Writer, musician, freelancer.

Exponential vs. expediential

So when I wrote, yesterday, that the best way to learn that you aren't half as brilliant as you thought you were was to attempt to write an overture to a musical –

which, by the way, is a metaphor, we all know that I'm referencing the difficulty of putting an idea into practice –

which, in turn, might make you think more carefully about any idea that you have not (or cannot) put into practice, including the idea that you know what's best for the rest of humanity –

well, obviously I'm trying to make a point about those who pose and all of that, the self-styled public intellectuals and so on –

but I'm also literally telling you that my overture is dreadful.

Fortunately I know enough about music to know why it is dreadful. I also know why it became dreadful (or at least I know why I believe it did), and I suspect I have the capacity to make it less dreadful on the second pass, and I suppose the only way to explain all of this is to share it with you.

Here it is, in both audio and score form:

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No 1 Overture
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I don't know how much you know about music, but you probably know enough to notice that there's an unjustified jump between two musical ideas.

You may also have noticed that the pianists, before the jump, are playing nonsense. This begins at measure 46, and although it echoes the more integrated transition in measures 41 and 42 (taking us from "Twice Trouble" to "Enter the Princes," if you're thinking of the overture in terms of a medley), it does nothing to improve a listener's understanding of what's going on.

If you were to begin listening to the overture, which at this point I hope you've already done, you would start by hearing the two pianists (on opposite sides of the stage) play a series of repeating notes.

This goes on, to the point of comedy, and then the pianists play a short melodic figure that will reappear in "Exponential," and the repeating notes are now played twice as fast.

The short melodic figure appears again, and the notes are played twice as fast again.

This continues until it is physically impossible to play at tempo.

Grand pause.

We get the theme from "Twice Trouble," which transitions almost immediately into the B theme from "Enter the Princes" (since the A theme from "Enter the Princes" is "Twice Trouble" reprised).

Then there is a giant pile of garbage that I am embarrassed to tell you I composed, because I knew even as I was writing it down the first time that it was filler for an idea that didn't yet exist, and the only idea I had at the moment was that I needed to get it written by the end of the month.

THIS IS THE MOST FOOLISH THING I'VE DONE

(REGARDING THE WRITING OF MY MUSICAL, I AM NEITHER CONFIRMING NOR DENYING OTHER FOOLISHNESSES)

AND I KNEW IT WHILE I WAS DOING IT.

Then we get the "I Want" theme and the transition into "Exponential," followed by the short melodic figure that announces that the pianists must play everything twice as fast again, which repeats until it is impossible to play at tempo, one more pause, and we get the melodic line that sums up Melisande's conundrum, although we won't know what it is until we hear her sing it later, and we won't know how she solves it until Act II.

So, if you're following along, we have a lot of notes with a lot of information packed into them. Whenever you hear this four-note melody, for example, something you've just heard will be played twice as fast. As an audience, you should be able to anticipate this and respond to it, and ideally you'll be delighted by your capacity to predict what's going to happen (including the prediction that the pianists will not be able to keep up).

The fact that four notes can force two pianists to play twice as fast is also important information; it implies that the world of this play is run in part by magic (or programming, if you'd prefer to think about it that way), and that the pianists (who turn out to be the good and evil fairies of the universe) have the power to cast spells (execute programs). You might not get that on the first listen, but by the time Malevola steps away from her piano to crash the christening party and curse the baby Melisande, the information you've received in the prior scenes may start to connect –

and if you see the musical a second time, you'll notice even more of the connections –

which is why it is absolutely essential that every single note in the overture contribute to these compounding ideas –

and why those dreadful measures, the ones I wrote to hit a deadline, turn exponential growth into expediential posturing –

and this, while being extremely literal, is also a metaphor.

Do with it what you will.

I'll get back to work.