The Art of Music Composition

The following blog contains material I originally posted in February, 2007.

After a concert we had in November, a woman from the audience asked me where I get my ideas when I compose. Simple question - emotional response. It could be the newspaper, an overheard conversation, or an event on the big or little screen. However, I have been inspired by high and low points in my personal life (marriage and divorce), a worldwide issue that we are all facing (wage stagnation or climate change) and the ups and downs of our friendships.

While it is useful to know these things about my music I suppose, I feel the woman was asking me a more fundamental question, what do I do to bring my music to life. Equally simple question - challenging to answer.

What happens in composer's heads?
"While my performing may serve as the vehicle for expressing moods and feelings in real time, my role as a composer is one where I attempt to capture my soul in a bottle. The sounds swirling in my head are given a home and my deepest and darkest reflections are brought to life. It is the opportunity where my musical training is brought to bear and society's thoughts and directions get a place to call home.

"Composing is liberating. You get the chance to create a work of art that will influence those around you. They may be asked to think. They may be expected to laugh or cry. The composer has the responsibility for seeing the world around them - real or imaginary - and giving others (performers and listeners) the opportunity to experience that world. I find composing the most difficult and natural at the same time. Given the confines of Western classical notation (which is where my training lies) capturing ones soul can be a challenge to realize on paper. Nevertheless, when the act is done, the whole episode inspires and uplifts me in a way that nothing else can." Feb, 2007 Blog Post

It all starts with ideas in my scrapbook. For 30 minutes each day, I trade off between writing with pen/paper in silence or at the piano.  The ideas typically fall into 4 distinct categories or a combination of them: melodic fragments, harmonic progressions, rhythmic concepts and potential forms. I try to start and end on time although I will go over time occasionally if the creative juices are really flowing. Many of these ideas will never see the light of day in a composition. However, some will rise to the top and be incorporated in a work.

Whether it is a commission or a work for one of my chamber groups, I like to work, from the beginning, with an emotional thread or concept prevalent throughout the work to give it cohesion. Whenever I haven't done that, I feel my results are often forced. Once I settle upon a concept - see the first paragraph - then I set about 1) rediscovering ideas from my scrapbook that would be suitable and 2) creating brand-new ideas to bring the work to life. In the subsequent weeks of development, I use pen/paper, the piano, and ultimately notation software. I use Sibelius software now after using Finale for years. Can't say that I adore either at this point. If you've got a better idea, I'd love to read about it in the comments below.

The development phase is trying. Ideas stick or they don't. And sometimes, an awesome idea gets thrown figuratively in the recycle bin because it just doesn't fit what is around it. That is really frustrating when you started with that idea in the beginning only to see the piece take a completely different shape and leave it behind. Sometimes, the development goes by very quickly. Especially when the emotional thread is happy and uplifting. Takes a lot fewer muscles to smile they say. :-) The brooding works, take time and an emotional toll. It is as if you are reliving the painful moments again and again until you capture it in its most gut wrenching. For an example, listen to my Loss movement from my In Time suite for horn quartet.

Once the draft is finished, I get the work played in rehearsal. After that rehearsal, there are usually a lot of revisions if the instruments are new to me. If I'm very familiar with the instruments, then this part of the process usually goes much faster. I like to be very involved in the initial performance. I feel it is vital to create a work that you can be very proud of its emotional content. And with any luck, the work will have a similar impact on your audience.

Upon hearing ones work live or on a recording, I'm rarely happy with it. There is always something I could have done better. However, with time, my critical ear starts to fade away, and I start to see the music through, what I feel, must be a similar lens to my audience: initial indifference followed by a moment or two of raised eyebrows, heartbreak, or laughter. And that is where all that work is made worthwhile.