Services I Offer

I know I normally keep this “blog” for narratives and essays of mine, but I think it also is the best place for me to try and present some services that I offer. So without any further ado, here’s a list of some things that I can help you with.

Transcription of Your Notated Manuscript: https://www.fiverr.com/share/gv7VoX

Orchestrating Your Piano Reduction: https://www.fiverr.com/share/3AX1wB

Proofreading of Your Plays/Screenplays: https://www.fiverr.com/s2/c35234c7bd

Proofreading of Your Novel: https://www.fiverr.com/share/9d6pbe

Well, that’s all that I have up right now. If you want to contact me about a commission for music or any of the above, email me at bemuseartsinc@gmail.com

Arise O Mountain From Thy Rest

Hey everyone. I wrote this poem for my symphonic band piece of the same name. So if you want to read this and then listen to the piece for the “fuller” effect, I’d highly recommend it. But I think it works just as well on its own. Who knows, you tell me!

I’m gonna format it a little differently so that it doesn’t take up a bunch of space, but just so there isn’t any confusion, you should know that each stanza is and originally was four lines, so I’ll try and represent the breaks when they’re there. So, Without any further ado, here ya go!

“Arise O Mountain from Thy rest / Amidst this cruel and raging tempest. / Never cease, O living stone, / To reach the gold that dons our globe!” //

Long ago my people trembled / ‘Fore Thy feet and holy might. / Thou didst ward off ev’ry evil; / Rend us of our mortal blight! // “Lord of Earth” we called Thy spire— / Rarely did our praise abate—And / Yet we knew not how Thou tired / Saving us from this world’s fate. //  Thou didst shake us when Thou’dst parted, / Leaving but a scarr’ed cliff. / Yet Thou spake to us, unguarded, / As thou sank in the abyss. //

“There are no words which I shall gesture / If thou think’st thyself the fool. But / Listen close to this, thy measure; / Listen: see my words fulfilled. //  “Many years have I protected / Thee with both my law and land. / Yet my strength’s become subjected; / Ground in Time and turned to sand. // “Leave must I to break this bind, / And—though this stupor’s etch’ed in— / Know it is for thee, this time; / This act of metamorphosis. //  “Yet in this time, thou must prepare, / For jealous men shall soon draw nigh, / And make thee into pure night stare; / Face once again thy mortal blight. // “Though all seems lost, and naught but faded, / Know that thou shalt pass this test! For / In defeat, thou’lt find salvation / In a call for final rest!” //

… Left were we before the dawn, as / Wells of gold bled through its rays. / How for Thy rough shade we longed; / Our Mountain which had left the day! // Raiders seized us soon thereafter— / Lusting for Thy powers, gone— / Choked us both of land and laughter; / Greed, it came—the jealous won! //

 … / … / … / … //

… Time was present, and then past. / Indentured to our captors, we / Within Thy words screwed hope so fast, / Till Thou becam’st but memory. // Then, within The War’s eruption, / Born and forced to fight was I, and / All of this, (Thy grand instruction), / Learned we as our Captain died.  //

“For fear of death, we did not speak; / Mere conscripts for our enemy. / But in this War, so dies the meek; / To never once behold Thee, cease. // “Though we are defeated—lowly— / Act as heroes for our race; / Go and find our Mountain holy; / … our final resting place.” //

So became we resolute / Upon the night we buried him. And / To his words we followed suit; / Deserters for our folk and kin. // … In that time, to stave dejection, / Made was I our people’s head. / Pris’ners did we free and beckon; / Grew we more, and more I led. // Wan’dring in bedraggled features / To this cliff have I now come. / Remnants of this War, in rapture, / Look to Thee; Thy words be done! //

Deep in oceans Thou hast slumbered— / Time in constant, rolling waves— / Waiting for Thy call, encumbered / ‘Neath the earth, Thy temp’ry grave. //  ‘Liven Thee shall I in wonder, / Calling out upon this cliff, /

“It is time to take Time over; / Overtake this precipice! //  Show Thy face once more, O Saviour / Nevermore let us be strangers! / Come and know Thy faith, O Summit, / Know Thou art our life, our solace! // Gather up the earth’s remains / And break the waves; Thy course restraints. / Pierce the clouds and all their reigning; / Towards the heavens always gaining! // Arise O Mountain from Thy rest / Amidst this cruel and raging tempest. / Never cease, O living stone / To reach the gold that dons our globe!”

First Scene from "The Man Who Was Thursday"

This is the first scene of my adaptation of G.K. Chesterton’s “The Man Who Was Thursday.” I hope you enjoy.

CHESTERTON

Bills, bills, and nothing but bills.  Anyone who expects a writer like me to obtain this kind of money is completely off his onion.  I’m hardly making ends meet as it is and they expect me to pay twice the amount? Oof!

Oh, and look at this, they want me to invest in another subscription.  Ha! No thank you. Quoodle would just rip it up and use it as his personal fire hydrant; once again, no thank you.  We have enough useless paper littering the house as it is.

... Wait a moment. A letter from old Edmund Bentley?  Well this is a treat; there’s actually something worthwhile in the mail!  What’s he writing for I wonder?

(CHESTERTON grabs a letter opener and opens the letter. He reacts as he reads)

Dear Mr. Chesterton, it has been a while hasn’t it?  How is your wife treating you? Well, I hope. I just wanted to congratulate you on your latest book Heretics.  I couldn’t agree with you more about our modern culture and its ever present pessimists.  So many men nowadays are trying to rebel against orthodoxy as if the liturgy were the source of every wrong in the church.  I know that, and you certainly know it, but I feel as though the rebels confound it.  So I say, give them something to be confounded about; something so startling that they will listen to it without prejudice.  How can I say what I mean. I suppose what I am suggesting is a parable, a modern day parable; a story to be mulled over one’s crumpets and tea.  A story that will settle into the minds of the pessimists and reconvert them to optimism.  I hope you would oblige me with my request, oh prince of paradox. Sincerely yours, Edmund Clerihew Bentley.

(He puts down the letter)

A modern parable? ... Seems a trifle eccentric.  But perhaps....

(CHESTERTON grabs his Bible. Mumbles)

Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them. ... Hast thou considered my servant Job.

(CHESTERTON closes the Bible and ponders. After a beat, he puts the Bible down and repositions his chair. He puts a page in the typewriter)

A modern parable...

END PROLOGUE

Poems & Quotes

Life is what I must create / my mind a cell I must escape / my frame a steed that I must break / my life a poem that I must stake. / To those who think that life’s a crutch / to them I say “get up, get up.”

“The difference between an amateur and an artist is how well one can state the obvious in a new light.”

“No matter how many times life seemed to beat him down, he always managed to get back up with a smile; because to him, it was the greatest thing he could ever experience: the love of life.”

“If ignorance is bliss, then knowledge must surely be misery.”

“Connotations will be the death of the English language.”

“Discomfort breeds ingenuity”

“The Composer is not God, the Score is not Scripture, and Performers are not Prophets. Those who believe that they are are not musicians but heretics.”

“In all of our existence—and any time therein—the importance of music has been sustained through its universal vauguity and the individual’s ascription of meaning.”

“I am convinced that I am inadequate”

“It takes only one mistake to make a man a monster.”

“Dreams aren’t about searching for what you don’t have or what you want. They’re about searching for what you’ve lost, or what you hope to gain. They’re the key to the door; they’re the map to guide you toward the destination. Desires are naturally selfish, but dreams… dreams are meant for the world to see.”

“I am giving you this choice; invest in your spirit, or in your flesh; either way, you will sacrifice a part of yourself.  The question is, which part can you live without?”

“There are two ways in which one can view the world. The first is seeing the world as it should be: untouched by sin and filled with a holy light. The second is seeing the world as it is: a place of our own creation, a place of perpetual darkness. The first laments for each shadow that is cast, but the second rejoices for every shimmer of light. Unfortunately, I am of the prior.”

“Choosing ignorance is like choosing cheap booze;. it might get you buzzed, but it’ll more than likely kill you for indulging it.”

“Pac-man is the definition of life; you eat until you die.”

-Brendan Moir

The Problem with the Avant-Garde

In my last post, I described how the art of composition is a relatively unoriginal practice and yet is continually changing due to the composer's interpretation of the art. I also covered how the Greats focused their efforts into their artistry (their interpretation of the compositional process) rather than technical aspect of the craft. However, the artists of the avant-garde (1945-90's), in an attempt to go against the Greats that preceded them, rejected the idea of artistry and therefore began to focus solely on the technical. Avant-garde music composers, for example, created sheet music that was so incomprehensibly notated and technically challenging that its sound was nothing but a conglomeration of unpleasant noises. In other words, this type of "music" wasn't created for the purpose of listening, but rather for the experimentation of notation; "music for reading" if you will. This rebellion against the past had one sole purpose and that was mainly to obliterate already established artistry and to replace it with highly specialized technical exercises. With that being stated--coupled with the points of my previous post--I can say without shame that the avant-garde--because it doesn't have definitive piece to help explain the style--cannot be considered "real" art.

This is not to say though that the works of the avant-garde artists are just complete and utter trash. Far from it! You see, the artists of the avant-garde were in fact one of the most creative generations ever to exist. They approached the highly elusive goal of greatness in the most unconventional and interesting ways; they tried to create something that was totally original by completely severing themselves from the past. Truth be told, it was a very noble effort... but it was highly unpractical. Try as one might, one can never escape the past. It defines every bit of our culture and our lives. It is because of the past that originality is unattainable. (...You could also say the same of perfection.) You see, the reason why avant-garde continually fails is because it focuses itself on the pursuit of these two unattainable goals (perfection and originality), and thereby reduces itself to an technical exercise and nothing more. For evidence of this claim just look at how very few Greats there in the avant-garde genre. Since there has been no definitive form or depiction of the avant-garde that the public willingly recognizes and accepts, it has failed to flourish as a genre. Because of its blatant disregard for artistry, the avant-garde doomed itself to an endless cycle of criticism. (If you do any research on the composer John Cage you will begin to understand the full scope of that statement.) Without incorporating artistry into one's work, the "art" of composition becomes a boring and repetitive process, ultimately reducing itself to a mathematical algorithm that produces haphazard and uninspiring products called "art". (Sound familiar music industry?) This then begs the question, "is this really composition?"

You see, the whole appeal of composition is the fact that it is so vague and undefinable; that there is no definitive way to create a “good” piece of art. Therefore, it can be inferred that each one of a composer's works can be viewed as their attempt at defining art. By continually trying to find "new" and "original" ways in which to organize their talents, composers continually manage to nurture their hope of creating/sustaining a higher form of art; they continue to nurture that hope of becoming great. This process of taking Order out of Chaos is what we as human beings strive to do--just watching a child at play will alone reveal that truth--but by intentionally calling random and unorganized chaos "art," one is going against our intrinsic human nature. I believe G. K. Chesterton said it best when he wrote, "the rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull, because in chaos [a] train might indeed go anywhere, but every time a train comes into its station, it has broken past batteries of besiegers, and man has once again won a battle against chaos.  No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a timetable, with tears of pride."

For us, Order may be one of the hardest targets to hit, but by combining our child-like creativity with our mature and adult understanding, we will always be able to hit that mark with a sure-fire aim. By drawing Order out of Chaos, we will always be able to supply the world with the manifestation of our creativity: our Art.

If there ever were to be a thesis for this essay--or better yet, a definite purpose--it would have to be this; by ultimately rejecting the principles of order, the avant-garde rejected the very principles of art. Until one can accept that Art is Order, one cannot create true art.

Let this be a lesson to the composers of the future.

-Brendan Moir

The Practice of Composition

Throughout my relatively short years of composition, I have consistently been amazed at how many possibilities the art holds. In truth, it is intimidating. How on earth is one supposed to create a coherent and original piece with an almost limitless amount of combinations? This truth is what makes the practice of composition exceptionally difficult to perform. Difficult, but not impossible. Oftentimes, those who thrive in the field of composition come to terms with the fact that originality is unattainable; every new composition is built upon the generation of work that preceded it, no matter how different of a shift it may seem (i.e. artistic revolutions, such as Stravinsky’s Sacre de Printemps and the Beatles’ introduction of rock). This does not mean, however, that each composition is carbon copy of its predecessor. Quite the opposite. The composer’s ability to make a piece of artwork their own is what the art of composition is. The process of personal application defines what our understanding of art is. For me, the compositional process is the act of exploring the unoriginal and making it new--building off the foundation of the past while speaking to the men of the future: creation through application.

The compositional process--as I have previously mentioned--is a constant battle between oneself and one's uncertainty. If an artist lacks to equip themselves with any sort of steadfast resolve, the power of indecision will cripple their efforts faster than anything else could. If equipped however, almost any artist--or any person for that matter--can supersede their uncertainties and ultimately influence reality. The desire to create--the need to create--is what separates the artist from the amateur; the intentional act of defining one's own desire is what any noteworthy composer has done/must do.

I, for example, was of the philosophy that I wanted to compose a perfect piece of art. I yearned to create a composition that could stand the test of time and speak to anyone and everyone who experienced it. But because of that, I was always dissatisfied with my work, and I would eventually take it upon my back as a failure and have it bear upon my conscience. Yet, as I continued to grow in my understanding of composition, I began to realize that my desire was/is not to make a piece that is perfect, but rather to make a piece that is great. Truth be told, a piece of art can be perfectly constructed and perfectly performed, but if it lacks that inexplicable connection with the human soul, it lacks indefinite greatness; it reduces itself to a technical exercise and nothing else. 

There is a reason as to why there aren't that many Greats in the world, and that is because unlike most artists--who are so focused on getting everything perfectly right, thereby completely missing the point of art--the Greats never place perfection over artistry. They look beyond the pretense of perfection and focus on conveying a piece of art that comprehensively captures some sort of connection with our human experience. This is why they are usually praised during their life time and remembered centuries after they've lived; they helped define what technique was rather than condemn themselves to it. (This is not to say they did not pay attention to technique, but more that they focused on making their art great rather than perfect, i.e. a technical exercise.)  The attainment of greatness is not an easy undertaking--in fact, it is probably one of the hardest peregrinations to ever attempt--but in the end, it is probably one of the most desirable goals, if not the most desirable, for any true artist to pursue. 

So, as you compose, perform, or even review, always search for that little bit of greatness that will make your work your own. Do not obsess yourself with the false ideal of perfection, but rather focus the entirety of your soul into your artistry. Don't feel dejected if people dislike your work or even despise you for it, because in the end, you have managed to influence reality in some way, shape, or form, and that is the beginning of anyone's journey towards greatness.

-Brendan Moir