You have brightened up November for us all with your track and artwork, Ad. Bravo.

This fills me with a wonderful sense of peace.

This is very beautiful.  It's a lovely November after all.

🎵 The composition beautifully captures the essence of November's melancholy with such masterful depth ✨ The violin solo soars with hope through the atmospheric gloom, touching the soul with pure emotional brilliance 🎻 Every note is performed with such heartfelt expression and technical excellence 💫 The orchestration and arrangement create a perfect classical landscape that paints the mood so vividly 🌟 A truly outstanding piece that transforms seasonal darkness into musical light! ❤️

Tricksters triumph over the serpant and eat good.

Swamp Rabbits

Sphere

dripping

Dripping

from J.S. Bach's cantata, "Heart and Mouth and Deed and Life" BWV147

Jesu Joy of Man's Desring

Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring

....I hope he will forgive the presumption...
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This little project only stirred into life when graced with the pulse of Debbie's wonderful accompaniment and the breath of David's visionary arrangement and production.  Thank you both, dear friends.

Find Debbie's piano music here: https://soundcloud.com/debra_buesking
and David's guitar music here: https://soundcloud.com/david-dunhamuser589535203
_____________________________________________________________________

.... Inspired By Mr. Pärt's Spiegels

Dear God, just look at the state of you - what the hell happened?
Did time do that all by itself?
Chiselled and scraped with gentle, temporal strength?
Yesterdays now patterned well with telling tales of wear and tear.
Always took such good care that you ticked every health kick box
But all the ticks collect their tocks, bundling up the time we thought was dangling spare.

And wrinkly skin comes out to play, crafting plots with crumpled neurons badly frayed, and
Liver spots about the edges worn of happy recollections,
Waltzed away, invisible to the swinging of that penduled clock.
Take your eyes off it for just a minute and you’ve lost a day, 
And then a decade’s worth of wry reflections,
Lovingly to fold them up and let them lie in memory’s pocket.

Those lines that contour of your brow, a biography of creases now
And all cut down so very deep.
Each epidermal void crevasse life’s stylus tracks a scratching past
Evinces of a record no mortal hard re-format could delete.
And of your eyes, sallow yellowed at the margins, framed by corvid feet
Rigid-set to well outlast whatever bargained span of life your good Lord deems replete.

As if your face lampoons of age itself, wrecked and bent
Of scars that trace minutiae, carved in master sculptors’ stone
And none too soon, for just that task and that alone, recording compressed of the past..
We both know well which ones are smiles and which the pain that heaven sent,
The former few, soft of the flesh, the many others sunk unto the very bone,
The harshest welt of any sole upon the universal cobbler’s last.

But does it help to so reflect, or but to hurry time’s neglect?
Of such consideration circles wrapped in worry tearing down
All edifice of self respect, the towering pit of pity comes once more to town,
Parades a circus fine of talents, self deprecating jestered clowns
And galloping horses all the while stampede about the rounded ropes
Vespered peace forever sought, just out of reach, concedes of futile, now confounded hopes.

So what of forward self projection, folding the creases back behind
And out of sight to speculation on future solaced peace of mind?
Perhaps again the crashing wall of fast reality, solid bricked
Determines upward focus but to fall, as if to gravity’s grounded truth 
Tricked of consequential solitude, rimed of age, aching of the aged sick
No respite there nor rectitude as once you found in torrid youth.

But perhaps I’m speaking out of turn and out of place,
For though your memories sear and burn as if to carbonise some worthwhile trace of validity
On that unholy visage lit by lives lived long before….
It matters not and changes nought, not a jot nor yet a thought
For you and I know better than to seek a settled score from comment fair
After all, you are I, staring back at me from the mirror mounted there.

.... Inspired By Mr. Pärt's Spiegels ... With Debra Buesking and David Dunham

We had a gloomy month of november overhere, so I think that is notable.....
Nevertheless the violin solo gives us hope.

Dynamics: -14.5 LUFS

November. (Composer and performer Ad van Nederpelt)

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YouTube: https://youtu.be/SwVKRXsRcQ0?si=0I2qCXybV2Os43TI
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/intl-de/album/044AwTnFmeGCNvpPgzvlMK?si=SCSUJBtzQEWDGb80Brobzg
Amazon: https://amazon.de/music/player/albums/B0DSTQ54V1?marketplaceId=A1PA6795UKMFR9&musicTerritory=DE&ref=dm_sh_MaXB5lhxE9cbGi8v3szGYHU2l
Apple: https://music.apple.com/de/album/traumzeit/1790368733?i=1790368734
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Traumzeit - Instrumental

My inspiration...

Don’t Tell Me,   
Music and Poem by Jennifer L. Jones

Don’t tell me you love me, or tell me I’m yours, 
Don’t tell me to be there, I can’t do any more.
Don't tell me you're sorry, or tell me you'll change,
And tell me you need me, and just walk away, 
Don't tell me what I feel, or tell me you're scared,
Just tell me the truth, if you even dare.
You were my knight, and I was Gueneviere.
What happened to us is all said and done.
A new chapter of life has now begun.

Music Dreams Productions, January 2025

Don't Tell Me

The Magic Forest

Grandioso

This piece moves gently, carrying a subtle sadness, but never sinking into despair. Its mood feels like quiet reflection — tinged with melancholy but also with warmth and dignity.
The music opens with a French horn solo, soft and resonant, its tone suggesting both distance and intimacy, like a voice calling from memory. The horn’s melodic line is simple yet noble, setting the reflective character of the work.
As the clarinet enters, it answers the horn in a lighter, more lyrical voice, bringing a hint of comfort and movement. The bassoon follows with a deeper, more grounded timbre, adding weight and gentle sorrow to the texture. Underneath, the cello provides sustained tones and subtle, pulsing rhythms — not heavy, but steady, anchoring the ensemble.
Through the middle section, the four instruments weave together in a chamber-like conversation: the horn’s phrases stretching long and noble, the clarinet offering sigh-like responses, the bassoon coloring the harmony with a touch of gravity, and the cello carrying a quiet undercurrent of resilience.
The piece gradually thins out near the close, leaving the French horn once again in solitude. The final horn solo mirrors the opening, but softer, as if the memory has faded — not with sorrow, but with acceptance.
The overall impression is of a slightly sad but tender piece, evoking reflection, farewell, or the quiet turning of a page.


Echoes of Tomorrow

Actually I am a piano-musician by profession, but I discovered the huge possibilities of music designing with a computer.  I like to compose in very different styles like classical, pop, filmmusic, hardrock, synth rock, jazz, tango, etc. I hope you'll enjoy it and I do appreciate practical, and especially serious criticism as well.
"The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science."
-Albert Einstein

November. (Composer and performer Ad van Nederpelt)

Ad van Nederpelt

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