Creating
Perfection: A Space Opera
In One Act |
By Lesley Choy |
Wearing a classic career suit, she usually floats in from nowhere and alights on my shoulder. Perched, she'll cross her legs and coolly sip nectar from a teacup.
I was surprised, therefore, when she came by ambulance, wearing scrubs. Eyes burning in the naked space between a light-blue surgical mask and a matching surgical cap, she burst out of the rear double doors. There was a strong smell of ether as she came at me with a wadded washcloth.
When I regained consciousness, my muse was gone. The operation had been a success: a complete libretto sat on my desk. I felt pleased with the way that my muse had responded to the emergency. I'd been given less than two weeks to write my opera.
I flipped through the pages. Above the words were pencilled-in capital letters, combinations of the first seven letters of the alphabet. Left of some of the letters were marks for accidentals--flats, sharps, and naturals. And there were arrows--some pointing up, some pointing down.
Steve took a peek. "Only you know what this means," he said, "Come play it in."
"Couldn't I just sing--"
"No. I need to record the rhythms. Don't worry. I'll set the metronome real slow. You say this part's in four-four?"
Through my earphones I hear woodblocks. Clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, click, clop. The click means I can start.
Reading my strange notation, I play passage after passage on our synthesizer keyboard--right hand only, melody pure and simple. I try to play as mechanically as possible, avoiding interpretation, trying to keep the rhythm strict. Our synthesizer and our computer work together, digitizing and storing what I play, transcribing it into standard music notation, and depicting the music representationally through graph displays.
We go at it for several days. Each passage requires more than one take, sometimes many takes. Steve edits constantly, viewing displays and working tonal and rhythmic corrections from the computer keyboard. At last we have a bare-bones vocal score. Our work has only begun.
We discuss the music, discuss what I'm after: What's the mood here? In this part how much impetus do we want? This tempo okay? Organ or piano? Solo or duet? Major? Minor? A gospel treatment here? Are you sure?
And now it's Steve's show. He creates fully orchestrated musical arrangements, selecting his synthesized "instruments" from a palette of hundreds of conventional and exotic sounds. He chooses violin and "magic bells," french horn and "the machine," tuba, guitar, "space cowboy," "grim reaper," "angels," piano, "cyber space," and many more. Painstakingly, he overlays the sounds, playing-in one at a time, tune after tune, building our soundtrack. But Steve is a guitarist, not a keyboard artist, so the work goes slowly. Too slowly.
Enter Carlos, world-class pianist and true friend. He sits at our keyboard. He rolls up his sleeves. He spends over ten hours this day and six hours the next playing brilliantly executed on-the-spot improvisations of our music. We print one of Carlos's improvisations. It's so dense that there's hardly any white space left on the paper!
It's Steve's show once again. He prunes Carlos's improvisations, thinning and separating the dense clusters of notes into distinct, fluid strands of music. To each strand Steve assigns instrumentation, thereby orchestrating the larger whole of our work. Steve adds his own touches, and we have a finished score. Our computer performs it through our synthesizer, and our printer spews it out for distribution to our cast.
They like us at the Kennedy Center. They love us at Dr. Charles R. Drew Elementary School. It's time to do TV. Are we through with our computer? Not on your life.
Son David creates computer art, most notably a constellation, cows, a cosmic ice-cream cone, a clock, our flying opera-hat, and lightning bolts. Steve supplements David's computer art with a little of his own, generating backgrounds, a planet, meteors, and the words to the prologue. Steve then animates the art, which is later combined with live action for what may be an opera first.
We have only two days for shooting the action and three days for post-production work. Done. So what have we got for you?
On the one hand we have traditional opera. We have singers representing a mix of vocal types performing arias, recitatives, and songs for more than one voice. We have scene changes. We have a chorus. Unlikely and highly melodramatic is our plot.
But our opera is different, too. To be sure, it's Ms. Oldspecs--not Miss or Mrs., thank you. Adults play children and children play adults. There's animation. Voices are used for what conventionally would be handled instrumentally. The setting is in outer space impossibillions of light years away. And whereas it's nothing new for the music in an opera to reflect the folk music of a particular culture, our music reflects a diversity cultures, a diversity of traditions. Finally our opera is different because of something you can't see or hear. It's different because, being computer generated, the score is flexible. Because keys can be changed with little ado, a baritone can play a part one time, a soprano play it next.
Time for me to find someone who gets cable. Hope you enjoy the show.
—Lesley Choy, Writer/Director
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