This past weekend I decided to check out the offerings of a used CD store in town. I was surprised to find a really good selection of Classical music CDs and ended up purchasing about 10 discs.

One of the recordings I picked up was the Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus performing Mozart’s Requiem. I was trying to get some work done yesterday while listening to the piece, but I found the music so compelling, that I simply had to stop what I was doing on multiple occasions and focus on the composition. I could devote an entire blog to the artful handling of fugal writing in this piece; another blog on Mozart’s dramatic usage of register; and yet a third blog on the timing and brilliance of the formal and textural changes in the piece. Suffice it to say, that with the Requiem, Mr. Mozart has delivered yet another ass whuppin’ to this lowly composer struggling in vain to string together a few notes here in Eastern Iowa.

On a related note (pun intended), I remember one time in college, listening to Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring with the score, and marveling over the complexity of the composer’s orchestration. I dejectedly walked into my composition lesson the next day and asked my teacher “why should I even bother continuing writing music, I’ll never be able to put something together like the Rite of Spring?” I can’t remember his response, but it must have been good enough for me to not give up entirely.

There’s usually one piece on most concerts I attend, that humbles me a great deal. I’ve been on the receiving end of whuppins by a whole host of composers – Beethoven (repeatedly), Brahms, and Bartok to name but a few.

But I think it’s a healthy thing for a composer to get cut down to size now and again. It’s important to be aware of one’s shortcomings by recognizing how others have done it better in specific areas - orchestration, dramatic portrayal, formal architecture, creativity, you name it. Composers can use these experiences as learning opportunities, sizing up areas we need to improve upon. Then, we can take some time to study the scores of those whuppin’ our butts, to see how they’ve created these magical moments and later, apply these concepts to our own works.

In fact, recognizing greatness and working toward that standard to become better is true in just about any human endeavor. Take for example, the case of Kobe Bryant. Do you think he is as good of a basketball player as Michael Jordon? In my opinion, he’s probably not, but he’s close, close enough for the question to be asked and given some serious consideration.

How did Kobe get to where he is today? What if he had championed lesser players, like Clyde Drexler or John Stockton, and used them as his measuring stick rather than MJ? Would he be as good of a player today? Probably not.

And so, as composers, it’s good to compare ourselves to the best, and keep striving to be included among their company. I don’t have any delusions that the name Kendrick will ever be held in as high of regard musically as the name Mozart or Beethoven, but if I keep trying, perhaps by the time I’m 70, these great geniuses will be merely be stepping on my little toe, rather than consistently bruising my entire backside.

That would hurt a whole lot less!