Oedipus Rex Shoots Himself In The Foot

Hey there, quick question...but first, a musical interlude appropriate to its content (well, sort of, anyway):

https://tinyurl.com/1jm0fbij

Ok, and now to business...do you tend to usually, practically always or maybe even never like the pieces that you assemble, construct write or even - with an eye to structure, coherence, inherent musicality, etc, etc - compose? Are we preternaturally disposed to despising our own work or does it always eventually grow on us such that we will never be able to part with what has by that time become it's seeming inevitability?

I place myself in combination with Tchaikovsky - who is said to have been not at all fond of the "Nutcracker" music - whether that bit of supposed history is true or not, I will, here, "go with it" as it suits my intended purposes - because one of the first sets of tones that I arranged into a piece of "music" was a so-called composition that I soon came to hate with the intensity of, say, a thousand suns, although being perfectly honest, that probably only arose to only around five hundred or so. I say probably because I have pretty much banned from my memory the monstrosity that emanated, unfortunately, from my being.

So yeah, that is one that I was not condemned to like, "condemned" as in being forced to defend a piece that really had no business or reason for existing, a task that would have become increasingly difficult to maintain over the years. Luckily, as far as I know, its tones have been forever banished from all existence, their former brilliance faded away like a pair blue-jeans now gone pale gray from many days in the sunshine. But by my word if I didn't learn one at least one thing from it. I ran out of space in a measure near the end of a phrase and to make it fit, deleted a sixteenth note or four, giving that little section a particular hiccup that actually, due to the peculiarites of music, worked  (well, insofar that any thing could really have "worked" in said gargantuan of un-superlative tone).

But it was not I that made it work. I do not have a magic wand that I can wave over a series of tones to imbue them with musicality. No, no, no, none of that! Nor did Bach (insert name of composer appropriate to your thinking here) although it does almost seem that he MUST have had some extra help for how is it possible that only a single person in all of existence could ever reach those heights? Doesn't really seem fair, somehow. So not only can I NOT be credited with anything nice about them, but so too I cannot be blamed for any sucky, unmusical or otherwise despicable things about them.

So go ahead, TEAR MY PIECES FROM MY LIMBS AND THEN TEAR THEM APART LIMB FROM LIMB, I won't be offended if you cannot, will not appreciate my utter brilliance nor assume that any criticism is a cut against my musical and/or self worth.

Ok, now we come to the serious part, the REST OF THE STORY, if you will (my apologies to Mr. Harvey):

Any consternation that might develop in me would be hurtful, instead, because I would have then failed to create something, at least in the being of the current listener, that is enjoyable, appreciatable or perhaps even to be seen as being music at all. Failure to communicate can often be disappointing - if seeking to communicate you be - so do forgive me if during such an incident as this, that I seem a bit upset. Of course if you enjoy it I shall give you all of the credit for that and will not insist that it be directed my way. If I can drum up, somehow, a series of tones that are appreciated as music then that is all the satisfaction I need. Not that I need any satisfaction at all, but if satisfaction is to be had, then I will go with that.

"Scherzoid" was the name of that hideous creature and yes, it sounded as dumb as I am sure its name suggests. A dumb name for a dumb piece so a bit apropos. It used to live here on youngcomposers.com as a digital representation of itself - whatever it was! - but the only trace of it that is detectable now is probably, if anything, a textual reference buried deep within the bowels of all our YC messages.