Banker's Hours

I will always remember Stravinsky's response to the amount of time he spent composing: "I keep bankers hours." So if Stravinsky were alive today, would he be writing eight hours a day, nine if you include the drive-up window?

Upon returning from our composer's concert last Sunday, I found a box (which came from an auction in Illinois) sitting outside of my door filled with rancid-sounding piano and organ music. This box also contained music history books published at the turn of the century and a number of Etude magazines, including the December 1950 issue. In the latter, there is a Slonimsky translation of an interview with Tchaikovsky from 1892, wherein I.T. admitted composing "...from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., and from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. I never work late in the evening or at night." That is six hours each day!

A few pages later in the same issue, there is an interview with Sigmund Romberg, who admonishes young composers "...not to think of yourself as a composer until you have actually written a great many songs. Two or three tunes which your family and friends consider masterpieces aren't' infallible proof of talent. To be a composer you must write, write, write--60, 70, 100 songs or more."

Some of us receive commissions (self-obtained or as gifts), when for a brief period we work like dogs, only to retreat into the drone of doing what we can to keep the bank from repossessing our home. The hardest part is always to keep the fire hot after the last piece, usually, by starting the next work, whether we feel like it or not. I think one effective way to bridge that lull is to keep the same hours at the same time of the day. Consider that time precious, set it aside and protect it from the encroaching consumerism of our existence. Such regularity is self-propellant. In time you find yourself writing music you could only have dreamed to have written. It is an old problem, and one that needs constant attention. The answer? Keep banker's hours, but feel free to ignore the drive-up window.

David Gompper