A Little Musical Meditation



As you ponder the image below, you may experience a fundamental shift in consciousness as your nasal
passages open like the petals of the lotus. From here, your ears are ready to receive what your nose
already knows. And so, the theremin music begins, with me and Mike Victor on Tenori-On and Chaos Box.

Clickety Click Right Here


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Back to School! Free Theremin Classes.

For thereminists of all levels. The best theremin lessons are the ones that give you the results you want.
That’s why I advocate trying everything that’s out there. Of course, my lessons are among what’s out there,
and I’d love for you to try them – developed over the course of about ten years, they’ll challenge you
and I’m willing to bet you’ll surprise yourself with a lot of these techniques. They’re effective, they’re fun
and they’re FREE! Visit www.kiprosser.com

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The “Idle Mind” Suite


In late 2015, I began writing a theremin score for Michael Jason Allen’s, film An Idle Mind is the Devil’s
A significant amount of that music was either heard only in part, or, in some cases, not
included in the film. This is perfectly normal; the music (and how it’s used) is, ultimately, the province of
the director. However, I decided to create this “suite” of compositions in order to make more of the
theremin score available to anyone possessing interested ears. Several of the compositions have been remixed
and new orchestrations were composed and added to two of them.
Just click here to access the music.

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“Idle Mind” – A Theremin in the Movies!

Many of you know that late last year I was commissioned to write a theremin score for the new Michael
Jason Allen feature film, “An idle Mind is the Devil’s Playground.” Not only did I do that, but Jason, the
director, asked me to be in the film! So, out I went to Arizona and did the whole thing.
Now, the movie is out, available on DVD.
Idle Mind
I won’t give away the plot, but I will tell you that this is the first film whose lead character
is a theremin player! He spends his life shut away from the world, until one day, he has a dream that
puts him face-to-face with…
To see the trailer for the movie, CLICK HERE and then scroll down the page.
This is a film shot with a style, mood and storyline reminiscent of the best Twilight Zone episodes. In
fact, Spats White, a former film critic, and close friend (and collaborator) of Rod Serling for many years,
consented to view the film and write a review. Here are two excerpts:
“An Idle Mind Is The Devil’s Playground is an entertaining and well made film with solid performances,
a sharp screenplay, distinctively fine music, and award worthy cinematography. It is a unique film
and well worth the attention of any audience. Rod Serling, creator and dominant writer of The Twilight
Zone, was my friend, TV co-host, college writing professor and mentor. The film successfully reeks of
that era and style and, knowing him as well as I did, I think I can safely assume and assert here that
Mr. Serling would have totally appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed this motion picture”.
“…the music score and sound track credited to Mr. Allen the director, Mr. Ehron VonAllen and the
aforementioned Mr. Kip Rosser who performs the score on the theremin, that odd electronic instrument
famous for its spooky and wailing sounds so popular in horror movies and TV shows of the era. In the
hands of the composers, however, and (literally) the hands of Mr. Rosser, the often novelty-like sound
of the theremin is expertly elevated to a higher level of musicianship and tonal quality placing it
alongside the atmospheric sound track beauty usually only attainable from a full orchestra. It is a
truly unique, haunting and strangely memorable score.

A movie about a thereminist, a theremin musical score… what more could any of us theremin afficionados
possibly want? To order the film or the soundtrack, CLICK HERE and then scroll down the page.

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The New CD: Lessons From Vinegar Mother

Available Now at CD Baby! CLICK HERE
Ambient Compositions for Theremin


You can listen to samples and download the FREE Vinegar Mother Booklet below.

“Ambient” music has undergone many incarnations since Brian Eno first coined the phrase in 1978.
Yet, it has its origins in composers like Debussy and, especially, Erik Satie, who referred to his
own works as “furniture music.” It is intended for the background, music that plays almost at the
edge of perception, blending in with the sounds of the immediate environment.

It’s in this tradition that Lessons From Vinegar Mother was created.

And who, or what, is the Vinegar Mother? From 4th century Norse culture comes the obscure and
nearly lost art of receiving lessons from the Vinegar Mother. Mother of Vinegar or Mycoderma aceti
(from the Greek μὑκης (fungus) plus δἐρμα (skin), and the Latin aceti (of the acid) is composed of
cellulose and acetic acid bacteria that forms in unpasteurized vinegar. Oxidation gives rise to this
gelatinous substance that can assume amorphous and even ethereal shapes.

It is these shapes that are “read” by a practitioner of the art. Bengta Stenlund is a tenth generation reader
or “Daughter” of the Vinegar Mother. All of the music on Lessons From Vinegar Mother was directly
inspired and composed using the text of ten lessons Ms. Stenlund imparted specifically for this project.

Put it on and let it flow. Soundscapes, familiar and unfamiliar. Meditative expanses evolve into
energetic passages that seethe with rhythms. Laughter, half-heard whisperings arise and hang in the
air. Melodies degrade into sonic textures and then reconstruct themselves. The ethereal voice of the
theremin, combined with the text in the Vinegar Mother Booklet, encourages the listener’s associations,
lending depth and personal resonance to the music…all in the background.


Lessons From Vinegar Mother was produced on a very limited budget. As a result, its
accompanying 16-page booklet proved too expensive to print. Experience all of the Lessons from
Vinegar Mother
as they were meant to be experienced.

The Vinegar Mother booklet contains the complete text of all ten lessons, original artwork, and
extra background information. You can download the booklet, FREE, even if you don’t purchase the
CD! To view the booklet, just click on the link below. To download it, right click on the link
below and save the PDF file called: VinegarBook.”


Available Now at CD Baby! CLICK HERE
(Click below for 60-second samples)
Lesson One
Lesson Two
Lesson Three
Lesson Four
Lesson Five
Lesson Six
Lesson Seven
Lesson Eight
Lesson Nine
Lesson Ten


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2016 Just Begun — Me, a Theremin, and a New Movie

The New Year is starting off in a way I could never have predicted. Award winning feature film maker, Michael Jason Allen
contacted me to ask if I would write the score for his upcoming film, An Idle Mind is the Devil’s Playground.

“Why me?” was my first reaction. Turns out, it’s perfectly logical; his lead character. Sid Kottler, is a theremin player.
It follows that a theremin would be part and parcel of the music for the film. Where there’s a theremin, there’s suspense,
and there’s the type of compelling music that made the theremin’s reputation in brilliant films like Billy Wilder’s The
Lost Weekend
, Hitchcock’s Spellbound and the original 1951 The Day the Earth Stood Still, directed
by Robert Wise. These films (all made before really cheesy SciFi turned the theremin’s sound into a cliché) featured music
by amazing composers like Bernard Herrmann and Miklos Rosza. While I’m hardly in that class of composer, this is going to
be fun.

Filming in black and white, Allen is both writer and director. Rather than go the routes of horror or SciFi, he’s
written a suspenseful psychological drama reminiscent of masters like Hitchcock and Serling.

I encourage you to take a look at Allen’s extraordinary body of work. He’s just recently won the Great Lakes International
Film Festival for his film, The Coldest Kiss. It also received nominations for Best Actor, Best Director and Best
Feature at the Trail Dance Film Festival. You can see more at his web site, He Said She Said Productions:


During our preliminary talks it became clear that I’m working with an intensely creative and passionate man. Jason and I
connected very easily; it seems we’re on the same page from the start and I have to say I am in awe of his energy, his
enthusiasm and his incredible openness to the musical ideas I’ve proposed.

As with any independent filmmaking venture, finances are key. At the last tally, Jason still needed to $3,375 to complete
his budget. And you – yes, you, (picture me saying this in my best TV infomercial voiceover) can make a donation of any
amount to help this film see the light of day. Just go to the link below for all the details about the levels of funding:


To top it all off, after seeing me on youtube, Jason eventually asked if I would be interested in appearing in the film.
Took me a while to get my head around that – I was already busy writing the music and I had to “surface” from that mindset
to take in what he’d asked. After thinking it over for a day or two… I’m in. I’ll be out in Phoenix for filming at the
end of this month.

All I can say is: this is going to be fun.

More as things progress. For now, go take a look at Michael Jason Allen’s films!

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Erik Satie’s Gnossienne No. 3

The final installment of the Satie Series.

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Erik Satie’s Gnossienne No.2

It is thought that the word, “Gnosienne” is a vague allusion to Gnossos (or Knossos), an ancient city
on the island of Crete where once stood the palace of King Minos and the Minotaur’s labyrinth. But
that is neither here nor there (nor under the table). To quote the composer completely out of context
“And then the door opens, opens, opens like an eye: a formless silent being comes closer and closer
and closer. Not a drop of sweat remains in my terrified body; and besides, I am very, very thirsty.
A voice comes out of the shadows, “Sir, I think I am clairvoyant.” That, as they say, just about says
it all, doesn’t it?.

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Erik Satie’s Gnossienne No. 1

From the CD, Euphonic Verses (available on Amazon), and from one of the most eccentric composers
that has ever lived, here is Erik Satie’s Gnossienne No. 1. Visuals loosely inspired by Picasso’s
costume designs for Satie’s ballet, Parade, as well as Dada, surrealism and yesterday’s vegan
tuna sandwich. This piece is offered (to quote the composer out of context) to “show all those
affected by incommensurable tedium, profound disgust with existence, or unending bitterness, an
infallible way to be promptly cheered up.” Several of the composer’s notations are included.

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Notes From the Street

Part Two: It’s Music to Whose Ears?
The answer to that question isn’t always easy to figure out. Most of the time, people are rushing around,
on their ways to or from… they’re all in “get there” mode; the subway’s just the conduit, the way to
travel from here to there. I see determination in everyone’s eyes, a purpose that blinds them a little
to their surroundings. Most of them are even slightly deaf to their surroundings, too – walking around
with their smart phones, earbuds planted firmly in their ears.

Music in the subways is nothing new. When I moved to Manhattan in 1977, there were musicians in the
subways back then, too. They wandered through the train cars. Most of them were pretty awful. Many
were just singing a Capella and asking for change. Occasionally, a grubby guy with a guitar might pass
through and surprise everyone by being really talented.

Things were much more raw then. The car interiors were plastered with graffiti. Very few of them were air
conditioned in the summer. Most were equipped with fans that blew the sweltering, foul air around. The
windows in the cars could actually be opened, and when they were, it was better to close them. The air
in the tunnels was broiling, sooty and rank. Unlike now, the cars were much more active; people were always
coming in and out of the doors on each end. Some people even rode outside, between the cars. Coming home
late at night, with just a few people scattered around in the seats, it was ominous, put your senses on
high alert.

Just another summer afternoon in a scorching subway car, there I am, soaked to the skin on the way home
from work. Into the car comes a huge man wider than the opening in the door. His deep ebony skin is
glistening with sweat, his eyes are bright and his smile, well, his smile is a blissful. Hanging from
a strap around his massive neck is a beautifully hand-hammered Jamaican steel drum. His rich, sweet
voice cuts through the heat, soaring above the racket of the train as he says, “Ladies and gentlemen,
good afternoon to y’all, my name is William. I know it’s hot and y’all are on your way home, ya’ll have
busy lives. I want y’all to know y’all are now in the safest subway car in New York City. No one has
ever been mugged, robbed or molested in a subway car when I’m in it! So, please, just relax and enjoy.”
William begins to play that drum and the music pours out over the crowd. The man is fantastic. Soon,
we’re all smiling. When William’s done, almost everyone bursts into applause. “Thank y’all kindly,
ladies and gentlemen. And anything y’all can spare as I pass through to the next car will be most
appreciated. Thank y’all for listening. Get home safe.”

As William passes me, I hand him two dollars; it’s all I have on me, change from my lunch. I stand up and
shake his hand. “You are a pure joy, William.” I tell him. It catches him up short, I think. His
exuberant eyes soften and his crowd pleasing smile turns to one of quiet surprise. I can only guess that
while lots of people give him their change, no one has ever taken him by the hand and spoken to him before.

That day on the train – that’s when I knew: someday, I wanted to be able play music down in the subway.

“Are you insane?” my friends asked me when I told them what I was planning to do. “You don’t know who’s
going to come up to you. What if someone grabs your tips? What are you going to do when homeless people
hang around while you’re playing? You could get killed in the subway!”

Today, that’s exactly where I am.

About eight years ago, I auditioned for Music Under New York, made the cut, and I’ve been playing the
subways whenever I can.

Today is like most days down here. It’s noisy, it’s chaos. People rush around in waves as each subway
train arrives and departs. All of the motion has a visible rhythm – the flow speeds up as people hear
a train arriving one flight down, counterpointed by the slower, steady trudge of people exiting the
cars and plodding up the stairs. There are usually a few flurries, arpeggios of scurrying passengers
frantic to try to make it downstairs and into a train. I begin putting the instrument together, get
out my cables, connect the theremin and my iPod (it holds all the musical accompaniments that I play
along with) to the amplifier. I take the theremin carrying case and lay it wide open on the floor
about six feet in front of me, seed it with a few dollars. Everyone’s oblivious. Until the music starts.

Judging by the look on some of the faces, the question surfaces in my mind: “It’s music to whose ears?”
The theremin’s ethereal, ambient voice wafts out, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. The people
farthest from me hear the music but can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. Others walking fairly close by
can spot me, see that there’s music emanating from my vicinity but they can’t connect what I’m doing to
what they’re hearing. The looks on their faces range from startled to bewildered to utterly spooked.
Every now and then someone will see me and shoot a hostile glance my way, but the majority of passersby
who are within about fifteen feet of me either slow down or stop to look. Some of the ones who stop come
closer to really watch.

I catch the eye of a striking young woman who, I’ve noticed, has been watching me from different
positions around the station. We smile at one another, and as I finish what I’m playing she approaches.
Her name is Georgia, she’s in investment counseling, but in college she studied religious philosophy.
She, too, has been watching the reactions of everyone. She’s as fascinated as I am; she associates
their behavior with what happens when people encounter magic. Georgia explains how people who encounter
something magical are likely to feel threatened. They witness something they have no frame of reference
for and confusion, insecurity and even fear can set in. But if they take the time to examine, as the
explanation emerges, their apprehension dissolves.

This is exactly what’s happening all afternoon. People who obviously don’t even know one another gather
in little knots and I can tell they’re tossing ideas back and forth – what’s he doing? – how is he
making that music? – what the hell is that bizarre box with the two antennas and how can a Beatles song
be coming from it? In what universe does Clair De Lune come from some nut who’s waving his hands around?
I’m forever motioning people to come closer and try the theremin for themselves. The more adventurous
among them will approach and, with a little coaxing, wiggle their fingers in the field generated by the
pitch rod – the vertical antenna.

The experience is transformational; everyone, regardless of age, sex, personality – each becomes as
fascinated as a child. Any barriers between us as humans fall away for just a few minutes and we’re all
happy, talking, exploring. This is why I’m here. I rarely, if ever, recoup in tips what it costs me to
park at the train station, purchase a round-trip ticket for Manhattan, and then pay for the subway rides
to and from the playing location. It’s never been about that. Eventually, each person goes his or her
own way again and in all likelihood, the barriers go back up quickly.

A young man, about six-three, walks directly up to face me. He’s wearing black sweats, immaculately
clean, tan work boots, a black hoody and opaque sunglasses. His hands hang down, clasped in front of his
crotch. His voice is resonant and confrontational. “I need two dollars. Can I have two dollars.” He’s,
not asking. There’s no rise in his tone where a question mark would be. He’s telling me to give
him two dollars, almost daring me to say no.

I stop playing. “Convince me.”

“What?” He sounds thrown, gathering anger.

“Convince me. What do you need two dollars for?”

“I need to get food.”

“All right. Now, take off the hood.”


“Take off the hood.”

He does.

“Now, take off the sunglasses and ask me if you can have two dollars. Man, if I’m going to give you two
dollars I want to see who I’m giving it to.”

He takes off the sunglasses and asks, still on edge, “Can I have two dollars?”

I smile and reach out to shake his hand. “What’s your name?”


“Hi, Maurice. I’m Kip. Go ahead and take your two dollars.”

He does not return my smile, but quickly reaches down, his eyes never leaving mine, grabs two dollars
and walks off looking calmer, but confused.

For a few seconds, Georgia just looks at me, speechless. Then, we continue talk together as if nothing
had happened.

The voices of my friends echo in the back of my head, “Are you insane?”

Maybe, just a little.

Coming Soon:
Part Three – How To Book A Gig In The Subway

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