The Fredösphere

A few days ago, my daughter, the Maharincess, determined to launch her composing career.  I sat her down at the computer, gave her a few instructions in how to use Finale, and turned her loose.  The ol' Himebaugh genes kicked in, and like her brother before her, she has produced a bold masterpiece of singular brilliance.

Like all uncompromising geniuses, she cares nothing for the whining criticisms of performers locked in old-fashioned notions of what is "performable" or "practical."  So, as we expect, the Maharincess pushes instrumentalists beyond all bounds.  Unlike other experimentalists, however, she explores new territory in her pronounced bias in favor of treble sounds.  At first, I suspected this was caused by the position of the MIDI keyboard relative to the computer, which makes the low notes hard to reach for a six-year-old's arm.  But no:  upon listening to an early version of this piece, the diminutive maestra insisted on replacing a line of low-lying notes with high ones.  She knows what she wants, and she knows how to get it.

The Maharincess seems to have a special animus for the expectations of trombone players.  I am no Freudian, yet I cannot help but speculate that latent feminist resentments lurk in the mind of the budding young composer, expressed by unprecedented demands on a orchestral section known for its high proportion of male players, players with a reputation for chauvinism.  I will refrain from the more shocking terminology employed by feminist theorists, and simply invite the reader to imagine for himself (or herself!) the psychological effect on a male trombonist as he is subjugated to a passage wherein he must "sound like a girl."

As happened when I revealed my son's genius to an appreciative world, I expect this new work, Flowers in the Wind, to be greeted by embarrassingly effusive critical acclaim.  After all, my little Maharincess deserves no less.

Labels: Composer, fun