Manifesting
I love the practice of making something out of nothing. My ability to manifest a musical composition often starts from a blank slate. On my recording gear, the singular prompt is NEW PROJECT. Sometimes I will randomly choose a tempo or a key (such as G minor) to provide parameters. The first act as I approach manifesting is to narrow the field of endless possibilities and create smaller frameworks.
Recently I’ve been experimenting with reining in the musical colours on my palette to just my voice, my horn, and maybe a rhythm track. I’ve whimsically called this Gary Diggins and the Beaver Valley Brass Ensemble. Manifesting, in my practice, usually implicates my imaginal juices. Yesterday, I envisioned a brass quintet accompanying four or five singers. This vision helped me make other choices such as the sonic characteristics of this grouping. I set up a sonic template of players huddled in a small room with a quality and intimacy - not a lot of reverb on the microphone and no special effects.
The piece I manifested started with a drum track that went on for 5 minutes. I imagined something simple as if a drummer didn’t bring any cymbals, toms, or percussion to the recording - basically a snare and kick drum. The next layer I added came out of some keyboard patterns that sounded like several people playing boomwhackers or sound tubes in a funky style. Now I had a frame, a context for the content.
For the brass ensemble, I chose only a cornet. I could have added my euphonium for a bass-like timbre but stuck with the limit of one instrument and one voice. Manifesting, for me, works best as a process divided into manageable chunks. To aid in that process, I used a looping device in my recording software. At bar 16, I dragged a yellow line over 8 more bars so that I could compose horn parts within a smaller framework. After warming up my cornet, I played around with melodic lines in the middle register. This gave me another restriction so that I could layer in upper and lower parts on the instrument. I kept the loop going so that my first, second, or third pass would get erased and replaced by a new idea.
Sometimes gradually and sometimes instantly a melody comes into being - one that just feels and sounds right. I don’t get too fancy in my playing but imagine myself to be like a visual artist with a sketchbook. I only want to capture an essence. Ego tendencies to show off are not welcomed into the process. Adding harmonies over the first 8 bars also helps me discern the spirit of the manifestation. Is it joyful, reflective? Is it evocative of a New Orleans second-line band or a small village brass band inside a community hall. What came through yesterday carried an optimistic vibe, something uplifting.
I wanted to leave space for the vocal parts, so I travelled further down the pathway for my next 8 bars of horn parts - something different yet in keeping with the song’s spirit. I used this leapfrog design right to the end - creating horn lines followed by space for the vocals. Now I had assembled the puzzle pieces in a manner where the border edges were in place as well as some of the key images. Next, I sat back and just listened from a technical standpoint. If the horns sounded too soft or loud, I adjusted. I panned the five tracks to manifest the image of an ensemble standing in a semi-circle. In a few places, I cut out some parts to reduce repetition or make more space. I love this notion that manifesting isn’t about filling in the blanks, cramming in ideas. Making space is part of the charm.
On my next round of listening, I picked up a small notebook and penned random phrases that emerged while listening. The first phrase that sprang up (or dropped down) was the short line “coming home to you.” That cluster of words proved to be central to a storyline that pushed through. I began to imagine myself driving home to my beloved and singing “coming home to you.” At least a few nights a week, I’ll be returning from a gig, a workshop, or a rehearsal. I drive in all conditions - fog, a blizzard of snow, a clear or rainy night. Usually, when I’m leaving a place, I’ll text Catherine with a sentence such as “heading back home now.” Typically, these drives are 90 minutes to two hours on average. They take me down a combination of main roads and rural concessions. So, the vision of driving back to my partner comes from real life experience.
The first lyric I wrote was:
When the sun goes down, I’m coming home to you.
When the stars are not around, I’m coming home to you.
Subsequent lines, like a chant structure, flowed out:
When the night grows cold, I’m coming home to you
When you feel me on the road, I’m coming home to you.
What appeared, musically, was a main character singing with accompanying harmonies - reminiscent of the call and response tradition heard in gospel churches. The story unfolded, was captured, and tweaked where my diction or intonation wasn’t exact. Not too much fussing, though. Catherine came into my studio at one point to call me for dinner and I played her what I had created up to that point. I knew I was on the right track when she danced to the music and then reached out to hold my hand.
Ahhh… manifesting takes many forms.