As a composer, I have spent many years labouring to hone my craft and be faithful to the gift God has given me for music. I have written reams of music since leaving college encumbered by a Bachelor of Music Degree in Composition/Technology, a ton of enthusiasm and precious little in the way of real opportunity for a composer. I have, as most composers in any age must, had to make my own opportunities: rather than awaiting the much anticipated commission from the New York, Berlin or Vienna Phil, or the London Symphony, or the Met or La Scala or wherever, I have simply written the music I would have written for them anyway, hearing it performed in my head and nowhere else.
On occasion, I have been blessed to have acquaintances, colleagues and friends take interest in my music, and perform certain pieces. In fact, just now I understand there is the strong possibility of a concert of some of my art songs in Vienna!!!!!!! Vienna, AUSTRIA!!!!!!!!!!!! I am also writing a set of pieces for a friend who plays violin, and seriously considering rewriting and finishing a large scale opera. So, since leaving college, I have had the opportunity to hear or at least know my music is out there somewhere.
I have a number of musician friends, some composers like me, who have similar existences. Part of what gives us such a sense of community and closeness is the innate understanding of the loneliness of a life lived inside one's head, a life wherein the great things one has accomplished seem destined to never be realized outside the realm of the imagination. We composers cherish the performance of our music, more than the performers of the music can ever fully grasp. [Looking over that last sentence, it struck me as important to tell you that it took a long time for me to call myself a composer.]
On March 12, 2010, an earthquake, mighty and terrible devastated the Caribbean nation of Haiti. I did not, and do not, have buckets of money, nor do I have the time to give to spend on the ground in the reconstruction efforts, but I was moved to do something, and so I wrote. What emerged was a Requiem for A Haitian Child (dedicated to the deceased Jean Gaelle, whose sister's anguished photograph struck me like a physical blow. You can see it here: http://newshopper.sulekha.com/haiti-earthquake_photo_1121590.htm). I sent it to a friend who has a performing ensemble that had planned to go and participate in a musical mission to Haiti, with the hope that he would offer them some of my music alongside the other music to be a balm and a barrier against the terror and fear of those terrible days. In the work, I tried to fuse the anguish and pity I felt for the people who suffered in the quake with the hope that I had (and have still) that God will bless and shelter those who survived. My friend liked the music, and planned to perform it at the appropriate opportunity.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, he had also given my name to a professor at the College of The Bahamas, soon to be the University of The Bahamas. This professor is participating in a project compiling the work of Caribbean composers, and once I was on her radar, she got in touch, much to my delight and surprise. Time passed, as it is wont to do, and the other day, the professor - herself a flautist of great skill and accomplishment - asked if she could perform a piece of my music at a scholarly convention in Jamaica. My music! She wants to use it to represent The Bahamas! MY MUSIC! Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. Absolutely flummoxed! Here I am, working in DC to represent my country in cultural endeavours, and the most tangible way I get to represent The Commonwealth of The Bahamas is to happen thousands of miles away from me, in a forum in which I will not even be present!
Isn't it odd, how life takes these strange turns?
