious weapons, secret poisons, arcane codes. Outlandish animals, too. A mongoose, a killer orangutan. The Speckled Band turns out to be a venomous snake, native to India, who, we are told, feeds on milk and can be trained to respond to the low whistle of its master. Then there is the chilling reference to the Giant Rat of Sumatra, the ghastly account of which is never explicated because, we are told, “the world is not yet prepared.” One wonders what preparations must be undertaken by the world before Doyle deems it ready, at last, for this story to be told.

The music? Well, listen and see if you don’t hear something suggestive of the vast world that lies “out there," far removed from the calm. orderly, habitable handful of acres where our daily lives are lived, our steady habits prevail, where we contentedly earn and munch upon our quotidian bread.

Oh, reading those stories, we catch a glimpse of how very much more there is in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy.

Mystery and suspense are always at the core of the doings of Watson and Holmes. Holmes grasps what is happening far more quickly than Watson, of whom Holmes says, “You see, Watson, but you do not observe!” All we have to go on is what Watson tells us. He sees well enough but, we feel, he sees no more than we would see, should we be so fortunate as he, accompanying Holmes on his adventures. No fool, Watson. A good, stout, dependable man, a brave and loyal friend. Neither he nor we can hope to be as brilliant as Holmes but we can do our best to live up to the example Watson sets for us; we can strive to emulate his sturdy qualities.

Well, there is an air of mystery about this music. Suspense, even. A little.

At the end of each story, as with the coda of a well-crafted piece of music, comes closure. The mystery is explained and solved; Holmes methods are revealed. Justice is served.

We demand that fiction ends with a sense of closure and we demand no less of music. When the music stops, we must feel that the expression is complete, that the ideas presented at the beginning have been sufficiently developed and explored, that a decisive and final conclusion has been reached, that nothing remains to be said.

Achieving closure in music is a tricky business; I am at a loss to say how it is done. I could not advise a young composer on how to fashion a sense of closure at the end of a piece of music. All I can say is that I know it when I hear it. Instinct, I suppose, for want of a better word, is what enables a composer to know just when and how to end a piece….

… and just when and how to end a little email essay like this one.

To hear violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King playing the Waltz from my Convivial Suite, click on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Apr. 30, 2017

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Hello everybody --

As I write this, I'm imagining all of you sitting here with me in our little living room. It's a heart warming thought, but of course you'd never fit. Reminds me of the old joke:

"Will you join me in a cup of tea?"

"We'd never fit!"

ha.

Speaking of jokes, today I'm inviting you to listen to violinist Laurie Bossert and cellist Terry King playing the "March" movement from a suite I wrote specifically for them, entitled "Convivial Suite."

I'm going for humor here. It's intended to be funny. Not laugh-out-loud, slap-your-knee, bend-over funny. Just a short piece that warrants a short chuckle.

Time was, humor was a regular feature of concert music. Haydn's works are full of funny touches. But as Romanticism climaxed in the 19th century and current events grew so overwhelmingly grim in the 20th century, humor as a device in 'serious' music was abandoned.

Oh, here and there you find some ironic humor in Prokofiev, bitter humor in Shostakovich, broad American humor in Charles Ives. But that's about it.

Then comes Peter Schickele, a.k.a. PDQ Bach, a composer who has made humor his centerpiece. I make no bones about it: Schickele is my favorite living American composer. The man's a genius, albeit a comic genius.

This March for violin and cello isn't nearly as funny as Schickele's best stuff, but it prompts a chuckle. The Convivial Suite features seven movements and six of them are light and funny. One, the second-to-last, is tragic and deeply felt; I put it there to contrast with the other movements, to serve as a respite from chuckling.

Most of the humor in this recording comes from the way the musicians play the music. All those little glissandi, bows bouncing on strings, the sudden extreme louds and softs, particularly the very last two notes of the piece, the first very loud, the last extremely soft. Funny!

The tunes are original but there's a section about 3/4 through that always sounds to me like a quotation from "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey?" -- the part where the words go: "... with nothin' but a fine tooth comb." You might hear this, too. Or you might not. Either way it's a fun piece and requires only 2 minutes, 9 seconds of your time.

To hear "March" from "Convivial Suite for violin and cello," click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH

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Happy Fourth of July weekend.

Last week’s email featured philosophy; this week humor is my intent. In any case, now and always, as Prospero says at the end of The Tempest, “my project was to please."

Four American composers -- Charles Ives, Roy Harris, Samuel Barber and the undersigned -- have something in common (besides being composers who are American.)

Can you guess what it is?

Greatness?

Don’t make me sigh. I wish.

It’s this: The spelling of our first and last names are readily discernible. Hearing our names, even just once, almost any American could spell them correctly.

In our time, when millions are agog with googling, it’s handy for a composer to possess a name the correct spelling of which can be readily rendered.

Say someone hears my music on the radio. Curious, the listeners, bless their hearts, having experienced the name aurally and but never visually, can crank up a search engine and, in the ‘search' field, type in what they think they heard:

s o - w a s h

Bingo! Bull’s eye! Pay-dirt! Eureka! Voilà!!

O brave new world that has such gizmos in it.

Yet it all depends upon the listener/searcher being able to spell my name. Easy! That’s why it’s good to have a name that’s stupid-simple. SO-wash.

Stephen Foster came close but people stumbled on the "ph." He was adamant. "Stop calling me Steve!” he would shout, pounding the table, making the old ladies jump. “It's STEPHEN, I tell you! NOT STEVE! STEPHEN! With a PEE! and an AITCH!"

His friends thought he was kidding. "Take it easy, Steve," they would say, pouring him another mint julep. It put him into a mental state which was nameless at the time, but which modern-day nerve specialists have termed ‘the Heebie-jeebies.’

An American listener could go bonkers trying to google the Great Composers’ names if all he had to go by was the pronunciations he was hearing on the local classical music radio station.

If you didn’t know the spellings and only heard the names pronounced on the radio, how would YOU attempt to spell the following?

Hidin’
Moatsart
Baytohvun
Shoomun
Showpan
Broms
Vahgner
Poocheenee
Vairdee
Duhvorzhacque
Clawed W.C.

(That last one makes me think of the damage a grizzly could wreak a British restroom: to wit, a badly clawed WC).

When I was a radio broadcaster, we had fun with composer’s names. We would deliberately follow a piece of music by Irving Fine with a piece by Vincent D’Indy. That way, we could say, “Coming up in the next half hour, music by Fine and D’Indy." (Fine and dandy, get it?)

Same with Thomas Arne and Karl Orff. “Coming up: music by Arne and Orff.” (On and off.)

Well, now in my old age …. “as the days dwindle down to a precious few … "

(In case you don’t recognize it, that’s a quote from the morose popular ballad “September Song” … remember?

… then there’s that bit about “the sunburned hands I used to hold.” What is with that line, by the way? It makes me imagine her shouting, “Ouch!” and then, "Watch it, you idiot! Can’t you see that my hands are sunburned?") …

It's a comfort, in my old age, to know that radio listeners can more readily google the names of Ives, Harris, Barber and Sowash than those of almost any other composers.

In that one respect, among composers, we’re tied for first place: Charlie, Roy, Sam and me.

Funny.

To hear something funny, take in violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King playing the Finale from my Convivial Suite, by clicking on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
July 2, 2017

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98 seconds. How deep can a piece of music go in 98 seconds? Can it seem complete after just 98 seconds?

Consider a poem of just 16 lines, 12 of them in 3 syllables. How deep can it go? Can it seem complete?

Every now and then my friend Dick Ferrell gifts me with a poem. We’ve been pals since 1961, in the springtime of our lives, when I joined the Boy Scouts and Dick was my patrol leader. I looked up to him then and I look up to him now. He gets a lot of things right.

Now we’re in the winter of our lives. Dick is almost 70 and I’ve just turned 68.

'Seein’ as how' January is upon us, here’s a wintry poem by Dick Ferrell, 16 lines long, followed by a wintry piece of music by you-know-who, 98 seconds long.

I will rest for yet another winter.
Books I'll read
Words I'll write
Brandy sip.

And I will place a log upon the fire.
Glowing coals
Pop and crackle
Ashes deep.

I'll follow the aroma to the kitchen.
Sugar cookies
Pumpkin pie
Coffee rich.

And I will lie snugly on the sofa.
Warmest blanket
Darkest night
Deepest sleep.

To hear violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King playing the Adagio movement from my Convivial Suite, click on the link above.

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

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Writers write for many reasons: to earn money, to achieve fame, to gain credibility, to argue a point.

Not me. I have just finished writing The Blue Rock, my eighth book, purely for the fun of it. It will be a present for my ‘friends and fans.’ I hope to divert, entertain and inspire ‘youse guys’ in appreciation of your kindly willingness to let me share my life’s work with you via emails, sheet music CDs and books. I hope to start mailing free copies of The Blue Rock to many of you by late October.

Composing is different. My music never argues a point, gains me no ‘cred,’ has brought me only modest fame and a negligible amount of ‘happy cabbage.’

In truth, I have composed for one reason only: because a musical idea seized me and would not cease pestering me until I had brought it to reality.

A little tune comes to me. From where? From my unconscious? From God? You tell me. I prefer the latter but either answer works.

It ‘plays’ in my head. I hum and whistle it. It gives me no peace until I jot it down. Then comes the whispers: do this, do that, expand me, turn me upside down. Oh, and here’s another tune, it says, to serve as a contrast.

What instrument shall play this tune? Or should it be sung by a vocalist or a choir? If the latter, I must find or devise words for it, a separate challenge.

I play the new music over and over, both in my head and at a keyboard. Sometimes it awakens me in the night or comes to me in the earliest morning hours as I am arising from the arms of Morpheus. More whispers follow. They are increasingly insistent: try this, try that. Is that really the way you it want to go? That section is weak. Don’t give that line to the violin; have the cello play it instead, way up high. There’s something wrong with the ending; it’s too abrupt or it goes on too long.

It’s exciting! There is nothing so engaging as creative work. When I am in the throes of it, I forget everything else.

To my way of thinking, these whisperings come from God, partner in all creative work. When the whisperings cease, I know the piece is finished.

Is there a relation between this way of thinking and a specific religion? Taoism? Christianity? Lao Tzu and Jesus said a lot of great things but if they were composers we never heard about it. I grope my way through the blessed and quiet darkness that exists between my faith as a mystic and the dogmas of religion. For me, trying to figure out how to think about all this is one of the most intriguing aspects of my life.

Given what I wrote above, y’all might think me lofty, spiritual and humorless. Let me offer a corrective to that third adjective by sharing a short and chuckle-prompting piece.

It’s the “Blues” movement from my little bouquet of miniatures for violin and cello titled Convivial Suite. Light-hearted, it was written for friends.

It’s a frowsy floozie of a movement, a see-through slip of a piece. I love the oily way these two musicians play it … with a gooey, slurpy, slippery sound, not the clean, crisp sonorities we usually expect from those two elegant instruments.

Surely they smiled when they recorded this music. I find their rendition “a hoot and a roar.” See what you think.

To hear violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King play “Blues" from Convivial Suite, click on the link above.

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

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Life is difficult. Maybe you’ve noticed. Humor is important, necessary, even essential in the best of times, let alone times like these.

I want to share a humorous performance of a humorous piece of music with you today, inviting you, below, to listen to husband and wife, violinist Laurie Bossert and cellist Terry King, playing the "March" movement from "Convivial Suite," written specifically for them.

But first, some verbal humor to warm you on a cold February day. My good friend, Pat Marriott, is a man of parts. He is writer and a radio broadcaster in Wilmington, NC. Bless his soul, he often programs my music. Too, he is an editor who has gifted me with his services. Pat has worked closely with me, tactfully suggesting improvements to my manuscripts, helping me bring my last three books to completion and tangible reality.

Pat sends me cheery messages, sometimes very funny. Here’s a recent one:

“I have a curmudgeonly literary hobby: for 50+ years I've been collecting "warning labels." Some of them are truly cautionary, like the one on a mattress I bought that said, "Use only under competent supervision."

“How did this get started? After I bought my first house, I bought a power lawnmower. On top of the unit was a prominent decal that said "Blade turns when engine is running." Since then I've been writing down every one I encounter.

“Most fall into the "vain quest for the perfectly safe world" category, such as the one I saw in a third-floor motel room that said, "Caution: balcony is above ground level," or the one on a baby stroller that said, "Remove child before folding."

Here is a selection of some of the gems in Pat’s collection:

SEARS HAIR DRYER: Do not use while sleeping.

DIAL BAR SOAP: Use like regular soap.

NYTOL SLEEP-AID: Warning: may cause drowsiness.

AMERICAN AIRLINES PEANUTS: Instructions: open packet, eat nuts.

ROAD SIGN IN SOUTH CAROLINA: Caution: Water on Road During Rain

CLEANING INSTRUCTIONS ON A CHILD’S T-SHIRT: Remove from child before washing.

GOLD MEDAL FLOUR: Flour is raw. Please cook thoroughly before enjoying.

ON A CURLING IRON: Do not insert into any orifice.

CAUTION: Product may be hot when heated.

WARNING: No swimming if you can’t swim.

NABISCO EASY CHEESE: For best results, remove cap.

LIVESTOCK CASTRATION RINGS: For animal use only.

SIGN ON LIBRARY DOOR: Library is closed until opening time.

For me, these were “a hoot and a roar.”

Let’s turn to a piece of my music that is intended to be funny. Not laugh-out-loud, slap-your-knee, bend-over funny, like Pat’s ‘warning labels.’ Just a short piece that warrants a gentle chuckle.

I don’t claim all the credit for the delight you will find in this performance. Most of the credit must go to the musicians, the subtlety of their musical gestures, those little glissandi, the way they bounce their bows on the strings, the sudden, extreme louds and softs, particularly during the very last two notes of the piece: the first very loud, the last extremely soft. Funny!

The tunes in this march are original but there's a section at ms. 54 that always sounds to me like a quotation from "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey?" -- the part of the song where the lyrics go: "I’ll do the cookin’ ... I’ll pay the rent." I didn’t consciously insert Mr. Bailey into this piece; I only noticed it afterwards; it doesn’t mean anything in particular. It’s not a “quotation” in the Ivesian sense. It’s just fun. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

To hear the "March" from "Convivial Suite for violin and cello," click on the link above.

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

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In last week’s email, I described my attempt to find a suitable title for a newly completed piece I’ve written for cello and piano.

Several of you kindly replied, offering good ideas for titles. One of these was “Winter’s Last Storm.” It seemed nearly perfect though I changed it to:

“The Last Storm of Winter.”

I like this title because it promises an experience of The Sublime. You must know about “The Sublime” in art … J.M.W. Turner’s depictions of storms, fires, massive waterfalls and tempest-tossed ships cracking apart … a vision of Nature's most extreme dynamic energy. In America, a little later, we have Thomas Cole, the Hudson River School and, later still, Albert Bierstadt’s ecstatic renderings of Yellowstone, Yosemite with skies alternating between sun and storm. The Sublime is High Romanticism and the word might be applied this new piece, written in a neo-Romantic style.

This title also has an echo of “The Last Rose of Summer” … a famous painting in our Cincinnati Art Museum. This piece is the opposite of that! Which renders the title faintly comical … but that’s OK.

The title also has a feeling of farewell … The Last of the Mohicans, The Last Picture Show, Custer’s Last Stand, etc.

Thus titled, this piece is about the last gasp of Winter, the ‘death’ of Winter. Is it sad? No. Who is sorry to see Winter pass? We want it to be over. Good riddance. So one last Winter storm is a blessing because it means that Spring is at hand. The character of this piece is fundamentally positive, for all its dark energy. I am not the man to wallow in despair, musically or otherwise.

I think a person sitting in an audience waiting for a chamber music concert to begin, perusing their program, coming upon that title, could correctly anticipate what sort of piece it was going to be. Hearing the actual music, they will not be disappointed. They will perceive a reconciliation of opposites: the winter storm interrupted by harbingers of Spring.

Understand: every note of this piece was written BEFORE I found a suitable title. While I was at work on it, I had no thought of winter’s end or stormy weather. Yet, now that it is thus titled, I know that people will hear howling winds and thunderbolts in the music. Listening, they will envision bare trees buffeted by gusts of wind and snow piled into drifts. Some will congratulate me for having expressed a winter storm so accurately.

There is an irony to this. The apparent meaning of the music -- the last storm of winter -- is at odds with the actual meaning, which has nothing to do with winter. It’s a matter of notes, intervals, harmonies, rhythms and musical architecture. Yet, to tell the truth, when I listen to this piece now, I envision a winter storm. Me! I ought to know better! But, heck, it’s fun.

I don’t feel hypocritical. A good programmatic title is a gift; it invites listeners to use their imaginations as they listen. It gives them a context, a point of reference; it guides them through this particular assembly of musical elements.

Most pieces of music are identified only by non-programmatic titles: a description of the ensemble, the key in which the music is scored, perhaps an opus number. “String Quartet #12 in A minor, Op. 132.” That’s all you get. When a movement is singled out, the only title usually the tempo indication. “Allegro.”

Such is the case with the music I want to share today, titled, simply, “Adagio.” As you listen, you will be at liberty to imagine anything you like. You will not be restricted to envisioning a winter storm, for example. In a way, the lack of a programmatic title is liberating.

The suite which includes this music is in six movements; the other five are light-hearted. This one is somber, even tragic. It is also very beautiful and beautifully performed.

To hear violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King playing the Adagio movement from my Convivial Suite, click on the link above.

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

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“The Frog Prince Re-Imagined”

That is the name of a new ballet which features my music.

About a year ago I composed a piece for violin, viola, cello and piano titled, “The Frog and the Princess,” a tone poem telling the story of “The Princess and the Frog” from the frog’s point of view.

I shared the piece with a friend, telling him that I thought the music would make a good score for an animated cartoon. He agreed but said that it could also be a ballet, which hadn’t occurred to me.

I sent an mp3 of the MIDI file of the piece to Sandra Peticolas, a dance instructor and choreographer who lives and ‘does her thing’ in Lafayette IN. She is a fan of my music and has become a friend as well.

In the last few years, she has featured my music in three of the ballet performances she has organized, most recently in late May when she premiered a new ballet, titled “The Frog Prince Revisited,” scored to my piano quartet “The Frog and the Princess” as well as some movements from my “Convivial Suite” for violin and cello.

There is a lot of spirit and excitement and joy and passion in this production. Yes, the dancers are young and ‘amateur’ -- let us remember that the word “amateur” derives from “amare,” the Latin verb “to love.” I myself am an amateur composer and most of the people who perform my music are amateur musicians. An “amateur,” then, is someone who does something for the love of it. When I saw this video I was moved to tears in places.

The movements from the "Convivial Suite" are recordings made by “real" musicians while the rest of the music you’ll hear is only the MIDI file, i.e., a computer’s rendering of the score using synthesized sounds.

The ballet has several “big moments.” One comes when the Frog is transformed into a prince (at 12:42). Another is when the Frog and the Princess fall in love and their two contrasting themes are combined (at 17:40). Another is when the wedding ceremony commences) and, of course, in the grand finale (at 18:44) when the two themes intertwine.

I love seeing all the youngsters, the little tadpoles and insect-dancers, having so much fun. I love the Frog’s opening dance, reminiscent of a long-legged frog leaping. And I love how the Frog never quite gives up his “frog-dance,” always remaining true to himself. And most of all I lvoe how the Princess, initially put off by the Frog, eventually comes to love him and to do a bit of the frog-dance with him.

I was moved but also laughing because of the joy of it.

There are so many deft touches in the choreography. For example, when the frog shoots out a red silk scarf as you realize that he is shooting his tongue toward the young insect-dancers in hopes of catching one of them as a meal.

And the frequent images of a film counting down, reminding us that what we are watching is, in one sense, very much like a silent movie with plenty of action and music but no audible dialogue. That is an inspiration! I never thought about the similarities between ballet and the silent cinema. But there they are!

Hope Browning, the high-school aged dancer who plays the part of the Frog, is so convincing that, until the Transformation scene, I really thought she was a boy. She is convincing as a male Frog -- comic and graceful simultaneously.

Noelia Yeomans, the Princess, is wonderful, too. Sincere, yes, but with the manner of the heroines of the silent cinema … a little melodramatic, “over the top” in a good way.

I love to remember that this production was presented in a small town in Indiana and that the music is by a composer who is from a small town in northern Ohio. It all fits, seems right, feels apt.

I want to thank Sandra for her enthusiastic response to my work. It means so much to me. The video Sandra made of the ballet can be viewed at this website:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlGLUDmfowE

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The title of a piece of music prompts expectations.

Consider, for example, “Fugue in D minor.”

D minor? Uh-oh.

We can reasonably expect that music written in the key of D minor will be tragic and darkly monumental. It’s the key of Bach’s famous Toccata and Fugue, of the overture to “Don Giovanni” and of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. But wait! What about the Ode to Joy? Nothing tragic about that. No, but that is the final movement of the symphony which arrives in D major, the musical ideas having journeyed there from the opening movement which is in D minor and very much an expression of the tragic

Still, things like music and art and literature were that simple, what fun would they be?

D minor is also, usually, the key of in which “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” is sung. It’s in a minor key, sure, yet downright jolly.

Then there is that word “Fugue.” It is impossible to define the word succinctly. I know because I’ve tried. One of my closest friends asked me only a month ago, “What is a fugue?” I know one where I hear one, but I have to confess, I floundered when I tried to describe it to my friend. He does not read music and does not understand what is meant by a “key” let alone a “fugue.” After a time, I stopped verbalizing. We went to his laptop and brought up a video of the Canadian Brass playing Bach’s Fugue in G minor. Listening made for a more comprehensible definition than all my verbal contrivances.

From that anecdote you may rightly expect that a fugue (unless it’s by J.S. Bach) might be a dry affair, an exercise in counterpoint, overlong and overly intricate.

But consider my own little “Fugue in D minor.” It opens my little bouquet of miniatures for violin and cello, collectively titled “Convivial Suite.”

It ain’t Bach, but it ain’t half bad. Not dry. Juicy. Not tragic. Almost comic.

Short, too. Less than 2.5 minutes.

And although the key is admittedly D minor, the good humor of this music would please Ye Merry Gentlemen, God rest ‘em. , every one.

Please listen to violinist Laura Bossert and cellist Terry King as they exuberantly perform it, click on the link above.

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

I'd love to know what you think about this music; reply if you're inclined. But please don't feel that you are expected to reply. I'm just glad to share my work in this way.

As always, feel free to forward this message to friends who might enjoy it.

Anyone can be on my little list of recipients for these mpFrees (as I call these musical emails). To sign up, people can email me at rick@sowash.com, sending just one word: "Yes." I'll know what it means.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Feb. 2, 2025
www.sowash.com

P.S.

A friend told me, “Only you can do this project -- but you can’t do it alone.”

Two and a half weeks ago I asked my friends and fans to contribute toward the cost of recording about 500 minutes of music I’ve written in the last two years. Over the past six months, we’ve gotten about 200 minutes of it “in the can” and are eager to record the rest. The musicians are recruited, the studio engaged. What’s needed is cash to fuel the process.

51 of you have responded so far, contributing over $11,500. Thank you!

It’s a huge boost and well over half of the amount that will be needed.

Please consider sending a contribution. Over the next few years, you will hear these recordings when featured in these free Sunday emails.

Contributing via Paypal, use my email address: rick@sowash.com.
For Venmo, my username is: @rick-sowash.
Or send a good old check to me at:
6836 School Street, Cincinnati, OH 45244.

Thank you!