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The Birth of an Idea The creative process has long been a subject of interest to people in the arts, scientists, and laymen alike. In this essay, composer-pianist-author Jack Reilly probes his subconscious to discover the makings of one of his own major classical-jazz works, Orbitals: Concerto for Piano, Jazz Trio and Symphony Orchestra. Jack writes...  It was a cold Tuesday in January 1998 (remember the good old days?), and I was riding a New Jersey transit bus from my Southern New Jersey home to New York City to meet with some colleagues. Every Tuesday, the New York Times publishes the Science Section (I only buy The Times on Tuesdays for the science articles). I have always been fascinated by the subject, hoping it would eventually shed some light on the creative mind, particularly the mind of the composer. That day, the science feature was on quantum mechanics and the discoveries of Niels Bohr, Erwin Schr?dinger and Werner Heisenberg (the Danish, Austrian and German scientists, respectively). Their experimental research in the early 1920s was on the atom. Each one had something to add to the solution or the mystery of the space surrounding the nucleus of the atom. The essay focused on their particle (electron) research, which they called ?regions of space? surrounding the nucleus of the atom, or orbitals. I thought, ?What a great title for a composition!!!? It was Heisenberg who discovered that orbitals cannot (as Bohr had thought earlier) be precisely located in the space around the nucleus, nor could their momentum be exactly measured. I then said to myself, ?It?s the same when I compose!? I cannot notate the exact time or speed for every pitch, rhythm and dynamic when I compose. Sure, I can indicate by bar lines, tempo markings and durations of each note, etc., but in a live performance, there is no absolute control or guarantee that my composition is always going to be played exactly the same. In my mind, I know what I want, and in Heisenberg?s particle research, it became known as the ?uncertainty principle.? When my music is played, it is never going to sound the same each time. This fact is certain ? we can only listen to music in time (speed) and space (location), and each time we hear the music differently. It was at this point I decided to write my first piano concerto and that the piano part be 98 percent improvised! I was guaranteeing that it would forever sound different at each performance.I knew someday I would compose a piano concerto, but had no clues as to how to begin. In my early days as a pianist, I had studied, of course, the concerti of the masters: Brahms, Chopin, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, et al., but I did not want to mimic their concepts. Deciding to make the solo piano part 98 percent improvised gave me the confidence and the impetus to begin. At first, I thought I would leave the pianist totally free to improvise against the backdrop of the orchestra. That is too easy and too free! I wanted some connection to the past and present. It had to have a Lisztian main theme, a Rachmaninoff-sounding piano part, Prokofiev-like polytonality, Bachian contrapuntal influences, perhaps even a fugue section, and of course, cadenzas all over the place. What about my jazz influences? Hmmm! No! I wanted it to be a traditional piano concerto ? piano with orchestra, no jazz!! End of Stage One: Desire to compose a piano concerto, with basic concept in mind. Enter Stage Two: Forgetting Stage One!!! In January 1999, one year after having read the New York Times Science Section on quantum mechanics, I received a telephone call from the conductor, Jeffrey Bell-Hanson, a champion of my music; in other words, an angel. He had conducted Chuang-Tzu, my orchestral work (a theme and eight variations) in 1993. This time he wanted to offer me a commission to compose a work for his orchestra, the Keweenaw Symphony, to celebrate the opening of the Rozsa Center for the Performing Arts on the campus of Michigan Technological University in Houghton, Michigan (the upper Peninsula). He said, ?Give it some thought.? I did, and called him a week later to say I would like to do a 30-minute one-movement piece for duo pianos and orchestra. I was thinking of my wife as the second (oops, first) pianist. ?Great,? he said. We verbally locked in the fall of 2001 for the premiere. I had forgotten the piano concerto idea. My wife, Carol Lian, is a fine classical pianist and does free-form improvising in concerts and on recordings. I thought, ?Great ? she?ll do all the improvising and I will play the written part.? Enter Stage Three: Conception one year later (January 2000). Now came the search (inwardly, of course) for themes and harmonies. It?s a period of serene meditation, and for me, a period of doubt. Why doubt? The ghosts of masters haunted me each time I tried to put a theme on paper. I thought, ?Oh my God, I can?t compose another Brahms, Chopin, Prokofiev or even a Bart?k concerto for piano and orchestra.? Finally, I said, ?Forget them ? write a duo piano piece and then orchestrate it!? Enter Stage Four: Actual writing down on manuscript themes for duo pianos on four-staves system. A beautiful, triadic Eb major theme came to me ? la a Lisztian melody! So be it, the harmony was pure me! Over the course of the next three months, I composed pages and pages of chord progressions based solely on minor triads. Then a six-eight, Gavotte-like theme came to me that also turned out to be based on minor triads. ?What?s with these minor triad progressions,? I thought? Don?t ever think when you?re composing ?in heat.? The ideas came pouring out, and by mid-March 2000, I had sketched out over 500 measures of ideas and had a good feel of the final form. Enter Stage Five: Zero writing! A period of emptiness and quietude. Playing engagements in Los Angeles with my trio occupied the rest of 2000. A tour in April and one in November kept me focused on my jazz piano concepts. Besides, I was playing 50 percent my own tunes and 50 percent ?evergreens.? It was great fun ? my playing, improvising, and trio concepts were changing, expanding and solidifying all at the same time. Rave reviews poured in. Upon returning home in December of 2000, I found a message from Jeffrey Bell-Hanson, my angel. We had to lock in the exact dates for the premiere. It was to be October 13 and 14, 2001. Yes, two performances. ?Hey, Jeff,? I said, ?I have a great trio. Why not a trio in-residency and a trio concert and workshop?? ?Great?, he said. ?Call the Great Events Program Director, Valerie Pegg.? Done. Booked the trio for one workshop, one concert and one open-forum, which means a talk about my commissioned work, and my teaching concepts and theories on composition, improvising and practice habits. Now the dates were set, October 8 through 14, 2001, for the trio and me. Enter Stage Six (Panic Stage): I must finish the piece stage. Parts must be copied, reproduced and in the hands of the orchestra members by the end of August 2001. The deadline has been set!!!  It is now January 2001. The holidays are over. I tell my copyist of 30 years, Al Schoonmaker (the senior angel in my life), that I will have the completed orchestral score in his hands by April 1st, no fooling around (excuse the pun!). He needs three months to copy the parts (73). I will proofread by instrumental families, i.e., all strings, then woodwinds, brass and percussion (in that order). The piano part he does last.I am now revved up to seriously attack the work. I dig out the duo piano sketches and start to play through them, all 500-plus measures. Something strange happens. I suddenly realize that the themes, progressions and motifs I sketched out don?t ?feel? right for a concerto for two pianos. I trust my instincts. It?s for solo piano and orchestra. Great! I begin piecing together the sections. I compose more themes over the minor triad chord progressions, plan the improvisational sections against the orchestra, and compose the orchestral parts with the solo piano part in my mind. The six-eight Gavotte theme blends perfectly into a piano improvisation on the same harmonies (all minor triads again) and then, subito, suddenly a romantic, lush, lyrical adagio theme is born. A spontaneous, intuitive moment that could only arise at this point in the composing process. I define it as an idea, hidden in the unconscious creative mind that is (was) part of the initial ideas, and dictated by, that is, inevitably linked to the original Desire Stage three years ago!!! It is like the seed or acorn before the oak tree is fully formed. A piano concerto is like an oak tree ? the tonality and harmony are its trunk; the melodies are its branches; the notes are its leaves, and its form is huge and powerful, defying space and time, singing of its immortality. Each performance will be like its spring renewal. It is at this point (the arrival of the adagio theme) in the compositional process that I suddenly realize the absolute necessity of adding my jazz trio as part of my concept of what my piano concerto should express. I have now written into my piece the ?present.? The ?past? is the Lisztian theme; the piano improvisational sections will play like Rachmaninoff?s piano writing (huge chords, tumultuous two-handed octaves, and soaring improvised eighth-note melodies over the minor triad progressions), and Prokofiev will be represented in the polytonal orchestral colors. The jazz trio now emerges as central to the work?s success, and the piece becomes a breakthrough in what the traditional piano concerto form was (past) and is (present) for me. And the future of all music! Hmmm! All of my musical influences, classical and jazz, are now part of the work. While finishing the adagio theme, a perfect fugue subject (theme) popped up. It became a fugato section for strings. This led logically to the traditional cadenza for the solo instrument in a concerto. Why not use the trio here? The bass can play a cadenza after the piano, then a drum cadenza, then the trio together, then bass and piano, then piano alone. Then a contrapuntal device called augmentation rears its head and the orchestra plays the fugato section again, but in augmentation (that is, each note is given a longer duration. In this instance, twice its value; an eighth note becomes a quarter note, a quarter note becomes a half note, etc.). The trio improvises against this tutti orchestra fugato section, but in ?double-time feel.? To unify the piece and bring it to an end, I return to the Lisztian theme stated in the beginning and build to a triple forte ? la Rachmaninoff! The work is complete on paper. Little did I realize that since I am the soloist, it is I who must now ?woodshed? the piano part! Let?s make that a topic for a future essay. The title comes last! Guess what it?s called ? ?Orbitals? ? for Piano, Jazz Trio and Symphony Orchestra. I remembered the New York Times? article and realized how Heisenberg?s uncertainty principle had subconsciously influenced the unfolding of the piece. The seed was planted by an article on quantum mechanics, and my commission fee was being paid by an engineering school whose student body was conversant with the concept of atomic particle theory, or [orbitals]! Hmmm! As I conclude this narration of my orbital journey, I realize how interconnected all events in a composer?s daily life and routine can, in mysterious ways, contribute to and influence the creative processes and the outcome of his or her work. Are these outer events an externalization of our inner psychic lives? Do we inform, make our own destiny in our subconscious minds, and then ?watch? them unfold before our eyes in daily living and creating? Hmmm! I believe the artist, composer, writer, lives two psychic lives: one for the evolution of his art, and one for the evolution of the human species. Hmmm! 
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