Frank Corcoran

A new work . In petto and on the drawing-board ( okay, smeared by wine-glass bottoms, by smudges of ink-slashed rejected solutions, my royal white Typex, this present Spring sweat ) .
The 13 strings of my chamber orchestra spawn their lines, our chords,
my cadenced points of view and of sound. Thirty years ago I was bleating about form in music , architectural forms of sections and their relations ( Joyce – Aristotle ) to the full thing. The whole string story; ravishing colour-mixtures of my string orchestra , yes, and all my penned soli and heard doubles ( and my few deep strings – and what then do I do with my choir of high eight violins ? – Have I heard them sing their say ? Have I ? ) ( Agreed, two violas, two celli and one bass are a darling, my deep bog colours´ love and this viscidity and turf-muddiness ) .
The age-old problems of form once again in my New York New Work ( Title ? Neo-phony or – phonic ? . How begin / how´l I end ? How spin it out now, and whither and why ? A heard repeat of just what ? Teleology never sleeps in a new Corcoran work for 13 Strings. – Pity ; ´twould make things much easier ! I´ll add here other problems of a Spring – Summer composer : memory, “Quasi”, irony, unconscious quotation, stop repeating myself, courage, what´s “ew”, etc.
Must stop this ( – quick! we have but an ) instant ! Other I´d never get finished , neither backbone nor filigrane nor stuccatura nor The Big String Thing.