Frank Corcoran

irish composer

THE TROUBLE IS THE FLUTE , REALLY ….

A COLD DECEMBER IN HAMBURG , MUSING :

The trouble is the flute –

I’ve heard too many Flatterzunges of the ” avant WHAT ” of those sixties, Gazzeloni and other giants excellent

blowers of just WHAT for young

Stockhausen ( awful ! ) and breathy young Boulez ( wasn’t much better on the quick-ear ) and other fluted

others.

My ” IT SOARED A BIRD” re-entered terrain I’d swore I’d never again .

So each of my 3 short movements must be unashamedly different, over-theatrical, yet keep the sigh in a tiny

interval, the memory of an archetype, a suggestion of sweet or sour.

No neo – anything ; my mighty flute phrases striding, my ( as usual ) orchestrally thought pianoforte.

Mov. 1 with its modest
Irish tin-whistle of my early Tipperary fifties and its Debussyan ” Tres Mod’er’e ”
.
My Alto Flute in Mov. 2 sobs and swings and startles with its still
fresh chromatic notes and appoggiaturas , its lows and highs.

In Mov.3 I ( once again ) have to conquer the Standard Bartokian Model with fast, driving, repeated
piano chords, the piccolo unleashed, high and cruel, its highest registers conquered.

“IT SOARED A BIRD” for Flutes ( including Tinwhistle ) and Piano.
No bad self-discipline at all, a few sleeplessnesses.

Posted under: Humble Hamburg Musings

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