Frank Corcoran

Today at my cardiologist’s I heard the whoosh and sluicing of my blood being pumped. Apparently this will go on until – one fine day – it won’t ever any more. Why is this a tiresome and trite fact. It isn’t. Not at all. Yet if I don’t find it important, well….   Not that I am the kind of composer who wants to record it  as sound-material and then make a tape-piece of it , “The Heart’s A-Wonder” kind of billage. Spillage of my  pumped blood is only interesting if I could form it, bend this raw material into musical, i.e. temporal – sonic shape. Only then. Blood is thicker than water and a Blood Sonata is thicker than water-music. Really now.