The MIDI Composer's Creed

Notice to all orchestras, bands, choruses, chamber musicians, and anyone who plays my music:

-The MIDI recording is always right.
-If you are not strictly imitating my late 90's, son-of-M1 synthesizer in every way, including and especially the timbre, then you are merely trying, not succeeding.
-If you cannot make your French Horn sound like a Floostrich (yes, that's a Seussism hinting at a cross between a flute and an ostrich) then step aside, we will find someone who can. And if we can't we will replace you with some unrelated synthesizer that will sound nothing like what I intended. At that point I will reconsider that perhaps I really did want a French Horn after all. You will be begged to return and enticed with a raise. When you return you find an envelope on your music stand containing advance pay and a scribbled note across the back, which reads: "The MIDI is always right." As you inhale to make your first entrance you are assaulted by a strange odor emanating from your right - a neutral scent of lavender perfume and wild-animal dung. You turn and see an addition to the orchestration of a Floostrich.

Nassau, Vol. 2

NASSAU, Vol. 2

Words and music written and assembled by Evan Hause

XII. Cyclops

ULYSSES

Uh-oh uh-oh, here's that guy.

Baldo's pizza "since 1953."

Hard-selling Baldo underneath his tree hawking his cheese.

I really don't need it. Big lug, maybe he won't see me.

CYCLOPS

Come on in here. Fresh mozzarella.

Only the best cheese, straight from Italia.

C: Hey you. You buy some pizza.
U: No thanks. Not hungry.                             

C: You don' like pizza?

U: Just wanna go home.                                     

C: You no need be hungry for fresh mozzarella.

U: I really don't need it.                                 

C: Well, don't get nasty about it.

U: I wasn't. (here we go)                                      

C: You calling me a liar?

U: No. I love your pizza.                                      

C: I got my eye on you. What's your name?

U: I am Nessuno.                                           

C: You're kidding me! Nessuno means "Nobody." You are "Nobody?!" Ha, yeah, That's what I thought... a real nobody!

U: Time to get out of here. He's erupting.

C:  Nessuno!

Run for it. Things may get ugly. Hey, everyone, it's "Nobody." Nessuno! Get out of here. What kind of father names his son Nessuno? Duck behind the Fed Ex truck. Hey What's that? Nobody likes my pizza! Is he pelting me with cheese? Nobody likes my pizza! Look out! Look out! Look out! Nobody Nobody Nobody Nobody

Float into the Laundromat. Grand Slam.

XIII. Nausicaa

NAUSICAA (a teenage princess)

Damn! Towels still not dry. Hey, that old lady, she just stole my cart! Hells bells! It's a rat race up in here. It's a rat race up in here. When I get married I ain't doin' no laundry. no, no, no, no Find a man to do it. yeah, yeah, yeah 'Cept they don't know how. A snag in the plan in the quest for a good man Maybe him that just walked in carrying flowers. Can't be too bad. Strong, quiet face. My boyfriend's never given me flowers.

ULYSSES

Ah, what people are these? Are they savage or hospitable to strangers?

Girl just had her cart stolen.

It's a rat race up in here.

Pretty, though. Well-ordered hair. So young.

I've got to just keep moving along.

Hope she gets her cart back.... excuse me....(moving out past the smokers)..cough...cough

XIV. Oxen of the Sun

Deshil Nassau Andiamo. Deshil Nassau Andiamo. Deshil Nassau Andiamo!

All I see are mothers with strollers. Is this a sign?

Bring forth abundantly in the earth and multiply in it.

Taurus. Earth sign. Fertility should be my forte.

We are means to those small creatures within us and nature has other ends than we.

Man that is born of woman is few of days and full of trouble.

...but the ruins of Time build Eternity's mansions.

The miracle of conception. The double helix.

In his Georgics Virgil tells of mares being impregnated by the West Wind.

Aeolus sentir mi.

Yo, god of di vents hook uns up mit bambina.

XV. Circe

NARRATOR

The entrance of 181 Nassau Avenue. Cheap, showtime lights ring around the window like ensnared will o' wisps. JAF movie store, in front of which stands a mucous-hued fire hydrant, in front of which idles an illegally-parked Boar's Head delivery van. At the Humboldt intersection, a 48 bus grinds to a halt.

ULYSSES

Browse the new DVD's. I love a movie store.

Surreal stage puts a spell on me, b-b-b-by Gantry.

NARRATOR

Moves past the glass case of throwaways for sale. The foot sticks to the lard-textured carpet, not unlike a pig sty. Polish language flix on the right, comedy left.

ULYSSES

This place has everything! Opium of the 18-35 demographic.

Here I become forgetful.

Where else can you find an international selection of pig movies?

La Loi du Cochon, Grisefilmen, Rennschwein Rudi Rüssel, Porco Rosso, Kurenai No Buta, The Musketeers of Pig Alley ooh that's an oldie Porci con le ali, Daijiga Umule Pajinnal, Sigade Revolutsioon, Helmiä ja Sikoja, Babe.

Wine-dark sun snot-green pizza school joust Kubus' seaweed barren lily Rago luceat treacherous vestment syncoFlotow Zibi G'Ivona, Nessuno Kwoonarella towel deshilaurus boarboldt Kurikoja Rüssel Buta!

Nassau

NASSAU, Vol. 1
Words and Music by Evan Hause

ding-dong NAS-ser Avenue. Stand clear.

I. Telemachus

Come on into the sun

Up the grimy, rancid stairwell

Out of the wine-dark subway

The mighty G, snotgreen line

Behold a beautiful June day

Here on Nassau

Ten blocks from home

The last leg

Polyphemerous, polyglottal

Faithful wife waiting

Maybe have kids someday

Am I ready?

II. Nestor

School just out

Kids jammed into Pizza Prince

Joust of life

A long day of teaching and learning

Shepherding and herding

But Life is the great teacher...

III. Proteus

Kubus photo shop

"Hause?"

"Tak. Dzehnkuye"

Ah, lovely snapshots

Jagged coast of Maine

A still image, but you can just see

The seaweed flowing. Flow.

IV. Calypso

I'm in love with the sun

Isle of Brooklyn, the Driftwood Inn

Duck into this dive bar

Maybe not...

Tired of the bar life

It's a place for weeping

And looking out over barren waters.

I need to grow up. Face fatherhood.

Get off this island.

"Proze"

"Hi, Zibi. Two spicy sausages, please."

Little Poland

Catholic bells a-ringing.

Hmm, I should pick up some oranges, too.

Orange-pealing bells.

V. Lotus-Eaters

Birthday gift for the better half.

Gemini. Air sign.

Soft and floaty. Love of culture.

Hates being owned.

Maybe soap, or some tea.

Definitely flowers

Language of flowers

Ivy - wedded love

Yellow Lily - I'm walking on air

Orange blossom - eternal love

Peony - happy marriage

Smilax - loveliness

Ambrosia - love returned

But my love is a red rose

What a lovely day

A light that's narcotic

Smoke drifting from second floor windows

7th heaven – Blind faith

Picnicking Puerto Ricans – Throw it all away

Flyballs arching

Fruitstand parasols

VI. Hades

Some rare commotion at Rago's Funeral Home today

Place is usually dead.

Lux perpetua. Leceat Deis.

Silly store next door:

"127 Nassau

Arch Religious Articles

chalices, vestments, statues, rosaries, Agnus Dei

crosses, cards, balloons, party supplies Tollis pecate mundi

lottery tickets"

That touches a man's inmost heart.

VII. Aeolus

McGuiness intersection. Go! Nah.

Damn how that wind... Now! No. Wait.

Treacherous!

Damn how that wind whips up. Press on.

Mac trucks careening by. Go back.

                            Clam! Crungalung!

There goes my newspaper Get to the island.

Hop on over.

Overly busy effort.

VIII. Lestrygonians

Wah Kwoon Kitchen.

Cheapest lunch in town.

IX. Scylla and Charibdis

...er, pardon me, excuse me,

Seas between

oops, sorry....

Yeah!

No room on the sidewalk

A E O U

Squeeze through here

A E I I

Trash heap on one side...

a a a a a

Speeding SUV's on the other...

A E I O U

Hey! Get some syncopation, man!

A black oozing puddle.

Slimed! What a mess!

Good God!

It's been said that God is a noise in the street.

SCREEEECH!

Oy. Who said that?

X. Wandering Rocks

Lost your face in the crowd.

Must be fifty people outside.

Move over to the sunny side.

10 different perspectives

"...you could see the towers right there..."

"...and blocked the street for an hour..."

"...he got caught cheating and had to..."

"...Yo, where can you buy that stuff?"

"....ooo baht the G, iz sooo slow..."

".....no, it was exactly at this spot..."

"...which wah to the library?"

"...he was a real kwooner..."

"...it was a nice service..."

"...the joy of creation...."

XI. Sirens

Hair in the eyes.

Renee's Salon beckons.

Alluring sexy stylists.

Ivona calls.

"Gorgeous!" 

"...the fine times."

Step up.

Gossip central. -- "Ah, me!

Oggle-fest. -- "O my!"

Better watch it. -- "Go on!"

Wife comes here, too. -- "Listen!"

Can't help it. Mirrors, mirrors. -- "Is that her?"

Hot. Don't stare.                                    

"Exquisite contrast..."

Wait while you wair, while you wait,

"...the cherry laurel water?"

while you wait.

Hair is clean, not too long. -- "He's looking."

I should just go home. -- "Take no notice."

She waves!

Hallo. Yez, we see you now.

Waszh an' cut like da usual?

...um...sure.

How's dat?

very goooood

Iz da water too hot?

Nooooo

Iz da soap in yer eyes?

Don't let me up from this chair, even if I beg!

But we have to go over here for da cut

More waaash

But der's not much hair to wash.

Gee, thanks.

"Aren't men frightful idiots?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Libretto to Nassau, Vol. 1 © by Evan Hause

The composing of my musical work - "Passage"

The below is a modified re-post of a blog I had on a my MySpace page in late 2009. This is now connected to my website where you can hear the full composition.

In 2007 I was commissioned by the Albany Symphony to write a musical composition commemorating the 400-year anniversary of Henry Hudson's discovery of the Hudson River. A few rules were: it had to be a vocal work and it had to be short – no longer than 8 minutes. Otherwise, I didn't have to write about anything specific.

This was all occuring as my father was beginning the final, awful stages of Parkinson's in a nursing home. He had by now lost the ability to eat through his mouth, to walk, and speak very much. I almost did not want to write any music. I finally made a personal compromise and decided that I could somehow write something to express my love for him and still write about Henry Hudson.

My father loved sailing, and I grew up going sailing with him since an early age on the Pamlico River in Eastern N.C. There is connection one – he and Hudson were sailors. Henry Hudson's demise came as a result of a mutiny in 1611, when mutineers cast him adrift with his son (connection 2) and several others because he wanted to press on through the Hudson Bay in Canada and they did not. The setting adrift of Hudson became a metaphor for me of my father being cast adrift mentally from the life he loved. I play the role of the dutiful son who can't but follow him in this dark odyssey.

I tried to write the text of this musical piece – 8 minutes is not a long time. I did due diligence and searched for what poetry was already out there on the subject and found only one. This one. ("The Shallop on Hudson Bay" - part of "The White Bees" by Henry Van Dyke) At five pages, it was a half hour minimum as a musical setting. I also thought about the musical repertoire, and thought immediately about Schubert's "The Erl-King" (opus 1), the ubiquitous song taught in every music theory class at some time or another. (Connection #3, my father was a theory teacher and taught this work like thousands of other teachers.) The text is by Goethe, and is about death. The death of a child in the arms of his father during a wild horse ride with Death marking them every step of the way. I had the idea of turning this upside down. The son carrying a dying father. A fictional scenario: Hudson waning in dementia in his skiff, as piloted by his young son, who until now has been to young to ever take the helm.

This was like a real experience I had in October of 2005 – the last time I ever went sailing with my father. Throughout all the years of sailing with him, I had never actually sailed his boat. I had asked to forever, and he always said he would take me on an official learning cruise. Never happened. So, we had our last sail and this time, he actually let me (and a friend I brought) do it for awhile. Being October we were the only ones on the river. A thunderstorm hit and we were challenged more than normal. My father, knowing I wanted to go it alone, just watched from beneath the brim of his hat. I realized I didn't really know what the hell I was doing after all – I was reading the compass upside down and was, for a few minutes, lost on a river I had spent 30 years on. It was fabulous. It was the round-the-world adventure of myth encapsulated in a moment. I wrote more poetically about this in 2007 as part of my Glass Dwellers book, you can fish out three autobiographical experiences in the upside-down Molly Bloom-like soliloquy (each paragraph begins with a "No" instead of a "Yes"; every paragraph is a single run-on sentence; it takes place entirely in one person's head: the evil dictator of the book, who is about to be pegged in his bunker at the very moment of his supposed victory).

So, how to juggle, in 8 minutes, the upside down "Erl-King," the poem by Henry Van Dyke, my own personal experience of my final sail with my father, and my current feelings for him as he lay trapped in his head, staring at the stuccoed ceiling of a nursing home, where he continued to lie for another entire year after I wrote "Passage."

Now return to my website for libretto and audio.

Thinkable from my Mom

What do you call these things of which abound in a mother's life - the sayings and bromides, such as the Serenity Prayer, that are set on thick paper and mounted on the wall or wherever. "Deep thoughts" or "bromides"? I'm sure there's a name, but the one that just came to my mind is "thinkables". Here's one I just found while going through her cluttered room that I like:

Watch your thoughts-

they become words;

Watch your words-

they become actions;

Watch your actions-

they become habits;

Watch your habits-

they become character;

Watch your character-

for it becomes your destiny.

141st character

I herewith am settyng up a blog and I hath chost ye old scribe templayte.

I don't know why I am making a blog spot because I have already established 1) that I hardly ever read anyone else's blog, 2) that I keep my most compelling personal thoughts off of the internet, and 3) I acknowledge that the long-form belly-button contemplating has now been replaced by the more fashionable short-form navel study on Twitter and Facebook.

So that must be it. This is an alternative and possibly even a defiance of the move toward "140 characters or less and then shut up." But why defy? I actually agree with that. Answer: to have that 141st character.