What would a composer’s self-portrait sound like?

Recalling the self-portraits of Rembrandt, I posed myself that question. It led to more questions.

Rembrandt left over a hundred self-portraits. In some, he depicts himself as a buffoon, a clown, an idiot, grimacing grotesquely or drunkenly holding high a glass of spirits. In others, he appears as a philosopher, a magus, palette and brushes in hand, a canvas before him, his face half in shadow, master of an arcane craft.

Which ‘self’ would I portray?

This fluctuating and intermittent creature we call our “self” is by no means simple. It includes the following: First, the person we think we are. Second, what we imagine the world might think we are. Third, what the world really thinks we are (if the world thinks of us at all, which is unlikely). Fourth, a curious beast, altogether strange and amazing to the first three, our actual “self”!

These are but four of our many “selves.” We are an aggregate of hundreds.

In one sense every piece of music is a self-portrait of the composer. But there is no genre of musical self-portaits, no works to which I could have turned for precedence and guidance. As a guide I had only my own feelings for what is appealing or moving or at least somewhat interesting.

At first I imagined a single movement. It would be scored, of course, for clarinet and cello (my favorite instruments) with a piano in the background. It would be my Trio #8 for that combination of instruments. Remembering Rembrandt’s examples, should I depict myself as a Fool? or as a Sage?

Then it struck me. Both! Two movements! The first would be subtitled “Self-portrait as a Fool.” The second, “Self-portrait as a Sage.”

The “Fool" movement came easily enough. I’m very aware of myself as a blundering blockhead, a silly jester.

But a “Sage?" Who, me? Really?

What sagacity can I claim? The question prompted thought.

A sage, it seems to me, reconciles opposites, perceives their sources, then attempts transcendence. Consider the greatest of opposites: Good & Evil.

During these recent, troublous times, I have asked myself, more frequently than ever, How shall Evil be explained? What is wrong with us? Why can’t we behave ourselves and take care of things?

I think Evil results from a bad choice many of us make.

At some point, we conclude: “Life is difficult.”

From there, in ways large and small, we settle on one of two paths.

Either we say, “Life is difficult: I’ve got to watch out for myself.”

Or we say, “Life is difficult: We’ve got to watch out for each other.”

People who watch out for themselves cherish above all else the ‘freedom’ to accrue riches and power, resisting and bitterly resenting attempts by anyone or anything to constrain them. Evil arises from this.

Contrariwise, people who watch out for each other cherish above all else the advancement of the common good. Good arises from this.

We see, every day, how this choice plays out in politics, the economy, the environment, personal relations, everything.

It was this insight that led me, five years ago, to begin writing and sharing these weekly emails with friends and fans and to institute a policy of giving away my music, free of charge, to anybody who is interested in discovering it. I hope my doing so will advance, in small measure, ‘the common good.’

The despair that arises from a stark contemplation of the roots of Evil led me to write my "Self-portrait as a Sage" in that darkest of keys, the deep indigo E flat minor. The inherent challenge of moving, musically and metaphorically, from feelings induced by contemplating the roots of Evil to those arising from a contemplation of the Good, led me to find my way from E flat minor to C major. Then back to E flat minor, seein' has how Evil won’t be taking its leave anytime soon.

And that statement, mind you, is coming from an optimist!

Remember Walt Whitman. No one was ever more hopeful than he, for the human race, for democracy. Yet even Walt, observing the wicked selfishness of his fellow sojourners, shook his head sadly and asked, “Who shall soothe these feverish children?"

To hear my "Self-portrait as a Sage,” the second movement of my Trio #8 for clarinet, cello and piano, subtitled “Two Self-portraits," played by the Trio da Camera, click on the link above.

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

🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶

For a year now, these missives you kindly permit me to send have ended with this stirring quotation:

“There can only be a few great composers but there can be many sincere composers.”
-- Ralph Vaughan Williams

Having observed my practice of concluding thus, Dick Ferrell, my friend since our Boy Scout days, a plumber now retired, recently ended an email message he’d sent to me with this:

“There can only be a few great plumbers but there can be many sincere plumbers.”
-- Sir Thomas Crapper, inventor of the flush toilet

We have been ‘razzing’ each other since 1961. It gave me pause.

Which would I hire to fix a busted toilet? A great plumber or one admired for sincerity?

As for composing, well …

I’ve written a handful of fine pieces but I’d never claim to be a “great” composer. Sincere? Mostly.

(Ha! This reminds me of a minor French film actor’s reply when an impertinent reporter asked him if he was faithful to his wife: “Souvent!” he said, meaning “Often!” The French loved it. Who is this man? they demanded to know. He became a instant celebrity, far better known for his quip than for his film roles.)

I’m a faithful husband, be assured. Keep it simple, that’s my motto. But sincerity imposes limitations. It precludes the fun of pretending and the joy of joking.

Only fools and saints are sincere all the time. It’s not much fun for them or for the folks in their proximity.

Contrariwise … harmless insincerity, i.e., the ‘hawking’ of wholesale baloney, is an art form and a field of study, known among German academics as “Böhlschydtology” (the American spelling is “Bullshitology”). Technical mastery opens vast opportunities for aspiring purveyors of flim-flam, balderdash and poppycock. … and high-minded leg-pullers such as the undersigned.

The essence of the craft is easily explained and readily grasped. Proficiency, however, is elusive. The rules are simple, yet a lifetime of practice does not guarantee expertise.

Hogwash, to be convincingly conveyed, must commence with a credible assertion. When we make a factual statement, a certain truth-telling tone is heard in our voices and a certain expression comes into our eyes and faces; sincerity is thus encoded. We all do this. It’s natural. The trick is to maintain that tone and expression when the narrative crosses the line that separates the truth from the phonus balonus.

For example, when a friend asks how I am doing, I might sigh and say: “Well, I went to see the doctor this week. It was last Wednesday.” (This much must be strictly true). Then I will add some conversational padding, details that are true but irrelevant, even tiresome: “He’s a nice guy, a little younger than I am, coming up on retirement. I don’t know how much longer’s he’s going to be in practice.” (Still true, you see, but neither here nor there, inducing in the hearer a state of half-listening.)

That’s the set up. Now I cross the line: “He says I’m in good health except for my Milford trenions.”

I pause for a moment, letting this information sink in. “He wants me to get some tests done, something about heading off sinusoidal depleneration before it progresses too far. He says, undetected, it can affect a person’s fluorescent score motion. They’re going to flush out my hydrocoptic marzel-veins. But it’s an out-patient procedure and not a big deal.”

Then I pause again to see if they are following closely. Usually, they are not. They nod sympathetically and say they hope everything turns out okay.

A few confess that their hearing isn’t what it used to be. Rarely does anyone challenge my assertions, saying, “What’s all this? I never heard of this before.”

Now I must decide whether to smile and confess that I’m “messin’ with ‘em” or to provide more details, explaining that the body’s natural magneto-reluctance deteriorates as we age and that the procedure is done with a special MRI machine made of prefabulated amulite, surmounted by a malleable logarithmic casing in such a way that the spurving bearings are in a direct line with the panametric fan and consisting of six ambifacient lunar waneshafts that effectively prevent side-fumbling.

“The main winding has panendermic semi-boloid slots in the stator, every seventh conductor being connected by a non-reversible tremie pipe to the differential girdle-spring on the ‘up’ end of the grammeter. The doctor says that the gizmo has a reciprocal dingle arm that makes the necessary adjustment. He’s assured me that there’s no pain or discomfort. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

[[[ Did I invent all this verbiage? I won’t lie to you. Not me! Never! The type of MRI machine I’m describing shares many features with and is, in many respects, remarkably similar to the Retroencabulator, about which you can learn more at this helpful website:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpnEiOOfu1Q

Did you watch it? You ought to. It’s barely two minutes long and a masterpiece. You’ll be glad you did. What? You don’t have time? You’re in a hurry? C’mon! As Stan Laurel said, “Life isn’t short enough!” ]]]

Why do I do this? For friends’ amusement and mine. And to give an occasional work-out to my God-given “ability to deceive without offending.”

If I get as far with someone as I’ve described above, they usually do the frown-and-smirk that shows me they know I’m snowin’ ‘em. They are my friends, after all. They have known me from of old. I can fool them only so often.

These days laughter is in short supply. For many, life is constrained, a sad affair. Importing a little sweetness and light into this sorry world is an act of kindness.

Plus, it’s fun. For my ‘victims’ and for me. And good practice, too, for other occasions when Life requires us to engage in a little honest bee-essing.

My new book, “The Blue Rock,” offers this variety of quasi-factual invention in the form of an extended narrative. Writing it was a blast. I am so eager for y’all to read it! I hope to send out copies in a few weeks.

Is the book sincere? Not so much. Am I? Not all of the time.

If I sense an opportunity to make someone laugh, I joyfully risk making a fool of myself in the attempt. It IS a risk! I’m often just silly and not half as funny as I’d like to be. But it’s the thought that counts.

"Self-portrait as a Fool” is title of the first movement of my Trio #8 for clarinet, cello and piano, subtitled “Two Self-portraits," (the other movement is entitled “Self-portrait as a Sage”). How seriously it takes itself at the start! “Sincere” -- but stuck in a self-pitying round. And in the lugubrious key of E flat minor, yet! Meanwhile, as the middle section in C major reveals, there’s a lovely world out there, waiting to be enjoyed. But no. The fool returns to his plodding E flat minor round. What an idiot!

To hear it played by the Trio da Camera, click on the link above.

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