Many ledger lines without the 8va
I'm transcribing Benny Andersson's demo of "When the Waves Roll Out to Sea" and the first passage has a higher range for the left hand that leaves too many ledger lines. Is it unusual to put a Bass Ottava Alta when notating for piano?
Here's a link to the high-quality PDF: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1De32Yx4WjZ5A4GAZD579Zkf9JkCkJjiz/view?usp=sharing
Hi everyone,
I'm currently working with my state representative to get some development done at the intersection of Cambria and Boylston, and I wanted to get some feedback on this design I came up with.
I'm not a traffic engineer; I have autism, illustrator, and I'm bored.
A Stranger saw me smiling in a cafe and took a picture of me—
A nice one at that.
For weeks, that Stranger would follow me home at night,
grabbing at my hand.
One day, that Stranger said they loved me—kissed me.
…I kissed them back.
They weren’t always a stranger, though…
No. Not to me.
And one day, that Stranger told me,
curtly, I wasn’t enough.
I wasn't his favorite,
They told me.
He didn’t,
I knew.
…
I prefer to forget,
I prefer to erase—I intend… to overwrite—their name.
His name,
his face, his smile, his locks of curly hair,
his scent on my favorite sweater lain empty, quietly.
Quietly, the sweater forgets, erases, overwrites the scent.
I don't prefer that.
I don't prefer any of this.
Time moves regardless.
I’m forced to remember.
...
With a tear or two—more—I let him become another innocent passerby:
Someone I can’t hold accountable;
Someone I can’t hold in my mind;
Someone I can’t …hold.
My Favorite Stranger—
My Favorite, Stranger—
My Favorite: Stranger—
Someone I can’t love.
Someone I can’t hate.
Someone—
No one
A Stranger saw me smiling in a cafe and took a picture of me—
A nice one at that.
For weeks, that Stranger would follow me home at night,
grabbing at my hand.
One day, that Stranger said they loved me—kissed me.
…I kissed them back.
They weren’t always a stranger, though…
No. Not to me.
And one day, that Stranger told me,
curtly, I wasn’t enough.
I wasn't his favorite,
They told me.
He didn’t,
I knew.
…
I prefer to forget,
I prefer to erase—I intend… to overwrite—their name.
His name, his face, his smile, his locks of curly hair,
his scent on my favorite sweater lain empty, quietly.
Quietly, the sweater forgets, erases, overwrites the scent.
I don't prefer that.
I don't prefer any of this.
Time moves regardless.
I’m forced to remember.
...
With a tear or two—more—I let him become another innocent passerby:
Someone I can’t hold accountable;
Someone I can’t hold in my mind;
Someone I can’t …hold.
My Favorite Stranger—
My Favorite, Stranger—
My Favorite: Stranger—
Someone I can’t love.
Someone I can’t hate.
Someone—
No one
A Stranger saw me smiling in a cafe and took a picture of me—
A nice one at that.
For weeks, that Stranger would follow me home at night,
grabbing at my hand.
One day, that Stranger said they loved me—kissed me.
…I kissed them back.
They weren’t always a stranger, though…
No. Not to me.
And one day, that Stranger told me,
curtly, I wasn’t enough.
I wasn't his favorite,
They told me.
He didn’t,
I knew.
…
I prefer to forget,
I prefer to erase—I intend… to overwrite—their name.
His name, his face, his smile, his locks of curly hair,
his scent on my favorite sweater lain empty, quietly.
Quietly, the sweater forgets, erases, overwrites the scent.
I don't prefer that.
I don't prefer any of this.
Time moves regardless.
I’m forced to remember.
...
With a tear or two—more—I let him become another innocent passerby:
Someone I can’t hold accountable;
Someone I can’t hold in my mind;
Someone I can’t …hold.
My Favorite Stranger—
My Favorite, Stranger—
My Favorite: Stranger—
Someone I can’t love.
Someone I can’t hate.
Someone—
No one
A Stranger saw me smiling in a cafe and took a picture of me—
A nice one at that.
For weeks, that Stranger would follow me home at night,
grabbing at my hand.
One day, that Stranger said they loved me—kissed me.
…I kissed them back.
They weren’t always a stranger, though…
No. Not to me.
And one day, that Stranger told me,
curtly, I wasn’t enough.
I wasn't his favorite,
They told me.
He didn’t,
I knew.
…
I prefer to forget,
I prefer to erase—I intend… to overwrite—their name.
His name, his face, his smile, his locks of curly hair,
his scent on my favorite sweater lain empty, quietly.
Quietly, the sweater forgets, erases, overwrites the scent.
I don't prefer that.
I don't prefer any of this.
Time moves regardless.
I’m forced to remember.
...
With a tear or two—more—I let him become another innocent passerby:
Someone I can’t hold accountable;
Someone I can’t hold in my mind;
Someone I can’t …hold.
My Favorite Stranger—
My Favorite, Stranger—
My Favorite: Stranger—
Someone I can’t love.
Someone I can’t hate.
Someone—
No one
