Michael Cooke

Meeting the Milestone

I hit my timeline goal and made it to the big tempo change by the end of June—right on schedule. The final section before that shift was the second fugal variation, built around an inversion of the fugue subject from the first fugue.

That section actually took more than a week to complete because of its complexity. In the fast-moving countersubject, there’s a distinctive five-note repeated pattern—tying into the rhythmic figure threaded throughout the entire symphony. I also wove in a third countersubject based on the original contredanse melody, but with a rhythmic twist: the downbeat is displaced to the weak second beat of the measure, giving it a syncopated lilt. I’m not yet convinced that this third countersubject is what I’ll go with long-term. It feels functional, but I’m not quite satisfied—there’s something still elusive about it.

A Dense, Driving Fugue

This fugue is intricate and densely layered. After the main exposition, there’s a big buildup using stretto entries of the subject, partial diminutions, and even some entries compressed down to eighth-note speed. It took a lot of trial and error to keep that buildup sounding intentional—balanced between energy and clarity—without leaning too far into Beethoven.

Eventually, I landed on a version I liked, though I’m still not entirely sure about the final chord. I’ve been leaning heavily into Hindemith-style harmonies here, letting voice-leading and intervallic motion guide the harmonic flow rather than relying on functional progression. That approach often leads to surprising and interesting places—but it also brought me to a chord I wasn’t expecting. I’m not sure it works… yet.

I suspect I won’t know for sure until I hear it in context, especially with the next section, which slows dramatically into a woodwind chorale. That transition was my planned stopping point for July 1st, and I reached it right on time.

Starting the Chorale (and Hitting the Wall)

I started sketching the poco andante woodwind chorale, but progress has been slow. Honestly, I think I’ve hit a bit of creative burnout. Between the intensity of writing the previous section, ongoing house repairs, and orchestra business, I’ve been stretched thin—and it’s catching up with me.

Thankfully, the 4th of July weekend is coming up. I’m planning to take a break, recharge, and step away from the composition for a few days. Maybe a motorcycle ride and a hike through the redwoods will be just what I need to reset.

Looking Ahead

Despite the temporary fatigue, my overall plan is still on track. I want to finish the first full draft of the symphony by the end of July—and that’s absolutely doable. At this point, I have just two more variations and some development sections to write, followed by the introduction’s recapitulation and the final coda.

With the hardest sections behind me, I’m optimistic that a little rest will bring me back with fresh ears and a clear head. Then I can push through to the finish line.

Another productive week on the finale of my Fourth Symphony—and for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m truly back on schedule. My goal was to reach the halfway point by the end of June, and I’m now at the last major variation before that point.

To get started on the March variation where I left off the previous week, I reviewed my notes on this section of Beethoven’s Eroica finale and revisited Hindemith’s March from Symphonic Metamorphosis of Themes by Carl Maria von Weber. Listening to that piece helped jump-start my thinking, especially as I worked to find a melody I genuinely liked. Once I got close, everything began to come together quickly.

I experimented with several chord progressions, gradually moving away from traditional functional harmony and leaning more into Hindemith’s intervallic logic. I had two different options for how to end the march and ultimately decided to use both—expanding the ending into a longer transition that leads more naturally into the next variation.

After my initial draft, I started hearing a snare drum line in my head—likely a leftover echo from Hindemith’s Metamorphosis. So I took some time to sketch out the percussion parts, which helped bring the march to life.

A Tipsy Waltz and Twisted Time

The next two short variations serve mainly as transitions to the second fugue, but I wanted them to have a distinct character of their own.

I used a 2/4 version of the main melody instead of the original 5/8, and when I added the accompaniment, I started to hear it as a kind of crooked waltz. That got me thinking about how I’ve already played with rhythm and meter elsewhere in the piece—like in the first movement, where I stretched a trio of eighth notes into four. This time, I compressed three into two.

This time, I compressed three into two.

The result? Three pulses, unevenly spaced. It’s not a traditional waltz—it’s more of a tipsy one. But I liked how the pieces clicked: melody in 2/4, accompaniment leaning into lopsided 3/4. The contrast made it work.

Transitioning the Second Fugue

The second short variation still feels uncertain. The violin line uses fast sixteenth notes to push into the next section, but I’m wondering if long notes might sound better. That said, the sixteenths help build energy toward the fugue, so for now I’m going to leave it and move forward. I added a reminder in the score to revisit it later and won’t let it slow me down.

The second fugue subject is an inverted version of the first—following Beethoven’s model. I jotted it down before wrapping up for the week.

I managed to finish all of this by Thursday, which was lucky, because I had a few home improvement projects to tackle over the weekend. Getting ahead early gave me the flexibility to shift gears and still feel like the music is moving forward.

Picking Up the Thread

It feels good to be back in the rhythms of composing again. After having been side tracked most of May, I’ve had a productive week and finally feel like I’m back in my groove.

As I mentioned in my last post, the notes and preparation I did earlier made all the difference in helping me restart quickly. When I’m working on a composition like this—one that is heavily modeled after another work—it’s not just helpful but essential to do a kind of analysis. Not the harmonic analysis you might do in a theory class, but a composer’s analysis, which I find far more relevant to the actual creation process.

Why Beethoven and Hindemith?

My plan for this movement has always been to blend Beethoven’s structure with Hindemith’s melodic and harmonic language, as well as touches from other modern composers – and myself.

Though separated by more than a century, Beethoven and Hindemith share some deep musical DNA: both were structural architects who treated form as an expressive engine. Their use of fugue—reveals an affinity for logic-driven development, yet neither wrote fugues that felt academic. They wrote them to surge forward, to surprise, to erupt.

Beyond form, both composers embraced harmonic exploration: Beethoven pushed the boundaries of Classical tonality, while Hindemith extended tonality without abandoning its center—favoring harmonic motion driven by intervallic tension rather than traditional chord progressions.

In this movement, I wanted to borrow Beethoven’s structure and variation technique while infusing it with Hindemith’s melodic contour, harmonic spacing, and distinctive use of quartal voicing. Where Beethoven often builds momentum through rhythmic drive, Hindemith does so through layered texture and shape. The result, I hope, is something that sounds coherent yet unexpected.

A Composer’s Map

For this movement, I created a marked-up version of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3, fourth movement, which I’m using as a formal model. I mapped out the primary themes, recurring rhythmic ideas, and key structural shifts throughout the movement. These annotations give me a roadmap—not just of the form, but of how thematic ideas are varied, developed, inverted, or fragmented across the work.

Since I’m substituting Beethoven’s theme with my own, having both my theme and Beethoven’s original annotated in parallel is incredibly useful. I can track where he used variations and apply my material in analogous ways—while staying flexible enough to revise as the music unfolds.

Fugues and Rhythms

This week, I dove into the section that was one of the original reasons I chose the Eroica finale as a model: the first fugue variation.

Hindemith and Beethoven both wrote powerful fugues, and I’ve always loved writing them myself—they feel like puzzles to solve or games to play. This fugue variation took some time, but I’m happy with the first draft.

Another unifying element is rhythm. Beethoven’s finale leans heavily on recurring three-note figures, which works well with the five-note rhythmic figure I’ve been threading through the entire symphony—first introduced in the opening movement. That rhythmic continuity continues to give the symphony a strong internal identity.

Looking Ahead: The March Variation

I was able to complete about a minute and a half of music this week. That may not sound like a lot, but I’m very pleased with the progress—especially after the long break.

Right now, I’ve stopped just before the next major section: the march variation. The transition into it isn’t quite right yet. It leans too far into Beethoven and not enough into Hindemith, especially in terms of harmonic language and phrasing. But that’s okay. Sometimes, you have to move past a tricky spot to better understand how to reshape it later.

Tools That Help

One tool I’ve come to love is the Comments feature in Dorico. Instead of having to keep a separate file full of reminders, I can leave a comment directly on a measure while I’m working. It’s like dropping a note to future-me exactly where I’ll need it. Instead of “Revisit chords at measure 125,” I can simply highlight that passage and leave a comment while it’s still fresh in my mind.

Onward

Hopefully this coming week will be just as productive. I’m looking forward to diving into the march variation. With momentum finally on my side again—and a plan to follow—I’m excited to keep pushing this symphony toward the finish line.

I’ve said it before, and here’s another reminder: having good notes and a clear plan for your composition is essential—especially when life throws your schedule off track.

As I shared in my last post, work on my symphony was unexpectedly delayed when I had to prepare a different piece for a concert I hadn’t originally planned to be part of. After that concert, things didn’t get any easier. A family emergency took me out of town for two weeks. When I returned, construction started on my house to replace a leaky roof. Somewhere along the way, I caught a cold. Altogether, I’ve been unproductive for nearly a month.

Now, I’m finally in a position to get back to composing—but after such a long break, I feel completely out of sync. Fortunately, I kept thorough notes and organized reference material, including audio clips I’d set aside as inspiration. With those tools, I don’t have to guess what I was doing or where I left off. I know exactly what I’m supposed to be writing in the next section—I just need to reestablish my routine.

This is why it’s so important to plan ahead before you start composing a large-scale work—especially something as complex as an orchestral piece. Good planning doesn’t just help you stay organized during the writing process; it also makes it much easier to recover momentum if you’re pulled away unexpectedly.

Here are a few types of notes I’ve found essential:

• Form and structure – What is the overall architecture of the piece? Is it a sonata form, theme and variations, through-composed? Even a rough map of sections (and approximate durations) gives you a strong anchor.
• Pitch sets, scales, and harmonic language – What tonal colors are you exploring? Are you working with modal centers, atonality, extended tonality, or a specific collection of intervals (like a particular hexachord or synthetic scale)? Jotting these down helps keep harmonic cohesion.
• Thematic material – Are there motives, rhythmic cells, or gestures that you plan to use throughout the work? How are they varied or developed? Even a few sketches of how you expect them to evolve can give future-you a lot of guidance.
• Orchestration concepts – What are your main colors and instrumental combinations? Planning the density, register layering, soloist vs ensemble roles, and timbral contrasts can prevent orchestration from becoming reactive guesswork.
• Immediate working notes – This one’s easy to skip, but crucial: what were you doing when you stopped? What’s next? I always leave a quick summary of where I left off, what section comes next, and what problems I was trying to solve. It’s like leaving a message for future-me.
• Reference materials – Save those playlists, masterwork excerpts, and orchestration tricks you’re borrowing inspiration from. If you’re aiming for a certain energy, texture, or pacing, having your references at hand makes it easier to reconnect with your artistic vision.

The goal isn’t to box yourself in—it’s to give your creative mind a reliable framework to return to when life inevitably pulls you away. It’s about preserving continuity. So when that rare window of time opens up and you’re finally able to write, you won’t waste it trying to remember where you left off. You’ll be able to jump straight into the music. That’s where I am now: I know exactly what comes next—I just need to rebuild my routine and pick up the momentum again.

That’s why taking the time to create a strategic plan for your piece is so essential. Document your decisions, jot down thoughts as they arise, and update your notes as the music evolves. You never know when life might pull you away. Those notes could be the difference between restarting with momentum—or struggling to find your way back into the work.

All my plans for the last two weeks to work on my 4th symphony went up in smoke. I haven’t touched it.

I knew that preparing my orchestra for our May concert would cut into my composing time, but I didn’t anticipate just how much. Unfortunately, two composers dropped out at the last minute—one the week of the deadline, the other two weeks after. That put our concert lineup in serious jeopardy. To make matters worse, the backup piece we received from another composer didn’t match our ensemble’s instrumentation.

To keep the concert afloat (and the budget balanced), I dug into my catalog and pulled out a piece we performed about ten years ago: Triangles—one of my guided improvisation works.

This piece uses time-based sections instead of traditional measures and beats, a structure similar to another piece already programmed. I chose Triangles because it’s relatively forgiving—perfect when players only have a few weeks with the parts—and it weaves mistakes more gently into the overall texture.

However, Triangles had been sitting untouched for a decade. Luckily, I still had PDFs of the parts, but I remembered that the original instructions were a bit confusing even back then. And since our orchestra now has a lot of new members who aren’t familiar with this style, I needed to update the materials to make it easier to understand.

Clarifying the Instructions

One of the biggest sticking points was the relationship between “base notes” and “satellite notes.” In the piece, you begin on a base note, move to a satellite note, and return to a base before shifting again. This creates floating, interlocking melodies that emphasize specific intervals—something that’s been effective in other works I’ve written.

I rewrote the instructions to make this concept clearer and discussed them with several players to see if the revisions helped. Some still found it confusing at first, so I re-explained it individually. I’m hoping with some rehearsal and the new instructions, it will click more naturally.

Finishing Old Business

While revisiting Triangles, I discovered a few more loose ends.

• The original version lacked a glockenspiel part because we didn’t have a glockenspiel player available at the premiere. I had simply left that part unfinished. This time, I completed it properly.
• Several PDFs were missing critical solid crescendo–decrescendo markings. I’m not sure why, but I recreated them to match my original intent.
  

• I also noticed that the second section of the piece was longer than I intended it due to a mistake. I didn’t fix it yet (correcting it now would be too disruptive for the upcoming performance), but when I eventually migrate Triangles to Dorico, I’ll fix the section timings properly.

To help the conductor and ensemble practice, I made a video that handles the countdown timings for each section. Since Triangles doesn’t rely on a traditional conductor beat-by-beat, the video will help keep everyone synchronized and change at the proper timings. I also printed and mailed off a full score, among the other logistical details that ate up time.

Perspective on Lost Time

In reality, I shouldn’t be frustrated. I gained another opportunity to have one of my pieces performed—and that’s always the larger goal. Still, it’s a reminder that even the best-laid plans can get completely reshaped when unexpected challenges—and unexpected opportunities—drop into your lap.

My fourth symphony will have to wait just a little longer. But at least Triangles is getting a second life, and I’m excited to hear it again with fresh ears.

After an adventurous backpacking trip with the family to the Channel Islands for spring break, I’ve returned to work on the fourth movement of my Symphony No. 4. This movement has been sitting dormant for a while—since 2019, in fact—when I first announced that it would be a fusion of Beethoven’s Eroica symphony finale and the stylistic fingerprints of Hindemith. But as I’ve resumed sketching and revisiting old notes, I’m starting to hear echoes of Lutosławski and even Ruggles in there too, likely because he left a mark on the first movement of the symphony.

Reexamining the Theme

Since this final movement is a theme and variations, I decided to revisit my earlier drafts of the theme before writing any further. Beethoven reused this theme in several works—notably Fünfzehn Variationen (15 Variations), Op. 35, and again in the finale of his ballet, Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus (The Creatures of Prometheus), Op. 43.

He famously reworked it yet again in the Eroica. That kind of reuse tells you something: this is a powerful, flexible theme.

So before diving into the structure of the movement, I needed to make sure my own version of the theme was equally strong.

My earlier sketches focused on the bass line, which plays a foundational role in Beethoven’s variations and ends similarly to the theme I’d already written into the first movement of my own symphony. That continuity was intentional. It’s part of the long-range planning I had done back when this symphony was first taking shape. I felt pretty confident in those notes, which is why I actually started drafting the first section of the movement just before our trip. But right before we left, I realized I needed to flesh out the full theme properly before continuing—so I hit pause.

Hindemith, Quartal Voicings, and a Touch of Jazz

The treble line of the theme was meant to evoke Hindemith’s melodic style. I’ve always admired how his melodies can be surprising and twisty while still feeling grounded in tonality. Some of his quartal harmonies remind me of McCoy Tyner’s jazz voicings—another influence I find incredibly rich.

In fact, Hindemith was one of the first ingredients I knew I wanted for this movement, long before I chose the Beethoven finale as a formal model. And choosing that particular Beethoven movement made sense, not just because of the form, but because of the fugue possibilities—Hindemith adored fugues. The idea clicked. Add in a few textures that feel reminiscent of Lutosławski’s Symphony No. 3 (one of my all-time favorite works), and you can see where this is heading.

There’s also the rhythmic link: the five-note rhythmic theme I’ve been threading through the entire symphony needed to appear here too. Fortunately, this thematic material lends itself nicely to that kind of integration.

Refining the Theme

Back to the present: once I sat down with my earlier draft, I developed a new treble melody—one that hints at Beethoven’s original but steers more toward Hindemith while also echoing the Ruggles-like theme from my first movement. After several revisions, I landed on something that finally felt right. This, of course, meant updating the bass line to match—but I’m glad I caught it before moving further.

I went back, made the necessary adjustments to what I had already written, and then moved forward quickly, getting ideas down in Dorico. (I use notation software like it’s paper—especially when working on pieces that don’t require more modern notational tricks. That approach has served me well since the ’80s.)

Following Beethoven’s structure, I let the form guide me: if he used the bass line as the basis for a variation, I did too, and I kept the lengths of variations roughly proportional. I didn’t try to perfect every idea right away. Instead, I marked sections to revisit later and let myself keep writing. I try not to be too critical at this stage, and not so rigid that I miss the opportunity for unexpected ideas to appear and grow—something I always encourage composers to allow in their own process. Some of my favorite moments come from those surprises, emerging better than anything I originally planned.

Now I’m about two minutes into the piece, and I’m about to introduce the treble melody for the first time. The momentum is strong, and I’m trying to ride that wave.

Balancing Work and Music

Of course, composing is just one part of the puzzle. I’ve also got performance commitments and I’m busy preparing my orchestra for its spring concert in May. Add in the usual tasks (like filing taxes), and my days are full. Still, I’m doing my best to maintain this creative groove and move the symphony forward.

With any luck, I’ll be able to keep up the pace and have more to share with you soon. I’m excited to finally be giving this symphony the attention it deserves, and I hope to wrap up this movement—and the symphony itself—by summer’s end.

Stay tuned.

It’s been a busy stretch—so much so that I haven’t had time to sit down and actually document everything I’ve been working on. Since my last post, I’ve made substantial progress across several projects, and the momentum is finally building toward something bigger.

Circle-Music Updates

I previously shared that I was working on two new solo circle-music pieces, one for bassoon and one for alto saxophone. I now have good drafts of both. While I haven’t declared them fully finished yet, they’re in solid shape. I’m holding off on final decisions until I’ve had a chance to perform and record them. Sometimes a piece reveals its needs only after it’s been played out loud.

I also began work on the next solo piece, intended for either bass clarinet or clarinet, but I’ve put it aside for now. My primary concern is that my big project for the year—completing the fourth movement of my Fourth Symphony—is starting to fall behind schedule. If I want to premiere it this fall, I need to stay focused.

Setbacks and Score Migration

On top of that, life added a few speed bumps. My daughter was home sick for a week, which made it impossible to play music in the house. So I shifted gears and took the opportunity to move more of my back catalog from Finale to Dorico.

As part of that process—and to prepare for importing the symphony—I first moved over two complex works: an early orchestral piece with vocalists, and a seven-movement chamber trio for violin, bassoon, and piano. These gave me a chance to learn more about how Dorico handles flows, which was important groundwork for tackling the symphony.

I’ve already released a video about the orchestral work and plan to do one for the trio soon. Then, armed with those lessons, I began migrating my Fourth Symphony “Deconstructing Beethoven”. While it went smoother than expected, thanks to what I’d learned, I still ran into some odd issues. The most frustrating one so far has been a condensing bug when switching clarinet parts from B-flat to A. I’ll probably make a video on that too—it’s niche, but someone out there will need it.

As of now, I’ve got about 33% of my catalog moved over to Dorico. That’s encouraging progress, though I’ve yet to face some of the trickier scores—pieces with unusual notation that Dorico doesn’t handle very well.

Looking Ahead: Symphony No. 4 Resumes

The real highlight of the month is this: I’ve finally returned to writing the fourth movement of my Fourth Symphony. I had put it off for years after pandemic cancellations derailed the performance plans for the last movement. But now it looks like I’ll have an opportunity to premiere it this fall—assuming I finish in time.

Even better, the Beethoven Society still seems interested in hosting a talk about the symphony once it’s done, which gives me one more reason to get it across the finish line.

This week, I dusted off my old notes, set up the framework in Dorico, and drafted the first 20 measures. I’ll probably revisit the melody before going too much further, but it’s good to be back in the mindset. After spring break, I plan to dive in fully and, ideally, finish the movement before summer ends.

This will be my main focus for the next few months, though I hope to continue writing smaller solo works on the side when I need a break.

More soon.

January was a packed month, with several trips out of town and Chinese New Year celebrations keeping me busy. Despite that, I made solid progress on my ongoing projects, finalizing the transition of the Love Letters collection to Dorico by moving the last two compositions, G.A.C. for Orchestra and Minerva’s Dance, while also making minor touch-ups to pieces I had transferred in December.

Both G.A.C. for Orchestra and Minerva’s Dance received updates as well. The original performance of G.A.C. lacked second violins, so I added them back into this new version. For Minerva’s Dance, I transcribed an optional soprano saxophone solo from the original piece that had been missing from the Finale version and adjusted a few key signatures. While the process of moving music into Dorico continues to present challenges, I’m slowly ironing out the issues. I even created a video documenting some of the problems I encountered while transferring Minerva’s Dance.

New Circle-Music for Bassoon

Alongside these score migrations, I started work on two new solo circle-music pieces—one for alto saxophone and another for bassoon. The alto saxophone piece is still in the early experimental stages, with only rough notes completed. However, the bassoon piece is much further along.

This composition heavily incorporates multiphonics, a technique the bassoon handles beautifully and one I enjoy playing. I also have a particular fondness for the sound of low A♭ on the bassoon, so I knew that note had to be a central element in the piece.

Through extended improvisation sessions, I developed the core concepts: triplet-based (groups of three) rhythms, an emphasis on intervals of a third (minor and major), and the careful selection of multiphonics to ensure the best harmonic blend.

Identifying all the exact pitches present in the multiphonics was a challenge. I spent considerable time analyzing and refining phrases, improvising repeatedly to determine which ideas worked best together. Some lines were designed to function as low-end bass lines in a group setting, while others were shaped to allow for more open, spacious phrasing suitable for accompaniment. I also focused on how phrases should end, as the final notes are crucial for linking sections smoothly.

To ensure strong phrase connections, I decided I needed some that landed on F^# and E♭, as these notes connect well with A♭, B, G, and B♭—all of which are important to the work’s harmonic structure. I’ve developed several phrases that meet this need, but I still feel I could use a few more to round everything out.

The Circle-Music Writing Process

Writing these solo circle-music pieces follows a particular workflow. After settling on key musical directions (such as the intervallic focus or rhythmic motifs), I begin with free improvisation to generate raw material. From there, I shape structured phrases based on those improvisations, testing them to see how well they work together. Does the piece have enough variation? Do the phrases complement each other? Do they emphasize the intended musical themes? And crucially, will this piece integrate well into a recombinant work alongside other solo circle-music compositions?

This process involves a lot of trial and error—playing through phrases repeatedly, letting them sit for a few days, then revisiting them with fresh ears. I feel like I’m close to finalizing everything for the bassoon piece, with only a few more phrases left to refine. Once that’s done, I’ll shift my focus to the alto saxophone piece and continue developing that one.

January may have been a busy month, but I’m happy with the progress I’ve made. Now, onto the next phase!