One note regarding the otherwise excellent previously mentioned 92nd St. concert: men’s concert dress for the group is a blue suit (with white shirt and colored tie). In my rush to change between quintet rehearsal and the concert, I managed to somehow put on the pants from a pin-striped suit with the jacket from a solid suit. Though (hopefully) not apparent from the audience perspective, the combination certainly drew a fair number of comments from the rest of the brass section.
After last week’s rather tragic concert, I today achieved musical redemption through two much happier trumpet events.
First, a rehearsal with a brass quintet I recently joined. Oddly enough, I believe I enjoy the group mainly because I’m by far the worst of the five players. I mean, these guys can play. The French horn, for example, was formerly a member of the Israel Philharmonic. Playing with the quintet is a musical kick in the butt; in chamber music there’s nowhere to hide, and with this group I have to give my all on every piece just to keep up. While I have a ways to go before moving up from the back of the bus, at several points I shocked myself with the sound coming out of my bell; without a doubt, today’s rehearsal was some of the best, some of the prettiest, playing I’ve done in my life.
Following that, I had a performance of Rachmaninov’s Symphony No. 2 in E minor with the 92nd St. Orchestra. The piece is full of romantic period schmaltz, swelling strings, soaring brass. Beautiful in a movie score sort of way. It was one of the concerts where everything just lines up, where everyone is making music. At several points I almost missed entrances having become entirely too captivated by the group’s playing to count my rests.
On the subway home, thinking over the concert and Rachmaninov’s symphony’s enveloping richness, thinking about quintet rehearsal and the joy, the thrill of playing with such wonderful musicians, I realized that, should I ever produce a film involving a broad, lush, John Williams / John Barry sort of score, I’d have no choice but to insert myself into the studio. As third trumpet, the bottom rung of the group, so that my poor playing wouldn’t gum up the works. But still a chance to sit with the musicians and play, just play, until it’s time to go home.
Yes, Cyan Pictures’ site has gone live. Head over, add a comment to the first post, and bookmark the site so you can return regularly once it officially launches a week from Monday.
Oh, and if you find any errors or bugs, let me know.
Yesterday, as I was laying out a rough version of Cyan’s upcoming weblog, I received an email from my mother suggesting I scrap the whole idea. Films, she pointed out, are likely similar to the proverbial laws and sausages; if you like them, you should never watch them being made. And, reluctant as I am to admit it, she has a point. We’re a young company, likely to make all sorts of embarrassing mistakes in the process of creating our first few films. Hide the interim from the world, only show off the polished end products, and we’re certain to come across looking savvier, more competent than if people had watched us through the whole messy process.
Still, a Cyan blog provides at least one very powerful advantage – it establishes a direct line of communication between us and the people for whom we’re creating films. And by incorporating their suggestions at each step along the way to a final cut, I suspect we’ll end up making substantially better movies than we would going it alone.
So, sorry mom, it looks like we’ll be doing a Cyan blog after all. Feel free to say I never listen to your advice; apparently you’re right.
Countering yesterday’s vitriol, some happy notes of film-related progress:
1. As sort of a warm-up for feature making, Cyan will be producing a fifteen minute short later this summer. Tentatively titled “Coming Down the Mountain,” the film will be shot in the small mining towns of the Appalachian Mountains, centering on the family of an unemployed coal miner addicted to the prescription pain-killer Oxycontin.
2. At the completely opposite end of the spectrum, TriBeCa’s Porn n’ Chicken, on which I’m serving as Associate Producer, will begin filming next week, barreling towards an October premiere on Comedy Central.
3. No doubt riveted by these two developments, you’re likely asking, how can I learn more about the ongoing progress of these and other future projects? Well, good news! Cyan’s web site (hopefully to be completed shortly) will now include a production blog, allowing you to voyeuristically experience the ins and outs of these and other future misadventures in filmmaking great daily depth.
Today, allow me to address those readers who have ‘helpfully’ emailed recently to point out the irregularity (in both timing and quality) of my postings over the past few weeks:
Sod off, you fucking bastards! You can blow it out you ass! I can’t even begin to tell you how much time I’ve been spending on launching my company, I somehow managed to horribly over-commit myself with a slew of upcoming trumpet gigs, there’s a no-holds-barred tournament coming up next month where I’ll be quite publicly getting my ass kicked if I don’t push my training into high gear, and that doesn’t even begin to factor in the time requirements of a nascent relationship and my long-standing raging alcoholism. That’s right. I’m busy. I have a fucking LIFE. I don’t have time to just SIT AROUND, dancing like a MONKEY for your FUCKING ENTERTAINMENT! WHY CAN’T YOU ALL JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL! WHY DON’T YOU ALL JUST WITHER AND DIE!!! AAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!
I mean, um… I really appreciate the feedback and will be working hard to live up to prior expectations. Gosh, you guys are swell!
Regarding the merits of having a wall of windows in your bedroom:
Pro: Room is well lit.
Con: Room is well lit, even if the shades are drawn and you were out drinking until five in the morning plus you slept comparably little the night before and mainly you just want to get some god damned sleep so you can stop it already with these pointless, rambling run-on sentences.