Frank Corcoran

I am sitting between two flying stools, kindly and awe-filled North Atlantic storms a mere  11.500 metres under my aeroplane seat and a night sleep back from New York to all too airy Hamburg -but soon will be my March flight to Dublin, the Cello Concerto’s  premiere.
(  Corcoran’s newly premiered NYC work for 13 Strings , ” QUASI UNA STORIA” , was quite different only  one movement, fifty shades of burnished brown and Guarnieri polish, this lone composer’s colour nuances all bowed and plucked . )
The Dublin ( Yes, March 13 2015   ) concerto pits violent sound- masses ( Certainly I  remember Dvorak and Lutoslawsky )  ,   our cello’s High Line against ( too ? ) vast orchestral forces.  In the violent Scherzo   timpani ( – all five ) try to overcome  the soloist’s High Song.
So how shall solo cello sing and shout or scream or whisper,  woo me positively, hymn me, its creator ?
I built four dolmens in sound. Four orchestral movements.  Then the orchestra ;  well, how  screech / sing / sigh / sob / proclaim ,dreaman incantation ? The High Romantic Concerto since Paganin is a muster, well-thrashed. Very well. Struggle on, agon, sacred syllable, motif, phrase, quasi quotations, all the building stones of my Corcoran Scale Seven.