First Update, March 21, 2001: Today it is 26 years since I composed
"Fanfare." I had come to believe that the work was composed in
real time, as an improvisation. I should have read more carefully what
I wrote in 1976 -- that the work is " a result of an improvisation."
Recently I discovered the original cassette recording improvisation,
and here's what I heard: It is a single, longish, improvisation which contains
the elements of the work (and other elements). These elements form the
sketch material for the work, which is composed and assembled therefrom.
And so you have it. Or soon you will. I think it will be of interest
to performers to hear the works' moment of inspiration: After all, this
is what I thought I was thinking about what I was hearing myself do (the
premiere being more visceral). So you can hear, soon, the creation, as
well as the re-creation (premiere performance, above).
I would never say that the work should be played the way I do. You may
be interested in what I did, but I know you will find more interesting
ways of interpreting the work.
Bob Margolis, Brooklyn, NY, 03 21 01
New Update, June 23, 2003 (well I sure took
my time). The original 1975 tape-recorded improvisation is now online.
Today we've all become used to DVD's of movies containing endless behind-the-scenes
information. What the director had for breakfast, the initial storyboards,
deleted scenes, production photos, alternative endings, multiple commentary
tracks.
But for music? Well, why not have a little extra behind-the-scenes dope.
The real scoop.
In the 1976 composer's notes to Fanfare I state that the work
was the result of a tape-recorded improvisation -- a work in real time.
A good part of the music is indeed a note-for-note transcription of
the improvisation. But when you listen to the actual 8-minute improvisation,
you realize that the work is an edit and re-arrangement (and a little re-composition)
of the improvisation.
The improvisation you hear (for the first time today, which is June
23, 2003) is unedited and complete. It's everything that the music is based
on, from the opening "d" (why?) to the point where I stopped
playing that day in 1975. (Sorry, only one microphone -- too lazy to plug
in two?)
I particularly like the end, where I discover the bit with the octave
glissandos. It's like: "Wow. That's nice. OK, what else can I do with
this. That's not right. That's not it. Oh yeah -- that's it. Yes, do that
again. Yes, I'm sure, that's it." You can almost hear the mind (after
it gets itself unstuck for a really long repetition) editing itself and
finally inventing just the right phrase and then repeating it for confirmation.
What surprises me today is that I begin more or less just playing the
piece, as if it were sitting there waiting to be played. It just seems
to be there and I can't tell you where it came from (did it suggest itself
from one moment to the next?).
So for better or worse, for less or for more, behold the original
-- before any score.
Bob Margolis Brooklyn, New York,
June 23rd, 2003
