Chapter 6. Arranging and Rearranging

Most, if not all, composers are really arranging and rearranging all the time, adapting to the consequences of every new subtle nuance, epiphany, or agreeable accident. Maybe you nudge the coffee table in your living room ever so slightly whenever you walk by until it’s just right. Or, perhaps you draft a complex diagram to reveal the perfect combination of aesthetics and utility around your new bronze Snoopy sculpture. Maybe it is ultimately decided that the sculpture stays, a new house shall be built around it, and the coffee table is best used for kindling. In other words, putting together the pieces—from a glimmer in the eye to the raising of the baton—is really what a composer does. What those pieces are, and the methods used, should be at the artist’s discretion because they are actually all a part of the composition itself.

If the content of this chapter seems a bit light considering the title, it is. This whole book is about arranging and rearranging. On a personal note, I have often thought a good arranger is underappreciated. I tend to think every unique innovation is an expression of one’s self regardless of deceptive and unflattering terminology. As listeners, why dwell infinitely on what already exists when we could open ourselves to appreciate the wonderful uniqueness in even the slightest adaptations? After all, even every live performance is actually its own unique interpretation. But, on our side of the coin, as dedicated innovators, why rely on someone else’s work unless we’re sure it will inspire more than confine? If Einstein was right, and “the secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources,” maybe the great arrangers just didn’t get the memo. Or, maybe we underestimate those veiled, selfless artists who recognize when a composition is simply not finished.