Frank Corcoran

I had lost much time ( – had I? ). This is less a Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Ass, more a lingering at and near a few sound epiphanies. Sound man. THREE ORCHESTRAL PIECES of them early seventies were just that – my high horns, trumpets cutting the thin air of what were three ” Pictures From My Exhibition” . Did you ever compose a rhythmic canon for two bass drums? – I did. And a solo oboe worked narrative wonders.
Schooling had been an emotional catastrophe ; how amputate a youngster´s young emotions? ( Only bits of literature, a very little, could save ( a little ) my having been cauterized against wonder, against high ecstasy, against the miracle that is a composer´s composing. I fought back. Certainly. My later symphonic struggles all yell. Of course I stole; from the composers I knew, my little quotes and biteens and collages, in that PIANO TRIO ( – for me a rhythmic break-through ) and in my WIND QUINTET, the SYMPHONIES. They bleed. My instrumental ounds.