composer's notebook

Yesterday I signed a marching band arrangement license. This wouldn’t be a big deal, except that it’s my very first one. Ever. Until now, no one has yet asked if any of my 13 (depending on how you count it) wind ensemble pieces (the most common fodder for such things as I understand it) could be arranged for another ensemble.

I actually find this fact totally fascinating. I mean, I’m lucky enough that people who are looking for music to arrange are likely aware of my stuff – yet there must be something inherently weird about the music which makes it unsuitable for arrangements…or at the very least, make it easy to pass over as a more difficult choice. I have some ideas of what that might be, but it’s still an interesting question. Makes one (well, me) think about qualities in my music in ways I never thought before. Which has been a curious experience. There were even certain works I was convinced I’d be getting calls about, but never did. That kind of thing is probably more about me not knowing what I’m talking about, though.

Even so, this particular milestone is sort of a full circle thing for me, because (and this isn’t something I usually admit in public without significant prodding) I used to be one of those kids marching around on a football field. In fact, back in the day, I was proud “squad leader” of the trombone section of the Wyoming Valley West Marching Spartans. O! We had a blast. Probably because we had no idea how stinking-bad we were.

My career as a marching trombonist peaked when I played the featured solo in our show’s (no doubt stellar) arrangement of Maestro Ritchie’s Say You, Say Me, atop an aluminum ladder. It’s a cautionary tale, really.

So now I leave the marching, and the arranging, to the experts. Who are now obligated to send me a video of the final product, of course.