A long time ago, I started writing a little piece of music. It was back in Montana, when I visited a little town called Reed Point for two weeks, and where I, to amuse myself, sat playing on my friend’s keyboard in the evenings.

The little composition that began there has now been completed. Some of you have already heard it; it’s a rather odd little tune that jumps up and down all the time and can never quite agree on its beat, constantly switching between 3/8, 6/8, 7/8 and 8/8, and on occasion a 9/8, just for good measure; and just to confuse the pianist further it also switches between Ab, Gb and E major.

Having read a bit of music theory through my years (and even more as of lately), I realize how inadequate it is. It really doesn’t conform well to established musical patterns; the very fact that it incessantly switches beat all the time, inevitably marks it as a layman’s attempt at writing music. In several other ways, it’s… well, somewhat childish.

On the other hand, it’s quite fun to play, and it doesn’t sound altogether bad either, once you get used to the little occasional bumps in it. And, perhaps more importantly, I dedicated it a while ago to someone I know – the identity of whom, to protect the innocent, shall remain a mystery – and in doing so, I realized in a sudden moment of insight, that the musical qualities of this little piece actually, in a way, reminds me of her.

All things considered, for all its deficiencies, I’m thinking as follows: that, 1) if a composition is fun to play (which is half the reason to make music anyway), 2) it sounds rather well, and, 3) in its own peculiar qualities, it’s actually providing a meaningful context in regards to the person for whom it was written; then I think that this little piece has earned its right to exist, and not to be scrapped and thrown away.

Anyway, having said that, the true mark of any decent piece of music is whether it can stand the test of time. And since this was first started upon in 1997 and since then has survived in my mind for roughly ten years, my feelings about it may just be warranted.