Merry Christmas, Mavens!

Once upon a lunchtime dreary, while I wandered, tired and bleary,
Over many a dull and tedious Web page of such rotten core,
While I staggered, brains-a-leaking, suddenly there came from seeking,
"Film Score Monthly" gently speaking, speaking to my mind so raw,
Oil to stop my thoughts from creaking? Speaking to a mind so raw?
Carefully...  I did explore!

Ah, distinctly I recall it happened in what some name "Fall,"
And each separate key depression brought a host of names and more,
Cautiously I read a posting, suddenly my mind was roasting,
For it mentioned someone ghosting, ghosting a composer's score!
Was it someone idly boasting? Ghosting a composer's score?
Nameless here for evermore.

And the steady stream of emails posted by both male and female,
Rocked me - shocked me with such content I had never seen before!
Hunger pangs I left unheeding as I eagerly re-reading,
Mind not body over-feeding, focussed on the words I saw,
Sense of space and time receding, focussed on the words I saw,
Just the words and nothing more.

Suddenly my eyes alighted on a subject that ignited,
Heated passions on a level seldom seen since days of yore,
Sought I reason, explanation, for this state of aggravation,
Answer came in declaration, declaration stating war!
Who would launch such operation, declaration stating war?
'Twas The Maven, to the fore.

Words of venom, biting, searing, in a manner not endearing,
Launched The Maven this flotilla, storming his opponent's shore,
"I don't want more re-recordings, re-arrangements aren't rewarding!
Just release the tapes they're hoarding, is that too much to ask for?
Just to hear the tapes they're hoarding, is that too much to ask for?"
Cried The Maven, evermore.

Some of those by this insulted, their own anger catapulted,
At this Film Score Monthly reader's attitude they did deplore,
"Sir you know not economics, nor the case for improved sonics,
You can hear those clear harmonics when you re-record the score!
There can be few better tonics than a re-recorded score,"
Said The Maven, "Who needs more?"

"We don't need more," cried The Maven, "suites and themes with utter craven
Disregard of pace and passion for those tracks that I adore!
These confounded compilations just add to my deep frustrations,
Send them to the Third World Nations, they just make my ears feel sore!
Pack them off on some vacation, they just make my ears feel sore!"
Said The Maven, evermore.

Wise Producer stepped in fuming, "Why on Earth are you assuming,
Everything that once was written should be held in such high awe?
Ignoring any re-use fee you may have great redundancy,
As very often I do see when over manuscripts I pore,
Pieces used quite frequently when over manuscripts I pore,
On occasion more than four!"

Back the maddened Maven spluttered, "What's this rot that you have uttered?
Comparing scraps to masterpieces just inclines me to guffaw!
There's no reason for inaction - your ideas hold no attraction,
Give me whole not half or fraction! Open up the soundtrack store!
Put the archive heads in traction! Open up the soundtrack store!
This I ask and nothing more!"

One or two then tried to reason, "Film music is not in season,
You and I both love it dearly, but outside they shut the door,
Just give thanks for little label's reconstructions that enable
Long lost scores to reach the table, mining gold from music's ore,
Older scores no longer fables, being mined from music's ore",
Said The Maven, "Nevermore!"

"Those peerless Maestros could conduct! There is no need to re-construct!
You tamper with those bars of gold, fertile fields reduced to straw!
The self-styled impresarios just make the music de-compose,
Works of poetry rendered prose, breaking all artistic law!
Scherzos played at snail's tempos, breaking all artistic law!
Said The Maven, "What a bore!"

Thus acting like some bird of prey, he pecked dissenting words away,
While opposition carcasses dripped with bloody guts and gore,
I could not help but be impressed, The Maven's single-minded quest,
Made him believe that first was best - treasures old there were galore!
And still he cried out from his nest - treasures old there were galore!
Said the Maven, evermore!

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