Resonate Magazine | Australian Music Centre

Image: The Song Company  

I have a confession: I have never blogged before. While having been aware of the trend for a while and indulging in the occasional reading, when I was asked to write about my MODART07 experiences for the resonate group blog, I had a sudden panic – how do I do it? I guess what I’m trying to say is ‘it’s my first time, so be gentle’.

The process of collaboration between musicians and composers is a very special one. As well as dragging us composers (sometimes kicking and screaming) from our ivory towers, it allows musicians to question and come to terms with the infinities beyond that which can be notated. Along with 6 other emerging composers, I have been lucky enough to spend the last week working with the amazing singers of The Song Company and their artistic director, Roland Peelman, as part of the MODART07 composer development project run by The Song Company and the Australian Music Centre.

Let’s start at the very beginning. Music and text have a timeless relationship, which has consequently been exploited for as long as we have had language, so stepping up to the plate for something like this is daunting. With such a limited amount of experience setting text to music, I hope it’s not too presumptuous to think I have an interesting point of view as the novice trying to find his way, all the time trying to observe the processes around him. In writing a vocal work, I have always begun with, and taken guide from the text (I’ve used the poems of Harold Pinter as the setting for my MODART07 piece). I might take days, or weeks, to consider every nuance of meaning, every line as a phrase and also every individual word in isolation. This is crucial to developing musical material that is honest to the text and developing its musical form. Every time I write text-based music – regardless of how long it takes to come to terms with the text, and no matter how well I think I understand the shades of meaning – I am invariably surprised when a certain musical gesture highlights a new depth to the text. When this occurs, it is one of the most exciting moments in the composition process.

There are both important similarities and striking differences between writing text and music. With text, we can consider meaning in real terms not just in the abstract. With music, however, one cannot say that a single note has meaning by itself, nor can a harmonised phrase evoke a static and predictable image. There is, however, as a result of these differences, a synergy that exists between music and text. While a poet might consider the implications of every individual word, workshopping with The Song Company has proved that the workings of music are every bit as subtle and fine. I’ve realised that even a single quaver, like a language of its own, possesses both denotation and implication. There is nothing imprecise about musical composition, and these workshops have reinforced a notion in which I have often taken pride (be it true or otherwise!): if we seem to talk about music in vague terms it is not because the music is imprecise but because our language lacks the precision of musical expression.

Workshopping is not for the faint hearted. As an emerging composer, I am riddled with insecurity and uncertainty every time I walk into a first rehearsal of my music. This is not to say it isn’t the most exciting time for a composer. Invariably, while you prepare for the worst, it never comes (or at least it hasn’t yet!), and the most rewarding part of the process comes when a productive dialogue is established between composer and performer. Workshopping is both inspiring and frustrating, but a skill unto itself. It is, however, a necessary part of learning about composition. You need to be able to bend, not break, and be able to maintain your creative vision against other pressures. It is important that this does not mean holding unwaveringly to every note, but assessing every piece of advice for its worth and intent. The significance of a single note can be immeasurable, but that same note in a different context can actually be malleable without affecting the overall intent beyond improving the flow of the work. Being able to balance all of these issues (and think on your feet!) are necessary for a productive workshop.

The MODART07 workshops have given me the opportunity to re-evaluate my creative process. As such, I found Brad Gill’s resonate feature article about his own creative process particularly inspiring. It interested me not only because I have had Brad as a teacher, but also because my process is quite different. I spent a lot of time considering the issues raised, and I really appreciated his clarity and ability to express abstract ideas with such intelligent and articulate discussion. That being said, I don’t agree with all of his assertions. Brad mentioned Billy Joel’s notion that ‘genuine artists don’t ask why they do what they do’, and while he confessed to being a fan, he disagreed. Without falling into a solipsistic dilemma, I think there has to be some truth to this statement and was particularly interested to hear Harold Pinter discuss his method for writing. Pinter often begins with a single image or a single line, and has no idea how it fits in to the dramatic whole. The compulsion to write is the compulsion to find the truth in this image or line and to solve it dramatically. I feel the same way about music. I write because I need to, and even if I am sometimes uncertain where a work will end, I am never searching in the dark for a light switch. I’m trying to find the truth to a musical gesture or to solve it musically. There is no uncertainty when this is found, and technique can be more important than the inspiration found in seeking this truth.

Another really interesting point that Brad raised stems from Chinese author Xingjian Gao’s quote: ‘Literature is a luxury that is only possible after issues of survival are resolved’. I like this quote because it sums up a conviction that, for me, must be true of art, but allows me to question it further. If art was only created when other issues of survival are resolved then how can we accept that a significant and stunning work like Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps was created when these fundamental issues could not be met?

While I don’t wish to answer these issues with any kind of certainty, I’d like to allow the opportunity to consider these important issues. My interest in Harold Pinter stems from his ability to question without offering definitive answers. There is an ambiguity in what he writes, and it is this ambiguity that allows for subjective truth to be considered. My music offers no answers, but I hope it offers something worth considering – shades of meaning and ambiguity that do justice to the text I have chosen.

Further Links

MODART07 (www.amcoz.com.au/projects/modart/modart2007.htm)
Gill, B., 2007. ‘Questions Questions…’ resonate magazine (www.resonatemagazine.com.au/article.php?id=5)
The Song Company (www.songcompany.com.au)
The Australian Music Centre (www.amcoz.com.au)