# Your own fictional composer and his/her story



## clavichorder (May 2, 2011)

How many of us day dreaming classical music aficionados have ever thought up a fictional composer from any time period? Maybe its the composer you feel you would be in your preferred era; maybe its just a character you invented. Maybe you'd like to make a new composer on the spot right here for us(have at it)? 

I'll go first. I've yet to think of a name for this composer other than my own, so obviously its who I imagine I'd be in my element. 

So, I'm going to detail a lot, and I don't expect others to do the same, maybe just a general idea would suffice. I admit, I took this a little far...

Here's his (rough) story:

This composer was born in 1692 in colonial Pennsylvania to a middle class family. His earliest exposure to music was through the bands and his mothers own singing of popular tunes of the era both native to his region and from England, and the music that made the greatest impression on him, the liturgical music in his church accompanied by the skillful church keyboardist on the portative organ that was available. He became an apprentice of this organist at age 10 and learned all the hymns available to him. When his master felt him ready, he introduced him to the organ music of Sweelinck that his family had brought from Europe in their immigration. He soon became aware of the great Fitzwilliam book when he was rifling one day through his master's collection. He familiarized himself with the repertoire of the Fitzwilliam book, copying it in the old style of notation that he learned through imitation of its pages, all the while apprenticing as the organist for the church now that his skills were adequate for the job. At age 16, he shared with his teacher, who was an accomplished improviser and had some experience with writing his own music for church, his collection of original keyboard works modeled on the music of Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, Philips, Farnaby, Sweelinck, Tomkins, and others. By the age of 18 and half, he had constructed himself a suitable instrument to play the music on, an Elizebethan style virginal, and gave public performances for money of both original works and repertoire from the Fitzwilliam, and a few other books he had acquired. 

All the while, he was vaguely aware of the age of the music that he so admired, and curious about about its origin. He had heard performances of viol consort music in the houses of wealthy men in the urban centers that he had the privilege to visit on occasion. He was also somewhat aware of the songs of Henry Purcell, and the newer music of the european continent. But he was faithful to his musical roots.

Other circumstances in his life and the world at age 21 caused him to turn his attention to a way to make his way in the world. He enlisted in the English military, and at age 23 had his first voyage to England, where he was stationed for a time. The manuscripts of those works which he had written and the book that had inspired them, were valuables to him, and they came along too.

He became known for his entertaining concerts on the harpsichord to the other military men. One day, after a year abroad, a music loving Jesuit priest heard his works and remarked on their quality and antiquity of style. At once, the jesuit introduced him to a country lord of conservative tastes in music and all things, who was greatly pleased to hear these works. The lord pulled some strings and pretty soon, my composer was teaching his children and no longer enlisted in the military. He continued in the comfortable capacity, where he also met his future wife, the lord's eldest daughter(this caused a great degree of scandal, considering his colonial roots and lack of proper pedigree), and all the while was influence by newer music that he encountered from London in the lord's collection. He came across Corelli's music and the one day made the acquaintance of the great Geminiani. 

During his London period which lasted from age 28-41, he became a public figure after some years of apprenticeship with Geminiani, on the premier of his op 3 concerti grossi, which were much admired though considered old fashioned. His last major life changing episode, occurred when the 30 sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti found their way to England. These works had such a profound effect on his musical thinking, that he decided to compose his own set. And he sent them to the queen maria barbara of Spain, who upon receiving them, asked to make his acquaintance. Naturally, he moved to Spain, taking his wife with him. 

He and Scarlatti were great pals and his grandson would later write his biography in the early 19th century, decades after his death in 1771. His unique keyboard sonatas, influence by his earlier roots and Scarlatti, would help to alter Spain's musical destiny. 

The end.


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

This is awesome! Yes, I will paraphrase a story I wrote a while back that included a number of fictional composers (all in Russia but not in connection with the famous guys). It'll take me a little while, also I'm not available right now to use my computer, so hold this thought!


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## MoonlightSonata (Mar 29, 2014)

Well, mine is one I wrote a short story about once. The composer is unnamed throughout.
With his first published composition at the age of four, he was an incredible child prodigy. He started on the piano, but by the age of eight could play any orchestral instrument to a very high standard. 
In addition to composing, conducting and performing he became a prolific novelist, publishing about three books per year. 
His main genre was the piano miniature, writing 80 sets of ten preludes each. He also wrote suites and sonatas for every orchestral instrument and some non-orchestral ones too.
In addition to this, he wrote some seventy string quartets along with masses of other chamber music.
A prolific symphonist, too, he wrote 456 symphonies.
And how did this composer manage to be so prolific? Well, the story is not just one of a truly great composer, but of the longest lived human in history, total lifespan 126 years, 1 month, 6 days.

I've written lots of these composer stories. They're fun, and you can vary them so much.


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

MoonlightSonata said:


> Well, mine is one I wrote a short story about once. The composer is unnamed throughout.
> With his first published composition at the age of four, he was an incredible child prodigy. He started on the piano, but by the age of eight could play any orchestral instrument to a very high standard.
> In addition to composing, conducting and performing he became a prolific novelist, publishing about three books per year.
> His main genre was the piano miniature, writing 80 sets of ten preludes each. He also wrote suites and sonatas for every orchestral instrument and some non-orchestral ones too.
> ...


All of those accomplishments are quite impressive, surely a super-human genius, but _one _of them...



> He started on the piano, but by the age of eight could play any orchestral instrument to a very high standard.


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

Ok ok! My story now...

In the magnificent city of St. Petersburg, right at the turn of the 20th Century (so just before WWI) there were 3 young composers. Their names were Maxim Voronin, Andrei Gavrilov, and Alexey Simonovich. They went through conservatory together, Alexey being 2 years older than Andrei and Maxim, and so the "leader" of their group. The members of this triumvirate were the greatest friends for many years, although they each had their different backgrounds. Andrei's background was a military family, Maxim a wealthy merchant family, and Alexey from the commoner's class. Only Maxim had noble status. Andrei was the gloomy, sarcastic one, Maxim the spoiled brat, and Alexey one of the kindest individuals anyone ever knew. You would think that their friendship would have been impossible, but it wasn't. In fact, it could have all been attributed to Alexey, who use to bring Andrei and Maxim up to a high steeple of an old church every few months to look out over the horizon at sunset: "Look what God can do!" Andrei and Maxim thought his ecstatic and religious feeling as silly, and didn't regard it seriously, that is, not for a while anyhow...

About 4 years into their friendship, Alexey developed tuberculosis which quickly took over him. At his death bed, he gave Andrei a single unpublished piece which he said he could keep and re-orchestrate as he pleased. Andrei promised him that he would use it well in memory of his dear friend. Alexey died soon after.

As soon as Alexey was gone, the spark in the group vanished. Maxim and Andrei became argumentative and bitter with each other, each for different reasons. Andrei mocked Maxim for his lack of talent and the fact he got into the Conservatory just because of his money, but Maxim took this very seriously. In fact, Maxim grew very bitter over the next 4 years, jealous that he did not have the skill the way Andrei and Alexey did... they separated from each other in that time.

Andrei was about 26 when he had a major illness after the premiere of his 1st symphony. The fever was so high and for such a prolonged time that he lost his vision. He had thoughts of suicide for a month after, and yet was inspired to compose on, to write a new 2nd Symphony. He gets the help of a young woman disenchanted by her prior job and she becomes his copyist to write down what he played at his piano.

Maxim, the ever winsome character, found out what was happening by sliding his way into the suspected young woman's life, and decided to take a chance. He tried to convince the girl that she was going to be sold out for her help, and that HE could help her get the proper attribution as a co-composer of the 2nd Symphony, if she would but give him the manuscript when it was completed. Little did she know that he was going to give only himself the credit for the symphony, which could not be proven since the original was not in Andrei's handwriting. He would copy down Andrei's ideas with his own hand and burn the young woman's manuscript, giving her lots of money to keep her quiet. She nearly fell for it (as well as some sort of professed love interest in her) except for a confusion over who was to be trusted, Andrei or Maxim? She had little idea of what kind of rivalry was actually going on between them. But as she gets to know Andrei better as he reveals things about his past, she begins to have serious compassion on him...

When the young woman awakes from her deception and finally rejects Maxim's deal, he's angered unlike he's ever been before. Although her accusation about the plan was true, the love interest actually was not. It didn't happen often in his life that he wasn't able to get something he wanted, but to lose now _2_ things that meant a lot to him, this infuriates him to rash action. He had been stalking Andrei's house for many months as the symphony was being written, when finally now he has a chance to end it. He's going to break into their house and steal the symphony, regardless if someone is going to pay at the blade of his knife.

Andrei was bringing the young woman to the late Alexey's church steeple one evening, when Maxim was caught off guard by them coming back to the house. Seeing this chance, he tries to attack both of them, but little does he know that Andrei can hear him better than Maxim can see in the dark of an alley, and Andrei strikes him unconscious with his cane. Andrei and the young woman escape unharmed.

Maxim disappears from this story, possibly suffering a great deal after his head injury, but he never tries anything again against Andrei. It is assumed that he goes on with his mediocre life in disillusion and loneliness... he's never heard from again.

Once the symphony is finished, Andrei gives the young woman Alexey's piece and proposes to her with no presumptions, but he discovers that she had been secretly loving him too. So, months later, they are married and the symphony is also premiered. A miraculous event occurs that while the symphony is being played and the audience claps for him, he regains his vision. It is assumed that Andrei continues to compose and be a successful composer, but his wife no longer needs to dictate his ideas. Not that they'd like a turn at it for fun now and then... 

The End


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## MoonlightSonata (Mar 29, 2014)

Huilunsoittaja said:


> Ok ok! My story now...
> 
> In the magnificent city of St. Petersburg, right at the turn of the 20th Century (so just before WWI) there were 3 young composers. Their names were Maxim Voronin, Andrei Gavrilov, and Alexey Simonovich. They went through conservatory together, Alexey being 2 years older than Andrei and Maxim, and so the "leader" of their group. The members of this triumvirate were the greatest friends for many years, although they each had their different backgrounds. Andrei's background was a military family, Maxim a wealthy merchant family, and Alexey from the commoner's class. Only Maxim had noble status. Andrei was the gloomy, sarcastic one, Maxim the spoiled brat, and Alexey one of the kindest individuals anyone ever knew. You would think that their friendship would have been impossible, but it wasn't. In fact, it could have all been attributed to Alexey, who use to bring Andrei and Maxim up to a high steeple of an old church every few months to look out over the horizon at sunset: "Look what God can do!" Andrei and Maxim thought his ecstatic and religious feeling as silly, and didn't regard it seriously, that is, not for a while anyhow...
> 
> ...


In a word: Wow.


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## MoonlightSonata (Mar 29, 2014)

Right, I'll do one now.
My composer is going to be called Pacorelli. It seems like a composer-ish name.
Anyway, Pacorelli was born in Italy to musical parents, and was introduced to a quartet-sized violin at the age of four. He soon discovered his preference for the viola. 
After he had reached concert standard with the viola and violin, he was given a cello.
Then, tragedy struck. His parents were killed in a train crash when the young Pacorelli was just 13. For two years he lived in an orphanage before a German string quartet took him in after their violist left. So began his German period.
After a while, he started to compose his own music for the string quartet. Some of his music was very well-received. His career in chamber music was cut short, however, when the first violinist and cellist had an argument a both left the quartet. Pacorelli and the second violinist decided not to continue.
Pacorelli started to carve out a solo career, playing violin, viola and cello in a restaurant. Soon, he started concerts in a theatre, some of which were sold out, especially his own sonatas. He married at the age of 24.
His life went very well until he developed a brain disease, aged 31, which crippled his left hand and left him unable to perform. For eight months he relied on his own money, but soon the now-32-year-old moved to Brighton, England to live with a relative. Thus his Brighton Period began.
Pacorelli secured a position as Director of Music at a local church, and his first work in the position, the _Great Mass in G Minor_, Op.66 was a huge success, being performed all over England.
Ten years later, he accepted a job as composer-in-residence for a London orchestra, (starting the London period) and wrote his first symphonies there, which were hugely profitable.
Aged 44, he started teaching the cello to his children and others'.
Then, he encountered yet another tragedy. When he was 47, it was announced that the disease that had cost him the use of his left hand had returned. His wife did not want to be married to an invalid, and left him. She was publicly disgraced after doing so.
He slowly got weaker and weaker, until a cure was announced. It had been known for decades, but the side effects had been fatal themselves. Now, a cure for the side-effects had been discovered.
He tried the cure, and, to his joy, it destroyed the disease. Then, the side-effects began. He tried the new medication, and it worked. Unfortunately, in that short time, the side-effects had got hold of his system, and a small infected area was left in his brain. Sustaining himself on medication, Pacorelli started on his greatest work yet, hoping that its success would but him more medicine.
It was premièred one month after the composer's fiftieth birthday. At the rapturous applause, the composer gave a great shout of joy and then collapsed.
He woke up shortly afterwards, insisting that he was fine, and a medical check confirmed that he was indeed better than he had been for years.
The next day, the Queen was expected to award him a medal for the great work. She arrived at the ceremony to great cheers, but Pacorelli did not arrive. His joke was thought to be in very poor taste until he was found dead at his house. An autopsy revealed that his seeming good health had been a mere appearance created by the disease in its final stages.
His wife killed herself the next day.

I'm so great at happy endings.


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## Woodduck (Mar 17, 2014)

The first public announcement of my discovery of the forgotten early Romantic (or, perhaps more accurately, proto-Romantic with Modernist leanings) composer Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher (1770 - 1778) was made only days ago under the thread "Composers with the greatest impact." Given the widespread prejudices which continue to annoint such now-hackneyed names as Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, and Stravinsky with that distinction, I cannot but feel that the need to understand this ill-fated young man's peculiar significance for the development of music in his time, and for an indeterminate time thereafter, warrants the inclusion of that article, slightly enlarged by recent revelations, under this thread as well. It is my profound privilege to bring this precocious genius to the attention of learned scholars and ordinary music lovers alike.

Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher was rumored (so much about this shadowy figure is uncertain, and we must rely on documents of probable inauthenticity) to have been born an ominous thirteen minutes before Ludwig van Beethoven, who was to become little Ignaz's closest - some say only - friend and companion, despite the "von" in the latter's name. Ignaz was from the moment of his emergence into the world recognized for his prodigious vocal powers and inconceivable musicality; he sang words long before he consented to speak them, exhibiting perfect pitch and a four-octave vocal range whenever he demanded from his parents another stack of staff paper, which he filled with works in every known musical form and for every known instrument and ensemble, showing in particular a dogged fondness for the basset horn and 'bone. But, owing no doubt to his vocal gifts, it was opera which, by the age of five, most obsessed him, and after writing several derivative social comedies about betrayed countesses, mischievous servants, and androgynous mezzosexuals (even genius has to begin somewhere), he found his true metier in the newly fashionable "rescue opera," composing, in a fever of inspiration lasting but eleven days, the revolutionary score of _Down in the Dumps with Flora and Stan_, for which he was said to have composed thirteen overtures before lighting upon the brilliant idea of sticking his favorite one in the middle of the opera. This was considered too revolutionary at the time, and the work was never produced. But the boy was not so constituted as to be discouraged, and even as hopes for production were dashed he continued to turn out orchestral works such as the _"Backyard" Symphony_, which he insisted was "more a depiction of bird noises than an expression of feeling, since, as mankind will some day come to understand and discuss in chat forums, music expresses nothing" (such astounding prescience, and such independence of thought, for a pre-pubescent product of the Classical age!). But his greatest work, and his last essay in symphonic form, was undoubtedly the immense _Symphony of Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine_, which required a nonet of vocal soloists (sub-bass, basic-baritone, Verdi baritone, heldentenor, comprimario tenor, semi-castrato, British hooting contralto, mezzo-whatever, and highly dramatic yet stratospheric coloratura soprano), antiphonal choirs with enhanced tessitural capability, Mahlerian woodwind doublings, and deaf backseat conductor. This work of truly Gothic dimensions was the first symphony to require vocal forces; its final movement, structured as a stunning series of variations, was a setting of verses by the forgotten but otherwise distinguished Greek lesbian poetess Sappyplopogolopolis from her almost hysterically rapturous yet superbly overwrought work, "Ode to You, Phoria". This final masterwork of Lippenschmacher, unfortunately, was deemed impracticable (apparently, for one thing, no singer could be found admitting to being a semi-castrato), and there is no record of any performance during or after the composer's lifetime.

It was presumably a great loss to music when Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher died suddenly of suspicious causes at the age of eight (his last words were said to have been "Beethoven...aurgh!). None of his innovative scores were ever published and all are now lost except for a recently discovered sketch, as usual of doubtful authenticity, of a harmonically ambiguous three-note motif scored for string quartet and inscribed with the words "Muss es sein? - oder muss es nicht sein? Das ist eine gute frage." A rumor, circulating even as he lived, held that the leading music houses were secretly being paid not to publish his works; and it was later whispered that shortly before his death he had entrusted his scores to Beethoven for safekeeping. What Beethoven did with these remains undocumented in any extant source on the Master of Bonn. And when pressed in later years about what he thought may have happened to his buddy Lippenschmacher and his works, he pretended not to hear the question.


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## Tsaraslondon (Nov 7, 2013)

Woodduck said:


> The first public announcement of my discovery of the forgotten early Romantic (or, perhaps more accurately, proto-Romantic with Modernist leanings) composer Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher (1770 - 1778) was made only days ago under the thread "Composers with the greatest impact." Given the widespread prejudices which continue to annoint such now-hackneyed names as Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, and Stravinsky with that distinction, I cannot but feel that the need to understand this ill-fated young man's peculiar significance for the development of music in his time, and for an indeterminate time thereafter, warrants the inclusion of that article, slightly enlarged by recent revelations, under this thread as well. It is my profound privilege to bring this precocious genius to the attention of learned scholars and ordinary music lovers alike.
> 
> Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher was rumored (so much about this shadowy figure is uncertain, and we must rely on documents of probable inauthenticity) to have been born an ominous thirteen minutes before Ludwig van Beethoven, who was to become little Ignaz's closest - some say only - friend and companion, despite the "von" in the latter's name. Ignaz was from the moment of his emergence into the world recognized for his prodigious vocal powers and inconceivable musicality; he sang words long before he consented to speak them, exhibiting perfect pitch and a four-octave vocal range whenever he demanded from his parents another stack of staff paper, which he filled with works in every known musical form and for every known instrument and ensemble, showing in particular a dogged fondness for the basset horn and 'bone. But, owing no doubt to his vocal gifts, it was opera which, by the age of five, most obsessed him, and after writing several derivative social comedies about betrayed countesses, mischievous servants, and androgynous mezzosexuals (even genius has to begin somewhere), he found his true metier in the newly fashionable "rescue opera," composing, in a fever of inspiration lasting but eleven days, the revolutionary score of _Down in the Dumps with Flora and Stan_, for which he was said to have composed thirteen overtures before lighting upon the brilliant idea of sticking his favorite one in the middle of the opera. This was considered too revolutionary at the time, and the work was never produced. But the boy was not so constituted as to be discouraged, and even as hopes for production were dashed he continued to turn out orchestral works such as the _"Backyard" Symphony_, which he insisted was "more a depiction of bird noises than an expression of feeling, since, as mankind will some day come to understand and discuss in chat forums, music expresses nothing" (such astounding prescience, and such independence of thought, for a pre-pubescent product of the Classical age!). But his greatest work, and his last essay in symphonic form, was undoubtedly the immense _Symphony of Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine_, which required a nonet of vocal soloists (sub-bass, basic-baritone, Verdi baritone, heldentenor, comprimario tenor, semi-castrato, British hooting contralto, mezzo-whatever, and highly dramatic yet stratospheric coloratura soprano), antiphonal choirs with enhanced tessitural capability, Mahlerian woodwind doublings, and deaf backseat conductor. This work of truly Gothic dimensions was the first symphony to require vocal forces; its final movement, structured as a stunning series of variations, was a setting of verses by the forgotten but otherwise distinguished Greek lesbian poetess Sappyplopogolopolis from her almost hysterically rapturous yet superbly overwrought work, "Ode to You, Phoria". This final masterwork of Lippenschmacher, unfortunately, was deemed impracticable (apparently, for one thing, no singer could be found admitting to being a semi-castrato), and there is no record of any performance during or after the composer's lifetime.
> 
> It was presumably a great loss to music when Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher died suddenly of suspicious causes at the age of eight (his last words were said to have been "Beethoven...aurgh!). None of his innovative scores were ever published and all are now lost except for a recently discovered sketch, as usual of doubtful authenticity, of a harmonically ambiguous three-note motif scored for string quartet and inscribed with the words "Muss es sein? - oder muss es nicht sein? Das ist eine gute frage." A rumor, circulating even as he lived, held that the leading music houses were secretly being paid not to publish his works; and it was later whispered that shortly before his death he had entrusted his scores to Beethoven for safekeeping. What Beethoven did with these remains undocumented in any extant source on the Master of Bonn. And when pressed in later years about what he thought may have happened to his buddy Lippenschmacher and his works, he pretended not to hear the question.


Pure genius!!!!


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## MoonlightSonata (Mar 29, 2014)

Woodduck said:


> The first public announcement of my discovery of the forgotten early Romantic (or, perhaps more accurately, proto-Romantic with Modernist leanings) composer Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher (1770 - 1778) was made only days ago under the thread "Composers with the greatest impact." Given the widespread prejudices which continue to annoint such now-hackneyed names as Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, and Stravinsky with that distinction, I cannot but feel that the need to understand this ill-fated young man's peculiar significance for the development of music in his time, and for an indeterminate time thereafter, warrants the inclusion of that article, slightly enlarged by recent revelations, under this thread as well. It is my profound privilege to bring this precocious genius to the attention of learned scholars and ordinary music lovers alike.
> 
> Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher was rumored (so much about this shadowy figure is uncertain, and we must rely on documents of probable inauthenticity) to have been born an ominous thirteen minutes before Ludwig van Beethoven, who was to become little Ignaz's closest - some say only - friend and companion, despite the "von" in the latter's name. Ignaz was from the moment of his emergence into the world recognized for his prodigious vocal powers and inconceivable musicality; he sang words long before he consented to speak them, exhibiting perfect pitch and a four-octave vocal range whenever he demanded from his parents another stack of staff paper, which he filled with works in every known musical form and for every known instrument and ensemble, showing in particular a dogged fondness for the basset horn and 'bone. But, owing no doubt to his vocal gifts, it was opera which, by the age of five, most obsessed him, and after writing several derivative social comedies about betrayed countesses, mischievous servants, and androgynous mezzosexuals (even genius has to begin somewhere), he found his true metier in the newly fashionable "rescue opera," composing, in a fever of inspiration lasting but eleven days, the revolutionary score of _Down in the Dumps with Flora and Stan_, for which he was said to have composed thirteen overtures before lighting upon the brilliant idea of sticking his favorite one in the middle of the opera. This was considered too revolutionary at the time, and the work was never produced. But the boy was not so constituted as to be discouraged, and even as hopes for production were dashed he continued to turn out orchestral works such as the _"Backyard" Symphony_, which he insisted was "more a depiction of bird noises than an expression of feeling, since, as mankind will some day come to understand and discuss in chat forums, music expresses nothing" (such astounding prescience, and such independence of thought, for a pre-pubescent product of the Classical age!). But his greatest work, and his last essay in symphonic form, was undoubtedly the immense _Symphony of Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine_, which required a nonet of vocal soloists (sub-bass, basic-baritone, Verdi baritone, heldentenor, comprimario tenor, semi-castrato, British hooting contralto, mezzo-whatever, and highly dramatic yet stratospheric coloratura soprano), antiphonal choirs with enhanced tessitural capability, Mahlerian woodwind doublings, and deaf backseat conductor. This work of truly Gothic dimensions was the first symphony to require vocal forces; its final movement, structured as a stunning series of variations, was a setting of verses by the forgotten but otherwise distinguished Greek lesbian poetess Sappyplopogolopolis from her almost hysterically rapturous yet superbly overwrought work, "Ode to You, Phoria". This final masterwork of Lippenschmacher, unfortunately, was deemed impracticable (apparently, for one thing, no singer could be found admitting to being a semi-castrato), and there is no record of any performance during or after the composer's lifetime.
> 
> It was presumably a great loss to music when Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher died suddenly of suspicious causes at the age of eight (his last words were said to have been "Beethoven...aurgh!). None of his innovative scores were ever published and all are now lost except for a recently discovered sketch, as usual of doubtful authenticity, of a harmonically ambiguous three-note motif scored for string quartet and inscribed with the words "Muss es sein? - oder muss es nicht sein? Das ist eine gute frage." A rumor, circulating even as he lived, held that the leading music houses were secretly being paid not to publish his works; and it was later whispered that shortly before his death he had entrusted his scores to Beethoven for safekeeping. What Beethoven did with these remains undocumented in any extant source on the Master of Bonn. And when pressed in later years about what he thought may have happened to his buddy Lippenschmacher and his works, he pretended not to hear the question.


I sense the presence of a movie called _Ignaz_.


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## Marschallin Blair (Jan 23, 2014)

Woodduck said:


> The first public announcement of my discovery of the forgotten early Romantic (or, perhaps more accurately, proto-Romantic with Modernist leanings) composer Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher (1770 - 1778) was made only days ago under the thread "Composers with the greatest impact." Given the widespread prejudices which continue to annoint such now-hackneyed names as Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, and Stravinsky with that distinction, I cannot but feel that the need to understand this ill-fated young man's peculiar significance for the development of music in his time, and for an indeterminate time thereafter, warrants the inclusion of that article, slightly enlarged by recent revelations, under this thread as well. It is my profound privilege to bring this precocious genius to the attention of learned scholars and ordinary music lovers alike.
> 
> Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher was rumored (so much about this shadowy figure is uncertain, and we must rely on documents of probable inauthenticity) to have been born an ominous thirteen minutes before Ludwig van Beethoven, who was to become little Ignaz's closest - some say only - friend and companion, despite the "von" in the latter's name. Ignaz was from the moment of his emergence into the world recognized for his prodigious vocal powers and inconceivable musicality; he sang words long before he consented to speak them, exhibiting perfect pitch and a four-octave vocal range whenever he demanded from his parents another stack of staff paper, which he filled with works in every known musical form and for every known instrument and ensemble, showing in particular a dogged fondness for the basset horn and 'bone. But, owing no doubt to his vocal gifts, it was opera which, by the age of five, most obsessed him, and after writing several derivative social comedies about betrayed countesses, mischievous servants, and androgynous mezzosexuals (even genius has to begin somewhere), he found his true metier in the newly fashionable "rescue opera," composing, in a fever of inspiration lasting but eleven days, the revolutionary score of _Down in the Dumps with Flora and Stan_, for which he was said to have composed thirteen overtures before lighting upon the brilliant idea of sticking his favorite one in the middle of the opera. This was considered too revolutionary at the time, and the work was never produced. But the boy was not so constituted as to be discouraged, and even as hopes for production were dashed he continued to turn out orchestral works such as the _"Backyard" Symphony_, which he insisted was "more a depiction of bird noises than an expression of feeling, since, as mankind will some day come to understand and discuss in chat forums, music expresses nothing" (such astounding prescience, and such independence of thought, for a pre-pubescent product of the Classical age!). But his greatest work, and his last essay in symphonic form, was undoubtedly the immense _Symphony of Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine_, which required a nonet of vocal soloists (sub-bass, basic-baritone, Verdi baritone, heldentenor, comprimario tenor, semi-castrato, British hooting contralto, mezzo-whatever, and highly dramatic yet stratospheric coloratura soprano), antiphonal choirs with enhanced tessitural capability, Mahlerian woodwind doublings, and deaf backseat conductor. This work of truly Gothic dimensions was the first symphony to require vocal forces; its final movement, structured as a stunning series of variations, was a setting of verses by the forgotten but otherwise distinguished Greek lesbian poetess Sappyplopogolopolis from her almost hysterically rapturous yet superbly overwrought work, "Ode to You, Phoria". This final masterwork of Lippenschmacher, unfortunately, was deemed impracticable (apparently, for one thing, no singer could be found admitting to being a semi-castrato), and there is no record of any performance during or after the composer's lifetime.
> 
> It was presumably a great loss to music when Ignaz Ditterwitter von Lippenschmacher died suddenly of suspicious causes at the age of eight (his last words were said to have been "Beethoven...aurgh!). None of his innovative scores were ever published and all are now lost except for a recently discovered sketch, as usual of doubtful authenticity, of a harmonically ambiguous three-note motif scored for string quartet and inscribed with the words "Muss es sein? - oder muss es nicht sein? Das ist eine gute frage." A rumor, circulating even as he lived, held that the leading music houses were secretly being paid not to publish his works; and it was later whispered that shortly before his death he had entrusted his scores to Beethoven for safekeeping. What Beethoven did with these remains undocumented in any extant source on the Master of Bonn. And when pressed in later years about what he thought may have happened to his buddy Lippenschmacher and his works, he pretended not to hear the question.


This is _revelatory_.

First I find out that Plato and Augustine were black; and that Aristotle stole his science from Egypt. . . and now _this_?

'Higher education' owes you the world on this one.


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## BalalaikaBoy (Sep 25, 2014)

I have a fictional character already who is an opera singer, does that count?


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## Cosmos (Jun 28, 2013)

Glad to see that others on this forum like to dip into fiction!

I actually began writing a story around a composer; takes place modern day, and was inspired by The Picture of Dorian Grey (so, altogether, after the Faust legend, like Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus). I did this because I finished reading Wilde's work at my grandparents house and had nothing else to do.

My man, Frank Fontaine, was going to break out into the music scene with his first work he called “Songs of the Nine Muses: Chamber Poem no. 1”. It was a bright work for a nonet of violin, viola, cello, flute, clarinet, bassoon, horn, piano, and harp. Calling it a chamber poem seemed reminiscent of Schoenberg’s Transfigured Night. This work was in nine movements, where each movement acted as a mini-concerto for one of the instruments, and each instrument acted as the soloist of their respected movement. No movement lasted longer than 5 minutes, and the complete work was just under 40. Instead of being in specific keys, it used the old Greek modes. This opus 1 was a success with audience and critics. The audiences loved the fun rhythms, and the catchy, easy to whistle melodies. The critics loved how fresh the work seemed, in a time where many composers were writing too “seriously”, though they did think that the “nine different instruments for each Muse” was a bit of a novelty rather than an artistic view. Can’t please everyone. And of course, the radio broadcasters loved the work because the movements were short and easy to take out of the work to play on the radio for light entertainment. The seventh movement titled “Nocturne” and with the harpist as the soloist, was an audience favorite, where the rowdy “Toccata” for piano and grand “March” for horn were very dance-like. All three were frequently played on the radio.

His next few works were all publically enjoyed, but critics called them all "audience pleasers" and "pop-tunes" rather than "true art". For example, he comes out with 3 nocturnes for piano, almost a love letter to Chopin and early 19th century piano music, that are nice but don't add anything new or remarkable. He then comes out with a Symphonic Poem, "The Tempest", a dramatic orchestral storm that's supposed to be evocative of the storm that destroys Alonso's ship in the Shakespeare play. The notorious critic, Peter Donahue, dismissed the work, “What is the point of this piece? What is Fontaine trying to say that hasn’t been said before about Shakespeare’s work? In fact, I doubt if the boy has even read The Tempest, and probably thought that writing an orchestral concert piece depicting a storm would be ‘cool’, and that slapping Shakespeare’s name on it as a supposed influence would make it more intellectual than it is.”

He doesn't come out with anything significant for a while. After a year of silence, Fontaine came out with his first piano concerto, which has all the defining characteristics of his new style: minimalism, with an emphasis on chromaticism, atonal dissonance, and sustained notes. The first movement, Meditation, is tonal, with heavy use of the seventh, and is very repetitive, almost drone like. The second movement, Furioso, is loud and dark, with repeating chords that get more and more dissonant as the work continues. The pianist jumps along the keyboard. After a pause, the third movement, Chorale, goes back to the tonality of the first movement, only without any dissonances, and pounding chords on the piano to bring out a majestic mood. Some critics like to say that the second movement was Fontaine showing his suffering during the months of writer’s block and depression, while the finale was his breakthrough with his new language of music.

This is all I have about him right now


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## clavichorder (May 2, 2011)

BalalaikaBoy said:


> I have a fictional character alright who is an opera singer, does that count?


Well, I didn't say anything other than composer, but sure, why not? Classical music fiction ought to be what this thread is about.


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## clavichorder (May 2, 2011)

I wrote this one a while go, about a totally different kind of composer:



The great composer Emmanuel “Manny” Rochester had never been so furious. For this occasion, he chose the most derisive language he could think of. If he had a secondary gift to musical composition, it was in the art of invective.

“It was never my intention to try to please anyone with my work. And ultimately the climax of my magnum opus was to be the musical analogue of a rorschach test. These tests, whether they actually reveal something about the psyche or are just amusing to think about, are not made to coddle you. Sparing you some of the musical jargon, it would not be my fault if the harmonies(harmony is not a relevant term, but for your benefit...) in the woodwinds represented to you the degeneracy of modern art, nor would it be my problem if the tuba interlude reminded you of your grandmother’s farts. I’m simply not responsible for that kind of schizophrenic interpretation. Unfortunately I don’t do musical psychoanalysis, but I’ll make exceptions here. You gentlemen, are certified philistines.”

“Maestro, do you level that accusation at your audience as well?” said a dull looking committee member named Joshua Tangle.

“Surely you must realize it didn’t exactly receive a standing ovation.” said another fellow of the committee, Ralph Barkley.

“Beethoven’s Eroica symphony didn’t exactly make a positive first impression. And we all know of the Rite of Spring riots. Such is the nature of great art.” countered a fuming Manny.

“Maestro Rochester, you are deluded, plain and simple. And your conduct during the rehearsal was nothing short of outrageous. The lack of tact you displayed has offended more than a few of our professional musicians. You are only digging your hole deeper. This brings me to my next point; you are no longer welcome here.” said Tangle.

“You are philistines, who don’t recognize the work of genius. History will remember Emanuel Rochester, and I will make sure to cite this petty incident in my memoirs.” And he stormed out of there.



“And that is how I came to live under these circumstances.” said Manny to his rapt audience. He closed his copy of his memoirs and jumped down from the park bench.

“How much does it cost, man?”

“Its Manny, and I’m selling them out for eight dollars each.”

“Sounds good. I wish you luck with life and all.”

“Would you like a recording of my magnum opus, “The Fog of the Present Day?”

“Nah man, I think I’ll pass if that’s okay, but good luck to you and thanks for the book.”

“Philistine” he whispered as the young man walked off.


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

I wrote several historical fictions to do with actual composers, so I'm not sure that counts. I've done ones of Glazunov, Tchaikovsky-ish, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Arensky, and Kalinnikov, each of them often intersecting each others' stories. Some of them I've already posted to my blog on this website.

Ooh! I remembered a particular one I wrote up 2 years ago.

His name was Marcus (last name is anonymous). He was a young, up-and-coming composer of our present generation. He went to university to study all degrees in Composition. Marcus became engaged to a young soprano while he was in grad school, and they both settled at another one for their next degrees.

Marcus had a number of projects. He was interested in vocal music, and so he composed a piece for his fiance to perform with orchestra, a set of 3 Pushkin poems, the first year of his DMA. However, he became obsessed with a new project, a symphony of epic proportions. It consumed him to the point that he could barely have a conversation with his fiance before getting a muse and having to run away and write it down. He forgot to eat, drink, and even sleep for weeks on end. It is possible that there was an occult power that was driving him on, giving him the monstrous ideas in his head. The symphony was ingenious in its form and development, albeit extremely dissonant. He would go one walks in the middle of the night to get his ideas, and then scramble back to write them, only stopping when he would fall asleep at his desk.

However, his fiance got so fed up with his obsessive compulsion to complete this piece that she took the only manuscript of it (he preferred to write it down than use computer programs) and lit it on fire while he was not at home. She lit it the day she would premiere his other work, the 3 Poems, planning to break their engagement as well in revenge. Marcus had always been jealous that she was up to something, but it became more much complex than it seemed. He had actually begun to lose his mind with delirium from self-deprivation, taking his suspicions way out of proportion and becoming impulsive. After finding the burnt manuscript, he goes to the music school in a rage, carrying a knife and piece of rope. When he finds her in an orchestra rehearsal room, he sees her with another man! Without thinking, he takes the rope and binds the door of the room they're in, locking them all inside. He attacks this other man, who is actually innocent, and kills him, but the fiance in her own rage kills Marcus. She breaks out of the room but leaves the doors locked with the rope, going out to the stage and premiering the 3 Poems barely keeping her wits about her. However, as she walks back off stage, she kills herself right then and there as people coming rushing to her to inform her about Marcus and the other man lying dead in the rehearsal room.

So, Marcus lived not a very long life, having died at the age of 25, and only a handful of compositions to his name. The Symphony was never included in his oeuvre since there was no record left of it after that fateful night.

This all happened recently, about 2 years ago. :tiphat:


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## clavichorder (May 2, 2011)

^^^That's a pretty grim story huilu.


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

clavichorder said:


> ^^^That's a pretty grim story huilu.


I was inspired by Prokofiev's 2nd Symphony among other things to come up with that story. The quality of that symphony is what I had in mind that Marcus was composing, a sorta frenzied, terrifying work.


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## BalalaikaBoy (Sep 25, 2014)

clavichorder said:


> Well, I didn't say anything other than composer, but sure, why not? Classical music fiction ought to be what this thread is about.


ok 
well, most of his story doesn't have to do with opera, but I will keep the back story prompt.

Yohan is a 14 year old elven prince who has recently been accepted into university after writing a letter stamped by his father's official seal (which he confiscated before running away from home) which demanded his admission. after the death of his younger brother, who was sacrificed as part of a treaty between his father and the lord of a neighboring fief, Yohan becomes disillusioned with his father's autocratic rule and seeks revenge for the only person who showed him any real compassion during a childhood marked by violence, abuse and sadistic bullying. he is determined to lead a revolution and put an end to the current absolutist societal structure, so he enrolls in the school of military science with a major in military strategy and minor in classical swordplay. unfortunately, despite his father's seal getting him into the program, he soon learns that university is too expensive to be covered by the amount of money he brought with him, so he looks through their catalog of scholarships. after a few failed attempts writing essays with no return, he sees an ad for a singing scholarship and thinks "meh, why not?"

.....the voice faculty is floored, offering to pay half of his tuition if he majors in voice. the reason being: he is a freak of nature. despite being only 14, he possesses a voice like that of a 27 year old woman (which has, on rare occurances, been known to happen to pre-pubescent elven males). for this reason, on top of his already demanding degree path and several prerequisite courses to catch up with his college-age contemporaries, he decides to double major. his voice, a shimmering lyric coloratura soprano, quickly becomes known for its heroic timbre, child-like high notes (described as "a cherubim dancing on the clouds"), ease of legato in the highest reaches of the soprano voice and masterful execution of the old style of coloratura technique. despite it's more lyrical properties and ease of coloratura, Yohan's voice was also sizeable, with a respectable middle voice. the timbre was unusual, ranging from an almost queen-like quality in the middle register to high notes like that of the purest boy soprano (if I were to compare with real singers, it would be like a cross between June Anderson and Aled Jones).

naturally, this strange phenomenon soon gained him significant notoriety, and he easily made enough money via recital ticket sales to pay off the rest of his tuition, save up a considerable amount of money and afford clothing as vibrant as any he had worn as a prince. people urged him to drop his major in military strategy and become an opera singer, but alas, he was too hellbent on revenge, with his performances becoming increasingly fiery and fantastical.

upon graduating at age 18, Yohan immediately gathers his forces (explaining how he acquires these forces would take too long to explain) and prepares for war. by this point (elves don't generally go through a voice change until around 18-22), while maintaining most of his high notes, flexibility and ease in the upper register, his middle register has deepened into a formidable spinto soprano and the overall volume of the voice has increased considerably. apart from his already impressive forces, Yohan's natural charisma, theatrical experience and heroic voice make him an adept leader and he has little difficulty inspiring loyalty and fostering the aid of a growing number of supporters. one soldier would describe his voice as "an ocean storm, with high notes singing down lightning of judgment and a middle register like a tsunami crashing against the shores"


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## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

Hahaha some of you guys have really humorous stories... I don't believe I've ever written a comedy... Hm...


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## clavichorder (May 2, 2011)

Huilunsoittaja said:


> Hahaha some of you guys have really humorous stories... I don't believe I've ever written a comedy... Hm...


Manny Rochester is based on a real person I know, who is not a composer, but a writer and social activist of his own making. Lets just say, this guy is a character.

Do it! Write a comedic one.


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## Albert7 (Nov 16, 2014)

Wow great stories!


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## Jos (Oct 14, 2013)

My friend dreamed the 25th caprice by Paganini. We were teenagers and just getting "into" classical music. He was (and still is) a fanatical violinist, and he could describe it very well. It may have had to do something with the fact that, at that time, we almost only played music for violin solo, Paganini, Ysaye, Bach.
Too bad dreams fade quickly, I've never actually heard it played (nor did the "composer")


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## MarkW (Feb 16, 2015)

Antonio Luigi Finarini was a Baroque composer of so little worth, he doesn't even deserve an entry in early editions of Grove. A musicologist assigned to do an entry in the new edition finds that not only is his music terrible, but it seems to be disappearing from libraries, and he engages a detective to find out why. It's an e-book called "Xyloophone Fragments."


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