I’m becoming more and more painfully aware that I promised David quasi-regular blog postings for CT, but I now feel a little as if I have writer’s block – I feel like I should have something to say about something, but any ideas I have had recently seem to be a little self-serving or just plain dull. This is not, thankfully, an affliction (the writer’s block) that carries over to my composing, where the time available for writing still seems a little shy of the time I actually need and consequently I’m always ready and able to compose when those hours do free up. This, despite the fact that I am ostensibly a full-time composer. Where do the hours go? I do one day’s teaching a week as part of my post-Doctoral Research post requirements, but that should surely leave 4, 5 or even 6 days for writing depending on the level of workaholicicism I wish to engage with. And yet there always seems to be some rehearsal to attend, some promotion to be seen to, perhaps a little interview here or guest lecture there and there are always emails to write and reply to. Perhaps I need a secretary – or can one still get an amanuensis these days? And what about tea breaks? Perhaps if I had less of those I might write more, but then again the Reward system works very well for me.
Actually, I’ve got the first production of a new music theatre work coming up at the start of next month in Dublin – Una Santa Oscura is a bit like an opera but with no singers or text and instead a violinist is the sole protagonist (see, a self-serving blog entry). The interesting thing about this project for me, compared to my experience with writing chamber opera where one knows it’s out of one’s hands once the music is done, is that I formed the complete concept for the work myself – a staged work for a violinist inspired by aspects of the life of Hildegard of Bingen. Still, here I am willingly handing it all over to the director and finding myself very curious about what he’s done with the idea (because I haven’t had time to attend any rehearsals yet); after all, the concept might have been mine but he’s got the work of filling in the details. So, there go a number of days in the next couple of weeks with rehearsals and performances and little enough time for writing music let alone blogs.
Picking up on some of the themes from Judith Bingham's fascinating post I recently did an interview for the American Music Centre's NewMusicBox site and I was somewhat surprised to hear the interviewer Frank J Oteri tell me that despite my never having returned to the US until 3 years ago (having been born there and left at the grand age of 6 weeks old), that there was something distinctly American in my sound-world - the article is titled "Accidental American".
I acknowledged to Frank that, like a lot of the US scene, I am happy to be open to a wide range of other cultures and musics from around the world; but on reflection, whilst I have loved klezmer, gypsy music and Eastern European folk music since childhood, British folk traditions have never held such an intense interest. I wonder if I am like my good friend who, as a Spanish composer based in London incorporated Spanish folk idioms into his writing, but then when he moved back to Spain these suddenly vanished completely from his music. In other words, if I didn't live in the UK perhaps I would take a deeper interest in its traditions. Perhaps, as Judith implies, it's to do with craving things that are not - for whatever reason - part of our daily lives?
Friday night I went to a concert at the Bishopsgate Institute, that odd little tucked away venue in the heart of the City. The concert was Czech piano music played by William Howard and included some preludes and fugues by Pavel Zemek Novak, part of a huge piano work over an hour and a half long that William Howard has championed here.
There was a pre concert talk with David Matthews, an old pal of mine, and it was remembering his enthusiasm for Novak’s music that attracted me to the concert. Novak is very interesting, despite his very sober and rather shy appearance: he has a preoccupation with unison writing, and an interest in trying to erase dissonance both horizontally and vertically – he tried not to have the ‘melodic’ line travel in seconds or sevenths even.
The music is not without tension though, but has an unusual freshness and energy all of its own. Intriguing was the word that came into my mind. In the pre-concert talk I asked Novak what the music world in Czechoslovakia had been like after the war, given that so many musicians had died in Terezin or had fled the country. Did the composers that were left look back, or did they try and create something entirely new? Novak spoke very sympathetically (and with a lot of emotion) about two composers, Miloslav Ištvan, and Miloslav Kabelácwho were subject to virtual house arrest by the Communists after the war, and not allowed to travel, nor have many performances.
I think I wasn’t alone in feeling a bit shame-faced that I hadn’t heard of them, or heard their music. He spoke with passion also about the different sorts of folk music in Czechoslovakia, and about national feeling. Afterwards I thought how different it is to live in a country that was not invaded, and how it has allowed us to be incredibly complacent about our own cultural identity. Can you imagine anyone ever asking me in a pre-concert talk about national identity? - I always feel that if I have used British folk music I have to be a bit apologetic, or risk looking either very conventional or worse, fascistic.
I wonder how we would feel about 20th century composers like say Vaughan Williams, Finzi, Britten, Tippett, or Malcolm Arnold, Elisabeth Lutyens, Elizabeth Maconchy et al if they had been carted off to death camps, or forced to leave everything behind and flee? The last time British composers came under any real threat was the Reformation, and their music has come to represent a kind of essential Englishness, and along with choral evensong it encodes an extraordinary national identity.
The other day some dimwit in a major newspaper talked about how few great composers Britain has produced, and was the usually disparaging idiot about contemporary music.When I was a student it was absolutely forbidden to like the sort of music known as ‘cow pat music,’ (a term coined by Liz Lutyens!) as if national identity was something to be utterly despised.
Then as now to some extent, professors in music colleges prefer a European model to a native one. We have no experience of what it would be like to lose our cultural exponents in the way most European countries have, and have become unbelievably careless with our own culture. Maybe one day it will all be taken away from us, and then we will talk, with tears in our eyes, like Novak, of the treasures we had and lost.
New music enthusiast Bob Schneider draws my attention to the soundSCAPE New Music Festival 2010. This composers and performers exchange takes place between 14-25 July 2010 at Lake Maggiore in the beautiful Italain Alps. It is an opportunity for composers to get their works premiered. Special features this year include a composer-in-residence fellowship and creating violin and guitar duets, to be performed by Duo46. Application deadline is March 31,2010. For details, visit http://www.soundscapefestival.org
If you care to peruse this link, you will notice something rather peculiar...wait, no, something completely normal!
Not one living composer represented.
Now, I understand this isn't 'the point'. But there is a message here, and that is "living composers are not part of the game". We are a side show. Not really worth noticing, actually. And if you are a performer, especially a hard working ambitious one, it is best advised to avoid new music as it won't get you recognition.
Ok, only one award - fine. But this is the BBC! I expect more from them. And understand that as I write this, the funding for Canadians to record new music has been scrapped. Gone.So, not only do we have to "compete" against Mozart, Beethoven, and Tchaikovsky for a crumb of attention, but now we (in Canada, but your turn might be coming) can't even get support to try.
Oh, it's an old argument, I know. But, I'll say it again: This is another blow down for classical music. Slowly inching its way into museum like obscurity. We stand close to the edge, folks. Or, are we already in the hole?
Here are some quotes from reviewers I'd like to highlight:
-"Tchaikovsky’s songs for solo voice and piano are relatively unfamiliar"
-"Pianist Iain Burnside here presents a superb selection of Liszt’s mostly too-little-known songs"
I'm just in tears.I hope another 120 years will allow these masterpieces to finally realize their potential.
-"Two of the three works on this disc are more than 50 years old, but they still tend to be regarded as 'new music', though Agon is one of Stravinsky's most appealing scores."
-"With so many Verdi Requiems on the market, it would normally be hard to justify another. But these are exceptional circumstances."
Yes, these are exceptional circumstances.New music isn't new.
"This is your chance to have a say in the UK’s biggest classical music awards."
Well, they are very good recordings, for sure. And I love all of this music. But this is where my 2 cents lies today.I'm just in that kind of mood.
A few months ago, when the days were long and the weather warm (remember that?) Rolf Hind asked me if I would be interested in writing a piece for a concert featuring multiple pianos in London. I’ve been asked to participate in some odd projects but I think this one was the strangest. I think in this day and age composers have to be prepared for almost anything; the ability to be flexible is one of those extra things that still isn’t taught in every school and it’s a good skill to acquire. So, with that in mind I thought I’d write about my initial thought process when I started writing the piece.
So, the request with my initial thoughts in italics:
1) Six PianosOkay, I haven’t written that much for piano, but I suppose that that’s not really a handicap when it comes to writing for six of them. I mean it’s not as if writing for solo violin really gives one a head start when writing for string quartet.
2) Percussion: OKnow we’re talking! I’ve written a lot of percussion music.
3) Audience Participation. The audience is going to be asked to bring along percussion that they can play as part of the piece.Wow…
4) Built-In Flexibilty. It’s in a huge space and the set-up might be variable. Also as it’s on at the start and the end of the concert some flexibility has to be built-in. Well, now that we’re at it, why not?
Of course I said yes. I love a challenge. The first thing to sort out was how to deal with six pianos. My solution was not to use too much bass; I knew that it would get muddy. I have to say that, even though I didn’t know much multiple piano music my impression of it was that there was a lot of single-hand writing. There are two reasons for this, I think. First, the muddiness issue: single-hand writing just cleans up the texture. Second, because this writing adds to the sense of ensemble. It changes the idea of the piano from a self-contained entity to an instrument in an ensemble, each contributing to the overall sonority. So, the pianos are, like any other group of six instruments, a chamber ensemble. Right from the beginning I had this in mind. As a result of this, I started with the idea of having things passed around the pianos. When you have six of the same instrument this just seems idiomatic and it solidifies the idea of the chamber ensemble.
The second and third things kind of came together. I chose to have the percussionist lead the audience so that, broadly speaking, it plays what he plays. The visual aspect I thought would help keep everyone together. It also helps to create a useful visual link between what’s happening on stage and what’s going on in the audience.
The way to deal with the flexibility issue came from the limitation or particular feature of the ensemble. I’m always on at my students to get them to exploit instrumental limitations as compositional possibilities; it’s a little obsession of mine. At first I thought that the plan might be to have six grand pianos on stage. This wasn’t the case. The set-up didn’t call for six grand pianos on stage but two grand pianos and four uprights. This, apart from being much more practical, adds another layer to the sound, and divides the ensemble into two.I decided to have the grands do a lot of the heavy lifting, leaving the uprights more free to share material between them. So, the grands play together as a unit and the four uprights have a more flexible interaction.
Finally the performance is taking place in The Roundhouse. I had heard tales of this legendary venue, but hadn’t seen it since it reopened. I really had to see the space before starting the write. It’s really remarkable both visually and acoustically.
In the end I decided to try to project the inherent resonance of the pianos into the space. In many ways that became the theme of the piece: the piece is in three main sections each being in a state of flux. One way or another they each become more resonant. In the end, it was a strange but fun piece to write. It took a lot of strategising and working out logistics, but that became part of the piece. Having been to the first rehearsal I’m happy to say that things are sounding good. If you’d like to see for yourself, the piece is on in the Roundhouse, London this Sunday, January 31st at 8pm and will be broadcast live online. If you do come, don’t forget to bring along some percussion.
I had hoped that would be able to get to Manchester for an early rehearsal of the piece I've written for the Hallé/BBC Philharmonic Mahler cycle - it's a setting of Wordsworth called 'Crossing the Alps' (from The Prelude) for unaccompanied chorus (well, not quite unaccompanied - it includes an organ pedal, for safety's sake), to partner Mahler 2 (I was briefly tempted to use the full orchestral forces, but fun as it would have been to have ten horns, repeat performances would probably be a little more unlikely than they usually are).
In the event all I've had is a phone converstion with Ralph Allwood, who's rehearsing the Hallé Choir (Markus Stenz will conduct the performance), which was reassuring : I know how good the Choir is, but you have to remember that they are all amateurs, and not push them too far (I think the piece may sound rather like Strauss . . .). But the thing that's surprised me is the amount of media interest in this cycle - a clever move on the orchestras' part to start the celebrations early in 2010, the 150th anniversary of Mahler's birth, rather than wait for 2011 and the centenary of his death. Too much Mahler overall, I fear. (The Concertgebouw started even earlier - they asked me to orchestrate Mahler's 1876 Piano Quartet, which kicked off their events last November.)
I've written a paragraph which went into The Observer, plus notes for the perfomance, and had numerous requests for interviews (only one of which I was able to do - there seems to be an obsession with doing these things live, which is hardly convenient, especially if you're trying to bring 3 composers together, as Music Matters hoped). And I was supposed to do an interview with the Nottingham Evening Post (the piece gets taken to Nottingham after the Manchester perfomance) but because they haven't got room in the weekday edition I've been asked instead to write a piece for their series 'My Perfect Weekend' (large amounts of alcohol, ideally). Since that sounds about right for a blog, this is what I've written, with the hope of following it up here with a report on the performance, now only 2 days away.
More years ago than I care to admit to - when I was at Nottingham University in the mid 1960s - my ideal weekend would have been spent largely at the movies. There was a big choice of cinemas in and around Nottingham in those days (does the Byron Hucknall still survive?) as well as an on-campus film club, and I would sometimes see as many as 10 films a week.
That particular passion hasn't lasted, although one that long predated my time in Nottingham, a hopeless devotion to Leyton Orient (where my dad first took me when I was six years old), still means that Saturday afternoons are often spent at Brisbane Road (I did watch Orient play - and lose to - Forest at the City Ground on the few occasions we were in the same division).
But weekends are generally, for me, part of the working week. As a composer, you don't do office hours and Saturday and Sunday consequently don't feel like days off. So while I feel I should say that my ideal weekend would be spent in Venice, or Amsterdam (my two favourite European cities), I'm not really happy unless I get at least some work done.
So the perfect weekend would have to include at least a dozen bars of music that I was satisfied with (at the moment I've been working for two or three weeks without a single successful bar!). I work quite a lot of the year in Somerset, surrounded by fields, so a walk, preferably in bright sunshine, would be essential. If my increasingly creaky limbs were up to it, a game of tennis would be a bonus, although there probably wouldn't be time to get to the tennis court in the South of France we were able to use during last summer's holiday - surrounded by mountains and overlooked by hang gliders.
I ought to say that a concert should be a part of this weekend : if it were, it certainly wouldn't include any of my own music, or I would spend too much of the time biting my nails. Perhaps an hour long concert (without an interval - they always get in the way) would fit the bill : preferably a blend of old and new.
But the most important thing would be a family meal, on Sunday evening (we never have Sunday lunch - what are you expected to do in the afternoon?) This has been a family tradition since long before our children left home, and they often join us to round off the weekend with a roast and a few good bottles. The simplest of pleasures are always the best.
The BBC NOW has done a lot for new music in Cardiff recently, in addition to regular commissions and premieres, the appointment of Simon Holt as composer-in-residence is a refreshing development, as is a new series of Composer Portraits including figures from the continent such as Christian Jost and Bruno Mantovani whose work is too seldom heard on these shores. (Coincidentally, Hear and Now will broadcast a BBC NOW new music concert on Feb 6 with works by Jost, Watkins, Sawer and yours truly - links to the podcast soon...)
As well as widening the scope of the orchestra's new music programming, the NOW is also initiating an important platform for area talent, providing a wonderful opportunity for Welsh-born and/or Welsh-educated composers of any age. I'm delighted that postgraduates from my department at Cardiff University are so well represented (Max Charles Davies, Christian Morris and Jack White) and it's lovely to see a local professional composer, Timothy Raymond, in the line-up as well.
Welsh Composers Showcase with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales and Jac van Steen
In collaboration with Composers of Wales, Ty Cerdd and the Welsh Music Guild
Thursday 28th and Friday 29th January 2010 – BBC Hoddinott Hall, Cardiff Bay
Workshops and culmination concert at BBC Hoddinott Hall, Cardiff Bay: Thursday 28 January 2010
- Workshops - 10.00-13.00 and 14.00-17.00
The project will be led by Principal Guest Conductor of the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, Jac van Steen who has also selected the scores to be featured:
Max Charles Davies - Exultet
Iestyn Harding - Foray:Symphonic Movement for Orchestra
Chris Petrie - Percolation
Jack White - Y Deildy
Tim Raymond - Dreaming of Easter
Andrew Wilson Dickson - Blaen Myherin
Christian Morris - Lyra Davidica
All of these events are open to public audiences and free to attend. To reserve a tickets call the BBC National Orchestra of Wales Audience Line on 0800 052 1812.
In the beginning, there was a sound...and this sound said "let me be free - i want to play".But, this sound did not have a language and context except those of its physical property.But those physical properties have very distinct characters that even without any musical system in place, have easily understood connotations.One could very convincingly, stand at the front of a stage, and emote through sound alone, very concrete emotional ideas - anger, love, sensuousness, fear, contentment.And one could relate these ideas to anyone, regardless of their training, nationality or language.The only restriction is the openness to experience.
Something has drawn the human mind towards making music.I don't care to discuss this, but simply hope it to be an accepted concept - we are born as musical entities, just as we are born with inherent grammatical skills. The music of a sound, or collection of sounds, is something we can understand from a very young age.In the maternity ward, when one baby fresh from the womb cries, they all cry.It is a reply to the musicality of a sound - a music we all understand in our deepest primal self.
For some reason, music improvisation is often viewed as an abstraction - a kind of learned skill.But we are improvising entities. As Noam Chomsky so elegantly describes, language is a continuous exercise in creativity. We do not "think" about our words, we just speak.Ask any group of people, as many as possible, to explain some basic concept, or describe an object, and the chances of two people using the exact same words is very improbable - we are constantly improvising, and no 2 people are the same, especially if we said they had to use at least 20 words.
In music, I have seen through my children (aged 1 and 3) that it is much the same.They do not think about making music, but simply react in musical ways.Musical gesture is immediate.Pitch inflection,repetition, and variation can be surprisingly accurate in the mind of a toddler.But over time, through a kind of criticism and conformity (music is this, not that) we unlearn these natural skills.The conscious mind overrides the unconscious - subdues it.The musician is taught that the music on the page is their duty, and since this duty has such lofty heights, we should not waste time with frivolous experiments.This is not necessarily said, but simply understood through the rigors of training.It is not possible to practice Mozart or Beethoven enough.As one small example, I remember hearing a violinist say that it takes at least 15 years of dedicated practice to achieve a "good sound"! Now that is time pressure.
I believe this is a problem for both composers and performers.But, as this is a composition site, I will attempt to explain why I believe this is so for composers (although the reasons do relate to each other).
First off, in this age of endless compositional possibility, I am often surprised at how many composers have decided what their music "is".How is it that one can understand fully know what they are capable of, until they have exhausted all possibilities (an impossibility)?How can we truly understand our potential?Perhaps because that unconscious mind has been shut off, or subdued.All ideas are left to simmer, passing through the various filters influenced by fears - failure, rejection, and their consequent aspirations - success and inclussion.As we progress through each stage of our development, we see areas to improve upon, and to regress to try something else would be a distraction. In essence, we decided what our music is in order to focus on achieving the best results.
But by the very nature of improvisation, we cannot have such thorough filters - there simply isn't time to allow for it.(I must note that I'm not really talking about jazz, where improvisation is key to the very structure and organization of the music - what I mean is free improvisation without any specific context except the in the moment).Improvisation frees the subconscious to explore beyond conscious limitations. Thus it feeds the creative urge - to continue searching, and not just building.
A second point is that improvisation can release a wealth of ideas for which the composer can future draw from.Raw material to be shaped into composition.I'm sure that all composers improvise to a degree, but I'm suggesting taking it further, and participating in group improvisation, as well as personal work at the piano (or any instrument or singing).Group improvisation creates situations in which timbre becomes the focus, and there are several exercises that help focus that timbral exploration.One I have particularly enjoyed is a simple structure:The improvisation is divided into 1min segments - at the beginning of each segment, each player decides in the instant what they are going to play for that minute.So, a somewhat random assortment of sounds is started, and it is then the job of the players to subtly alter their choice to find a blend and balance with the others.A searching for common ground that can yield some very unexpected, yet incredibly interesting juxtapositions. It is also a wonderful arena to explore extended technique in a room filled with people of similar intent.
Which leads me to my last, and perhaps most important aspect of improvisation, and that is the awareness of a larger musical community one can build improvising.Without the rigorous limitations of the score, any group of people playing any instruments from any genre can get together and make music.What could be more beautifully symbolic for our shrinking globalized world?An arena of limitless potential to search and find crossroads between any and all cultures musics.
In Toronto, there is an organization called "The Woodchoppers Association" that is a collective of around 200+ improvisers of a multitude of backgrounds.What is so very special about this group is that it's mantra is two-fold:
1- it is not possible to play a wrong note
2- we come together to play with love in our hearts!
Frankly, a dose of this kind of attitude once and awhile helps, well, "keep it real" as they say.Attitudes that are shunned by our fast paced commercial world where only the cream rises to the top, and crushes it's competitors. It isn't about winning a job or landing a commission.It is only about living in the moment, and sharing the great gift of music with any and all who want to join.
Scott
About the audio excerpt:A couple of years ago, I co-composed a "show" with a singer/songwriter.It was a 10 movement work in which each was in some way, a tribute to the novels of Kurt Vonnegut.Covering a wide range of stylistic influence, the movement included here is a "free improv" section inspired by "The Sirens of Titan".But, it isn't completely free, as there were a set of instructions:From the ensemble (17 piece), 4 duos were extracted - and each duo was instructed to try and communicate with each other 'as if you have never held your instrument before'.Each duo tries to develop a language for which they can speak to each other.Any other members are allowed to try and join in, once the communication has been established.
At the magical 2/3rds point in the piece, all players join in together to recite lines in a variety of languages, but reciting with growing and growing grotesqueness and exaggeration.
These instructions were only provided at the end of the intermission - no practice nor did anyone know what was going to be asked of them.It would be the 2nd movement after intermission.
This was the result on this particular night.Enjoy!
bence-muk
Arlene Sierra
David Bruce
The music is not without tension though, but has an unusual freshness and energy all of its own. Intriguing was the word that came into my mind. In the pre-concert talk I asked Novak what the music world in Czechoslovakia had been like after the war, given that so many musicians had died in Terezin or had fled the country. Did the composers that were left look back, or did they try and create something entirely new? Novak spoke very sympathetically (and with a lot of emotion) about two composers, Miloslav Ištvan, and Miloslav Kabelác
The 
Possibility:
Which leads me to my last, and perhaps most important aspect of improvisation, and that is the awareness of a larger musical community one can build improvising.
CompositionToday
offers a huge range resources exclusively for composers.