Frank Corcoran

It´s the race, desperate or more calm, to remember, to record my receding past; to etch something on the grey tombstone before it´s gone; fix at least something from shaky memor, my memories . Slap it down.( We have been at this a long time now.) But also to attempt a description of the conception, gestation, licking into final shape of an important work I composed in, say, 1977. How rein in mythopoetic ” I remember” ? Which initial gesture, texture, synaesthetic bundle of sensations accompanying an initial rhythm, motif or cell? How? As the spool winds backwards ?
If my recent music is busy remembering earlier composed works ( whether it suits me or not, it is ! ) , music about music, and if my earliest composed music was ( – okay, mostly unconsciously ) “remembering” things past, surely my work on memory this very today is a highly compound re-working of ( all ? some ? ) my lived and thought sense-data ( tasted, smelled, ingorged, expectorated, etc. ). Devilishly tricky, you´d imagine.