Composers Forum

The Composer’s Experience

As a 2010 recipient of the Aaron Copland Award, I have the honor and priveldge of inhabiting Aaron Copland’s former New York residence, in Cortlandt Manor, NY. Surrounded by Copland’s scores, recordings, and memorabilia, I am beginning to get a sense of the man – the person behind the historical figure. Among his many personal items, which are on display throughout the house, is a series of four handwritten pages, numbered sequentially, titled: The Composer’s Experience. I am told by the administrative assistant in the next building that they are lecture notes, from a series of talks Copland gave in the 1960‘s. Protected under glass in the living room, one has difficulty reading the faded penmanship, but through concentrated effort, the majority can be deciphered. At the top of the first page are several statements that outline the opening of his lesson. One in particular caught my attention:

What it feels like to be a serious composer, especially in an industrial community like America.

Page 1 of Copland's notes (used with permission of the Copland House)

The statement is one that I believe many American composers have struggled with at one time or another. How do we as artists express ourselves in a community which has very little tradition in a mechanico-scientific age, particularly when compared to the rich traditions of Europe.1 Although I believe that the tenor of today is no longer considered “industrial” per se, it is an age of technology, which contains therein the same societal predispositions as those during Copland’s early – mid career. Our culture is one that focuses, primarily, on “industry.” We owe a lot to industry of course, for without it, our country would not be where it is today; however, there must also be room in every society for the arts, and the irrevocable connection with the creative artist. Copland felt, and I agree, that there is an absolute need to produce creative artists as they give substance and meaning to ‘la condition humaine.’ 2

Copland believed that the dilemma of the composer, as indicated in his notes, is that the average citizen has no real concept of creative activity, and that this was evidenced in the fact that American culture placed emphasis on the possession and reproduction of the finest.3 Of course, “the finest reproduction” is also synonymous with “the best copy.” Furthermore, one can extrapolate from that statement that the average citizen has/had little interest in the creative individual.

Faced with this knowledge, how do we emerge as artists in an environment that perpetuates sameness, and a lack of interest in artistry? – Where the vast majority of people would rather listen to Brittany Spears’ latest rearrangement of her previous album (a rearrangement itself), than to invoke the ability to actively listen, and in turn, find something truly profound and meaningful in the work of Copland’s so-called serious artist?

My own experience proves that even in a non-artistic environment the drive towards cultural expression is strong.4

Page 2 of Copland's notes. (Used with the permission of the Copland House)

What Copland suggests is, that if one struggles hard, and long enough, the drive, and need, to find the truth – defined as the undeniable, distinctive, inner voice of the creative individual – in one’s art, outweighs the prevailing societal mentality. For Copland, he was attempting to define what American music was, during a time, when there really was no musical identity for America, in particular when compared to the long history and traditions found in Europe, and as seen from the larger, global musical community, as evidenced below.

a)The trend towards Europe
b) The trend towards originality
c) The preoccupation with Americanism
1)  America as seen from Europe
2) Previous attempts at Americanism in music 5

Today, we have the luxury of clarifying our musical personas because of what Copland, and others, did to define the “American style” of what he called serious music. The irony is that while we now have the luxury of openly creating our own musical identity, we grapple with a community that cares mostly for conformity. Alex Ross recently wrote an article entitled: Why Do We Hate Modern Classical Music? The article can be read here:

Ross highlights some recent proponents of modern classical music who have met with an interested and mostly enthusiastic public. Perhaps we are on the verge of the next big evolution in American serious music (however we define that term), and perhaps soon, we will see a more edified public, a more willing and open-minded audience.

It is likewise reassuring to see the malagrugrous endeavors of one who helped to define an era of music, and to know that perhaps our own equally demanding efforts are not in vain. I will leave you with one final quote, from Copland’s Autobiography, which rests on the shelf in his former studio:

The fact is that the creative artist is a kind of gambler, since there are no guarantees of success. Yet, every true artist has a sense of the importance of his or her own contribution, if only because the artist knows in his deepest innards that only the individual can conceive what he or she alone can create…

…the truth is out there.

1. Outline, page 1.

2. Page 1.

3. Page 1.

4. Outline, page 2.

5. Page 2.

Hey all,

I don’t know how many of you have read Alex Ross’ new piece in the Guardian. It is a candid and, to my eyes, successful exploration of why Americans dislike new music when they otherwise accept contemporary art forms with pleasure.

Check out the article here.

I found it comforting, in a way, to have such a well-established and trusted music writer advocate unpretentiously the worth of new music.

I hope others enjoy.

- Garrett

Friday night I attended a Contact! series concert presented by ensembles of the New York Philharmonic in Symphony Space. The program consisted of a world premiere by Magnus Lindberg, the Marie-Josee Kravis Composer-in-Residence at the New York Philharmonic, and Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil by Gerard Grisey. I was completely encouraged by the event.

The Contact! series was devised as a way for audiences to connect with composers and music of our time, and is precisely the type of event that contemporary music needs. Hosted by WNYC’s John Schaefer, the concert began with an informal discussion of Lindberg’s new work, Souvenir, and how the work was related to the music of Grisey. Lindberg stated that primarily his piece was inspired by the compositional philosophy of Grisey’s so-called spectralism, a self-imposed label by Grisey, which he later lamented.

Souvenir, atypical of Lindberg’s output in that the work consists of three movements, rather than a one-movement sectional form, was presented flawlessly. Written for a full orchestral complement, one instrument per part (except for two horns), the work was a dazzling display of an affluent orchestrational technique, save for a few moments where the strings were drowned out by the winds, brass, and percussion. The work exhibited a vast palate of color, as one expects in Lindberg’s music, and clear architectonic pillars, reached mellifluously through linear melodic cells which culminated in constellations of sound. My one regret is that the piece lacked the feral vibrance that his earlier music so eloquently maintained, although there is no doubt that Souvenir was still a clear statement in Lindberg’s unique compositional voice.

The second half of the program was a presentation of Grisey’s Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil. Gilbert gave a very frank description of the piece: There are moments that are quite boring, but these moments are important because they allow the climactic gestures more space, more room to breathe. I found this a refreshing and honest description, particularly coming from a conductor, whose concerns are usually politically driven toward “pleasing the crowd.” It was further evidence of a desire to “teach” and “connect” with the audience on a musical, and yet less formalistic, level. There were no apologies, and no unnecessary compositional descriptions. Gilbert made a point of stating that Grisey’s compositional system was as unimportant as Mozart’s. It was a simple dialogue which resulted in the following outcomes: (1) Here is the piece.  (2) Here are some elements which you may find interesting.  (3) Don’t bore yourself with the details, and simply allow yourself to experience the work. The listeners were encouraged to meet the music on the terms of the individual composition. The performance was superb, and Barbara Hannigan is an absolutely amazing soprano and musician.

In my opinion, this concert is a perfect example of why contemporary music needs to be heard live. Yes, recordings are great, and once a friend told me that: “a performance doesn’t matter – it comes and just as quickly, is gone. A good recording is most important.” While I agree that a great recording is a wonderful way to preserve a performance, and is great to use for festival applications, etc., it is not a substitute for the living organism that is a live musical performance. Connecting with audiences is of the utmost importance; And I do not mean that one must prescribe to a particular aesthetic to connect, but rather one must physically connect with audiences. In the concert halls of Europe during the classical era, and the salons of the Romantic era, the composers were present – and the audience was not primarily an audience of other composers. It was an audience of people; curious and active listeners. For me the proof that “contact” had been made were statements made by the audience attendees sitting to my immediate left and right. The lady on my left, who was clearly around when the Declaration of Independence was signed, looked at me after the Grisey and said: “I really want to hear that again. In a better space, like Carnegie Hall.” The young lady to my right, who is also the director of the Japanese Culture Center in NY, and was not a trained musician stated: “Wow! I have never heard anything like that. It was incredible!”

Too often, listeners complain of bad encounters with new music because they go into a concert with a certain expectation. I often encourage listeners to attend concerts of new music with open ears – “Don’t expect anything. Keep your mind open to the possibility that you may hear something outside of the realm of your normal perspective. Then, active listening can occur.” This is precisely the atmosphere of the Contact! series.

I have never run a marathon. I’m not exactly built to run marathons. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the importance of exercise, or that I don’t partake in it (although I often have to force myself to do it), but it’s just not something I’m made for. So when I use running a marathon as an analogy for conducting De Materie I am not exactly speaking from experience. I do imagine, however, that this is what running a marathong must be like…if a marathon started with a 3 mile sprint. This is a HARD piece, particularly the first movement, which Louis himself admits is problematic. The bulk of the difficulties, however, are not technical but about endurance. 100 minutes of intense music takes a lot out of one.

This is the toughest thing I’ve ever done as a conductor, and I’m loving every minute of it. I can understand now why people actually run marathons. There is something intensely satisfying about being in the middle of a huge project and seeing it to completion. As rehearsals progress I find myself actually thinking ahead to the next BIG project (up until now I’ve been thinking that Great Noise Ensemble’s 2011-12 season would be smaller and more intimate. Now I’m thinking that we need another really big, buzz-worthy production to follow this one; although I suppose I should wait until after Sunday, and how it goes, to make that decision). It’s a little crazy, a bit punishing, but intensely satisfying.

Last night I picked Louis Andriessen up at the airport and went on to dinner with him, Great Noise’s Executive Director and my department chair at Peabody. A splendid time was had by all. Louis continues to live up to his reputation for gracefulness and generosity, and thanked us and congratulated us for taking on what is, apparently, a very rare project. Tonight will be the first rehearsal at which he will be in attendance, and, needless to say, I’m a bit nervous. But, as the finish line to this marathon comes closer in sight, I can’t help but feel both relief and a pinge of sadness (I anticipate a feeling to overtake me Sunday night similar to that of the last day of summer camp).

SO…if you’re in the vicinity of Washington, D.C. (or not; this is a RARE complete performance of De Materie, after all) come check us out Sunday at 6:30 at the National Gallery of Art. A splendid time is guaranteed for all!

This weekend, Great Noise Ensemble began its 2010-11 concert season with two performances at the New Voices Festival, a festival of new works for voice organized by composition students at the Catholic University of America. Since Great Noise is in residence at CUA, we presented two evenings on the festival: one, last night, consisting of works selected from a nationwide call for soces; the other, on Friday, shared with CUA student composers and ensembles in which we presented John Harbison’s 1989 work, Words from Paterson.

Our next concert, on October 24, is the Washington premiere of De Materie. It garnered a significant blurb in this morning’s Washington Post’s Fall Arts Preview.

It’s on, baby!

The following is a lecture I will be delivering to the 2010 Interamerican Festival for the Arts on September 2 in San Juan, Puerto Rico. I am indebted to Christian Carey for editorial help.

Guerrilla campaigns, although defined most famously, perhaps, by that controversial icon of our neighbor to the northwest, Ernesto “Che” Guevara, have occurred throughout history on occasions when a small fighting force has faced off against a larger and more powerful opponent. Guerrilla fighters can, after a battle, easily blend back in with the general population, making it extremely difficult for the opposing forces to identify and strike at them, thus helping their efforts both militarily and politically. But, what do I mean by “guerrilla new music?”

In music today, so-called “classical” music or concert music, it’s safe to say, is a niche art form. The majority of the population is largely unaware of this rich and varied repertoire and concert music has thus become less commercially viable than it was, say, in the mid-20^th century and thus less culturally relevant. If we judge this solely on sales statistics of recorded music (themselves tricky at a time when the record industry in general is in flux) we find the sobering—if unsurprising—statistic that classical music constitutes a mere 3% of total record sales with, as Anne Midgette puts it, “sales of 200 or 300 units [being] enough to land an album in the top 10.” Within this cultural niche, contemporary music is itself a niche, new or “modern” music having a reputation for difficult thorniness. The contemporary composer, and those performers who specialize in contemporary concert music, need to adopt, then, a position similar to that of guerrilla fighters in order not just to survive in the field, but to thrive and, hopefully (and ideally), change hearts and minds.

I am using a somewhat violent analogy. Music, thankfully, is not warfare and cooperation, not violence, is our methodology. Indeed, what I call for when I speak of “guerrilla new music” is a methodology based and dependent on an attitude adjustment towards new music and its presentation. This is a position that is gaining strong ground in the new music field and is quickly being noticed by more traditional “classical” music organizations.

Much has been made of late of the so-called “alt-classical” movement, particularly as represented by composers like Missy Mazzoli, Judd Greenstein and Ted Hearne, ensembles such as Flexible Music, the International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE), eighth blackbird and Alarm Will Sound, and the New Amsterdam record label in New York. This movement, if it may be called one, seeks to blur the boundaries between popular and concert music (or high and low art) and its exponents write and perform music that is often difficult to comfortably classify within a single genre. Genre Distinctions are nonexistent to the alt-classical composer.

My own ensemble, Great Noise Ensemble, has been associated with this movement by at least one critic (and one documentary filmmaker). I am not entirely comfortable with this association, although that is primarily because of my own inability as a composer to move fluidly among genres, even while accepting influences from music other than concert music. I do, however, feel solidarity with these artists in at least one sense: “classical” music is not the art of dead men, performed incredibly formally by people dressed very uncomfortably.

No, “classical” music is a LIVING art form. It is continually evolving in ways that often resist labels. We music guerrillas seek to reclaim it from the museum culture that has prevailed in the concert hall since the mid-19^th century, a museum culture that has treated the concert hall as a surrogate church and in the process cheapened music’s very transcendence by slowly alienating it from its audience. The very term “classical” implies an unchanging structure, possibly made of marble, set and immovable. It is ANATHEMA to what we, as artists, do and seek to accomplish!

It is not the sense of the canon, however, that the Guerrilla Musician must repudiate. We must learn from the past and embrace it even as we experiment in new directions. We must learn from the errors of Modernism and its attitude of never glancing backwards. The music of the future will take care of itself, just as the music of the past has taken care of itself. We must write the music of the PRESENT.

The ideal Guerrilla Musician, like the guerrilla fighter, must be flexible. Guerrilla Musicians are just as comfortable performing the classics by Mozart, Beethoven and the other usual suspects as they are those by John Adams, Bryan Ferneyhough, Ken Ueno, Jennifer Higdon, Roberto Sierraor Frank Zappa. The Guerrilla Musician thus rejoins the population and becomes embedded within an established musical culture, fighting to change it from within.

The Guerrilla Musician must be a polyglot. Ours is a global concert hall and we must be conversant, if not even fluent, in languages other than our own. The Guerrilla Musicians in Great Noise Ensemble are known to perform and/or engage in scholarship about traditions as varied as North African and Middle Eastern music, rock, jazz, salsa, Indian raga and various folk musics. Our compatriots in the alt-classical movement are equally conversant in electronica, country, hip hop and other such vernacular styles. The Guerrilla Musician is as comfortable in the concert hall as s/he is in the night club.

The Guerrilla Musician must welcome his/her audience. S/He must challenge and uplift, educate and entertain, but s/he must NEVER alienate his/her audience. The tuxedo—especially the tail tuxedo—must NOT be a part of the Guerrilla Musician’s gear except when s/he is infiltrating the museum.

I have been rather intransigent in my language so far. My nature is not belligerent, although I am very passionate about this issue and this attitude’s power to resuscitate the apparently moribund concert music scene. I should clarify that I do not intend to or advocate the “destruction” of the “museum.” Museums are very nice places and have their place in society. They provide a way for us to experience and learn from the living art of the past. The symphony orchestra, the repertory opera company and the chamber music and recital series have their place in our world and must not be repudiated. They can, however, be transformed by the Guerrilla spirit and be revitalized by it. The Guerrilla Musician can have his cake and eat it, too.

The Guerrilla Musician must be savvy. S/He must not rely solely on government funding for financial support or on the traditional print media for critical and promotional support. We have at our disposal incredible new resources of media dissemination and audience building that have democratized opinion and taste. At very little expense, the Guerrilla Musician can advertise through social media in a way that would have required an extensive support network just fifteen years ago. We must learn to use these tools to our advantage and to the advantage of our art. Through the use of Facebook, My Space, Linkdin and Reverb Nation I, personally, have been able to expand my reach as a composer and develop relationships with musicians, presenters and promoters across the globe, yielding opportunities throughout the United States, Germany, Denmark, Holland and the United Kingdom. Great Noise Ensemble itself was founded using social media in the form of a simple classified ad on the web site Craig’s List.com and we have used services like Google and Facebook to expand our audience through online advertising and press releases.

The world is changing rapidly. Musicians have lost many of the formerly existing avenues for the promotion and dissemination of their work. Musicians, however, are nothing if not adaptable. A guerrilla sensibility as I define it is crucial for the survival of the contemporary musician. Mere survival, however, is not the Guerrilla Musician’s goal. No. His/her goal should be the total transformation of our musical culture. If art reflects the soul of a nation, then it is our patriotic responsibility to create art that represents the type of soul we want our nation to have. Just as man cannot live on bread alone, neither can he live solely on Lady Gaga. A spiritually healthy nation is a nation with a polyglot audience, and a polyglot audience, like a Guerrilla Musician, should be flexible, savvy, smart and as comfortable in the concert hall as they are in the night club. Contemporary musicians, especially composers, have long failed our audience by sitting in a corner lamenting our state and letting a single strain of our varied and exciting musical traditions control the marketplace. Contemporary music may never share as large a share of that marketplace as the top 40 (or its 21^st century equivalent), but through guerrilla music making we can reclaim a more prominent place in that market and in the cultural life of our nation.

Speaking of competitions: 

Seattle Symphony Celebrate Asia! announces its first Seattle Symphony Celebrate Asia! Composer Competition. The Competition seeks to promote young composers who are interested in Asian culture, music and traditions.

In partnership with numerous local community groups, Seattle Symphony honors and celebrates Seattle’s Asian community with an annual Celebrate Asia! event. The concept originated in 2008, when local Asian leaders wanted to find a way to strengthen bonds with the broader community through a cultural celebration. Celebrate Asia! is part of Seattle Symphony’s Around the World series.

Seattle Symphony, presenting its 108th season, has been under the artistic leadership of Music Director Gerard Schwarz since 1985. Maestro Schwarz has led Seattle Symphony to international prominence, with more than 125 recordings, 12 Grammy nominations, 2 Emmys and numerous awards. Maestro Schwarz celebrates his Farewell Season as Music Director in 2010–2011, after which he will become Conductor Laureate. Newly named Music Director Designate Ludovic Morlot will begin his role as Music Director in the 2011–2012 season. The Orchestra performs in the acoustically superb Benaroya Hall in downtown Seattle. The Symphony is internationally recognized for its adventurous programming of contemporary works, its devotion to the classics, and its extensive recording history. From September through July, the Symphony is heard live by more than 315,000 people.

Send submission to:
Seattle Symphony Celebrate Asia! Composer Competition
ATTN: Amy Stagno
Seattle Symphony
P.O. Box 21906
Seattle, WA 98111-3669

Questions and inquiries may be emailed to: celebrateasia@seattlesymphony.org

I am having trouble starting this piece. I’m almost done with it, in fact, but I can’t seem to get it started. It is a piece for an unusual combination, commissioned by the Amsterdam based ensemble, Hexnut, which specializes in a kind of jazz and world music inspired style of performance that is frenetic and more than a little theatrical. After a few false starts that led to a drastic change in the piece’s concept, I arrived at a solution of what the piece should be: a set of eight, short (none more than 2 minutes, one is only 15 seconds long) pieces each commenting on an etching from Francisco de Goya’s 1799 collection, Los Caprichos.
The piece has been written largely out of order, but, as the individual movements have been completed I’ve managed to collect them in a cohesive and I hope dramatically satisfying order. I still need, however, an opener, and that’s where I’ve gotten stuck. Ugh!

It’s not unusual for me to get stuck at the beginning. I used to compose from beginning to end. Certain pieces still work out that way, in fact, but increasingly I find it easier to pick up a piece in media res and build outwards from the middle, towards the edges. Working in this way helps me to organize my musical materials effectively and organically without having to work out the opening or ending of a piece right away. Endings are easy to write, for me at least, especially once I have the middle, since that tends to dictate the direction my pieces need to head towards. Openings, on the other hand, are quite difficult, I find. They need to both draw the audience into the performance of a work and set up the musical argument to come. A lot is made out of effective endings, but an effective opening is, if not more important, at least just as important .

How do you do it?

I’ve been following the Bravo TV reality series, “Work of Art: The Next Great Artist” (fifth episode this week). It tracks a group of young-ish  artists, most of whom have already been exhibited, and assigns them a fresh project each week to be conceived and completed in about 1.5 days. 

The completed works are then displayed in a private gallery showing, followed by a critique from a panel of judges (a core of regulars, plus  one fresh prominent figure per week; one week it was Andres Serrano.)  The projects range from utilitarian-but-arty (design a book cover for a classic novel re-issue) to almost-unspecified (“do something outrageous”), and at times the artists receive their assignments by lot, with no say as to the subject agreeing with their own affinities (or preferred medium).

Although it’s the usual winnowing-out design typical of such programs — and I don’t at all care who gets tapped as eventual winner — I’d pinpoint the same two interesting elements within each hour-long segment:

•  The very different processes each of the artists follows in interpreting the assigned project. These are profiled in some detail — surprise! — and follow the gradual development of each new work. This manages to take up a big slice of the program, some 20+ minutes. It’s exhilarating to see cameras paying attention to a working-out that stems from labor which is primarily  ‘head-work’.  And  rare.

•  A refrain in the judges’ comments, present virtually every week: that the works they find successful do  *in some respect* provide for viewers to respond to the piece — and actively. (For example, they very much admired works in which the artist incorporated a mirror, or sign-in boards to register comment, or placed him/herself actually physically into the piece; etc.)

Of course the judges want  the artist’s individual personality to be expressed in the piece; but beyond that, and far from an auteur context where a viewer is only meant to “receive” an utterly  complete document, the judges want the art to invite the viewer to respond, so that the work is ‘incomplete’ unless and until someone reacts to it in a way that registers to other viewers. (This forested tree demands the listening ear be there! so its fall can be heard.)

There’s plenty of opinion flying about throughout  the episode  — in addition to the judges, the artists themselves comment liberally on one another’s  work throughout the show.  If you pay no mind to the trumped-up  personality conflicts and the bland or fatuous criticism (or the commercials), the  show can be worth screening.

The level of  the works  — particularly those by  three of the competitors still ‘alive’ — is certainly professional. And the prize is $100,000,  plus a solo show at the Brooklyn Museum. Sarah Jessica Parker is one of the program originators.

Would that composers could reap the same on-camera attention for our head-scratching  hours…!

 NOW it’s an Event!

On Wednesday, June 16, the Peabody Institute (where I teach in the music theory department) approved the budget for a theory department sponsored residency for Louis Andriessen in association with Great Noise Ensemble’s performance of De Materie on October 24, 2010.  That means that for the week preceding our performance (we’ve yet to finalize dates for the Peabody events as of this writing, so stay tuned) Louis will be in residence at the Peabody working with students in my graduate Minimalism seminar, giving a lecture to the composition seminar and other activities similar activities as yet to be determined.  We will also have the pleasure (both exciting and slightly terrifying to me) of having him present at rehearsals for Materie in Washington as well as at the final performance, not to mention a second performance of Andriessen’s music in Baltimore with student ensembles from the Peabody Institute. 

Yep, it’s an event all right!