It seems that every morning lately I awaken with this depressing sensation that no matter what I do only contributes my increasing sense of futility. Ever since it became apparent that I was no longer an organist — much less a decent one — I thought that if I devoted my time to composition I might find renewed inspiration and finish a number of works I began at various times which have been sitting around waiting for my brilliant and visionary creative prowess: that I would find new purpose — new meaning — to these final years to my life. Well, maybe not so much. I find it more and more burdensome to find even ounce of creativity. Maybe it's the Mass I've been trying to write, knowing 1) there isn't a choir in the world who will sing it (not that it really matters anymore), and 2) my agnosticism seems to have put a bit of a damper on everything: not just music, everything. It leaves me in even greater of awe of RVW's ability to write some of the most gorgeous church music whilst as a bonafide agnostic.
But, it's not just la musique du chœur with which I struggle; it's pretty much music in general. For so long music has/had been the central point of my life; even when I wasn't directly involved in the art form I always managed to keep one foot in the water, as it were, as either a music director or a substitute organist a some church somewhere, notwithstanding the mindlessly simplistic and pharisaical theology of most (not all, but most) clergy and the gratuitous hypocrisy of their congregations. Now, I can barely stand to listen to music, especially newer music, especially newer church music. I listen to contemporary composers, people who are considered important, highly respected —prize winners, etc. — and I think what the hell has happened to the craft of composition? It seems that with orchestral and instrumental music it's either: 1) the still irritatingly nondirectional, atonal nonsense continually perpetrated by academics preoccupied by their obsession for complexity and peer indulgence, or 2) it's the mind numbing minimalism by moronic composers who have no sense of melody or line, or worse, are too dame lazy to care. With choral and vocal music, in lieu of the nonsensical repetitive haze of gurgling and swirling keyboards or various instruments over static harmonies, you have initially pleasing, moderately dissonant harmonies, but ultimately stupefacient stasis which ends up leaving one wanting something more.
So, as I sit here pondering what to do with myself, I look as Blaze who's lying in his old bed with his head hanging out onto the floor, and is perfectly happy to hang out, just to be with his Daddy today(other days he's with Mommy upstairs when she's working); and, I think of my beloved Rosemary, who for some inscrutable reason, loves me as much as I adore her; and I realise how fortunate I am. Otherwise I'd either be living on some street in Philadelphia, or dead on some street in Philadelphia.
And yet, I am anything but fulfilled. As a musician I am, and have been since WCC, obviously an unqualified failure, not having achieved a single musical goal: not as an organist, not as a conductor, not as a composer, not even as a sheet music store owner. And the worst part about it is I have no one else to blame but myself and the incalculable number of bad decisions I've made, many so as to accommodate others, thinking that eventually it will all pay off. Rationalisation, delusion, through acquiescence is artistic suicide. Unfortunately it's too late for me to learn that.
So what do I do? Well, that's an easy question: I just keep composing whilst trying to learn French (another dreadful mistake I made at WCC, for which I will never forgive Frau Silz). When I finish the Gloria to the mass I'm writing, I'll put the thing aside and work on something completely new. Hmm maybe I'll write a communion service for non-liturgical Protestants (Presbyterians, Methodist, Congregationalists, etc.) who once a month do a simplified or modified version the eucharist. Who knows maybe this will be my ticket to getting published or performed (at the very least). And so, the rationalising, the delusional thinking goes on.
