Birds Of A Feather: Five Reasons We Should Still Flock Together

Although it seems a long time ago, it has only been a week since I traveled to Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio for the National Conference of the Society of Composers, Inc. (SCI). Because I find air travel inherently tedious, I began jotting down a few thoughts about this recent experience on the return flight while my impressions were still fresh (and to kill some time aboard the plane). Now that I've let a whole week slip by, I suppose it’s time to finish my thoughts.

L-R: Yours truly, newly elected President of SCI,
James Paul Sain & newly elected Chairman of the
SCI Executive Committee, Mike McFerron

Attendance at a conference, such as the recently concluded SCI event, is certainly not a new experience for me. I've been to many such gatherings over the years. As a composer working in academia, it comes with the territory. The acronyms of the sponsoring organizations may change (SCI, CMS, SEAMUS, etc.) but the format for a conference generally remains constant: a group of composers have pieces selected by peer-review to be performed for one another. 

At first glance, these events seem to be rather odd affairs for composers to attend. It’s true that many concerts of contemporary music are given at a conference. However, aside from outward appearances, there are significant differences between a “traditional” concert and one presented at an academic conference.

Wonderful performance of my piece,
"Citizens of Nowhere" at the SCI Conference
by Casey Grev, sax & Cody Grabbe, b. clar.

One important, and immediately apparent difference is the make-up of the audience. While it is unlikely that anyone might turn away an interested person outside the organization from wandering into a conference concert, the audience often consists predominantly of other composers. This can be a bit unnerving to the composer whose work is being performed. Unlike general concert goers, an audience made up of composers is a knowledgeable group of people. They tend to listen more carefully and analytically. They have a knowledge of contemporary repertoire that allows for instantaneous and automatic comparisons of the piece being performed with the vast cannon of literature. Worst of all, they usually know when a performance goes poorly and if it is the fault of the performers or the composer.

Another difference is the sheer number of concerts presented in succession. It’s true that at music festivals, such as Spoleto USA held each spring in Charleston, SC, a great many concerts are presented usually beginning in the late morning or noon hour and continuing throughout the day. Yet patrons of these kinds of festivals freely choose a selected sampling of the total concert offerings. At a conference, on the other hand, it is not uncommon for a participant to attend nearly all the concerts presented. This can make for a sometimes grueling marathon of music; listening intently for hours upon end until everything begins to sound the same.

Sometimes I ask myself, why travel to such an event? Conferences seem very insular; composers having their music performed for one another with no apparent care for the outside world. What’s the benefit of taking part in such an endeavor? It sometimes seems like there must be a better way to accumulate Frequent Flyer Points.

There are five reasons, actually, I still think conferences are useful to composers. Maybe even important.

1. For younger composers, acceptance through peer-review at a conference is very similar to winning a composition prize. It carries a certain gravitas and signals to others in the field that the composer is of a certain stature and is to be taken a little bit more seriously. For student composers especially, selection at a conference is a signifiant item to place in a curricular vitae.
2. Conferences are great places for composers to encounter new works and composers beyond the same “big names” that win the major awards or whose names appear regularly in New York Times reviews. Despite the fatigue of sitting through many concerts, a piece can still grab one’s attention and inspire the attentive composer in the audience.
3. Conferences are also wonderful places to meet very talented performers who, by their very presence at the event, demonstrate a dedication to performing new music. This is no small opportunity. The composer who pays attention, identifies and makes contact with such performers. A valuable professional connection is made and the possibility of collaboration is a simple email away after the conference ends. This opportunity for collaboration, by the way, exists also with fellow composers. 
4. For the young composer in academia, perhaps the most compelling reason to attend such conferences is to satisfy the demands of an academic career. Upper administrators in a university are usually non-musicians that hold creative artists to the same standards as other academic disciplines. To “present” one’s “research” through peer-review demonstrates good standing in the field and is enormously helpful in the promotion and tenure process. This is a very serious concern for the composer in academia and one that is thankfully addressed by the existence of such events.
5. For older composers, such as myself, the critical need for presentation in order to earn promotion and tenure is no longer relevant. It’s not even the performance of a work that is of critical artistic importance. Often, the pieces I send in for a conference already have a rich performance history. However, I was reminded again this past week up in Columbus how nice and truly beneficial it is to simply have the opportunity to chat, face-to-face over coffee or at dinner, with colleagues around the country and compare notes. 

I don’t attend academic conferences as often as I once did. However, my experiences last weekend in Columbus have reaffirmed that I will probably never abandon them completely. This SCI Conference has made me a better pedagogue for my students and a more inspired composer as well.  All that and the Frequent Flyer Points, too!

What do you think? Do academic conferences still matter to you?

The Next Level

Last month, I celebrated a fairly significant birthday: my fiftieth. It’s hard to imagine myself reaching such an age! In my mind, I still feel like I’m just a kid starting out in my career. Yet, the calendar and the body of work I’ve completed thus far, point to a far different reality. (All the grey hair contributes as well.) As we are all wont to do at the beginning of a new year, I find myself indulging in a bit of reminiscing concerning the year just ended as well as feeling charged with anticipation as this new year dawns. However, given my thoughts concerning my birthday, this reminiscing and anticipation double as a time to also indulge in a bit of assessment of where I stand in my career. What does 50 look like for a composer?

Trombonist Jon Whitaker and yours truly at a
recording session of my work, Tonoi VIII. Summer, 2012

My motivations for writing music are, I suspect, similar to many other composers. I feel a deep desire to create art and share it. I would be a liar if I did not quickly add that there is a part of me that longs for recognition for my work. This recognition typically means a trophy case brimming with all the awards that everyone desires bearing names such as Grawemeyer, Pulitzer and Guggenheim among others. Recognition also means a reputation such that major ensembles and performers are seeking me out specifically for commissions that – of course – pay well. If you add reams of positive reviews, the picture is complete.

So, at 50, how far away am I from all of that? As it turns out, I find myself at once tantalizingly close and hopelessly far away from these benchmarks of “success.”

When I first left graduate school at age 30, I had hoped that by age 50, the major commissions and prizes would have already begun to accumulate. After all, I was heading out into the world with a real head of steam. I had graduated from some of the top schools in the country and already had received a commission by the Cleveland Orchestra for a small work (thanks entirely to my great mentor, Donald Erb). My career was to be an endless series of opportunities yielding success after success with only the occasional flop to break the monotony.

Yours truly pictured with fellow adjudicators, performers
and composer finalists for the Atlanta Chamber Players
Rapido Composition Competition. Fall, 2012

Things did not turn out that way. At 50, the big trophies (Grawemeyer, Guggenheim, etc.) still elude me as do commissions from the “Top 10” orchestras. I write music as often for free as I do for money and my national reputation, such that it may be, teeters constantly on the brink of non-existence. Successes are the exception to the rule and are what break a monotony of rejection letters. I often think back on a review that was printed online back in 2010 after the performance of a solo viola piece of mine. After complimentary remarks about my music and its performance, the reviewer concluded by musing, “After every Demos performance I scratch my head and wonder: Can he push himself to the next level?” At age 50, it’s question that haunts me and one that I cannot presently answer.

L-R: Composers Robert Scott Thompson, Charles Knox,
Mark Gresham, cellist Craig Hultgren, yours truly &
composer Roger Vogel after a concert. August, 2012

If I am not at the “next level” yet, it certainly isn’t for lack of effort. I try to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way and enter almost every contest that is still available to me. As these can be relatively few in number, I often create my own opportunities. Nevertheless, more and more, I have a gnawing concern that the train has long since left the station. In a society obsessed with youth, the 50 year old might as well be 150. Glance at any listing of contests and opportunities and most are for younger (under 30) “emerging” composers. How long does it take to emerge anyway? When going down this path of thought, I easily despair that I am hopelessly far removed from the benchmarks of success set in my ambitious youth.

L-R: Yours truly, Director/Writer Gregg Russell, Vickie
Russell, Producer Scott Mills at a pre-screening of the
film, "A Free Bird."

Yet this line of thinking is the height of self-indulgence. If you take a look at the photos I have included in this blog entry (all taken within the past year), it becomes easy to observe a career far removed from the pitiful portrait I sometimes so earnestly paint. It is true that I am nowhere near the level of success I expected for myself in my youth. This is an honest assessment. It is no less honest, however, to admit that the news is not all bad. The photos presented within this article show a composer with wonderful musicians committed to playing his music. They show a composer sought after as adjudicator and a composer seated with an independent film director/writer and film producer at the prescreening of his first movie score. These pictures do not even include the work I recently composed for the Charleston Symphony Orchestra, my residency as a Fellow at the MacDowell Artist Colony and my collaboration with the Atlanta Ballet (the latter two of which have been well-documented in this blog). Sure, it is not a Steven Spielberg movie or commission by the New York Phil but for Heaven’s sake – what do I want? Am I to be constantly regretful because the amazing opportunities I have had to date do not rise to some impossible self-expectation? The fact is, I am always very close to pushing myself to the “next level.” My years of experience and opportunities to date have positioned me perfectly to take advantage of such an opportunity to rise if that is God’s will.

If it isn’t – so be it. I still enjoy a career as a tenured full professor at a very good School of Music. I have my music performed regularly and continually have the opportunity to create art and share it. Even my “trophy case” is not as bare as I sometimes think it is. The lack of so-called “major” awards in no way diminishes the lovely recognitions that have been bestowed upon me and adorn my case. Maybe that “next level” will be the realization that the journey is more important than the trophy case, anyway. Less longing for what I don’t have and much more appreciation and gratitude for all I do possess is the next level I really want to attain.

So what does 50 look like for a composer? All in all, pretty damn good for this one.

The Passion Trap

Why do we do it?

I’m talking about the desire to create art within a modern American society that is, at best, indifferent or, at worst, hostile towards the arts. It’s a question I’ve been asking of myself as I’ve navigated through another extremely busy fall. For the past three months, I’ve been composing new works, presenting concerts, and traveling every weekend playing Greek gigs or attending performances of my compositions. All the while, I’ve also been engaged in heavy teaching and service loads at my university. Yet my bank account in no way reflects the amount of effort I have made in my professional life. Now that autumn is winding down, exhausted, I’m left to wonder why I do what I do. It obviously is not for the money. Maybe I cling to some 19^th Century Romantic image of the misunderstood artist producing work for future generations while marginalized or ignored by the current generation. This image can serve as a balm applied to the chaffing of indifference. However, I personally find this image self-indulgent. It does not really ring true for me anyway. In reality, I believe that I’ve actually walked into a trap.

Donald Erb (1927-2008)

One of my very first lessons as a young composition student was learning that it wasn’t enough to merely “find my own voice” but to passionately pursue it. An audience can always tell when a work has passion and when it does not. As my great teacher and mentor Donald Erb always said, “A craftsman can create entertainment, but you need more than that to create art. There has to be something inside you pushing out or all a person will ever write is a craftsman-like piece. And that's not quite good enough.” Being passionate and endeavoring to create art at a high level may be regarded as its own reward, however, therein lies the trap. While I must have passion to create great art, that very same passion pushes me to create work whether or not it is fully appreciated.

Yours truly performing at the
2012 Atlanta Greek Festival

This passion trap applies to performers as well as composers. There is a joke going around the Internet about a client wishing to hire a six-piece band for an event. When the bandleader quotes a price of $2000 for a six-hour gig, the client balks. The bandleader counters, “Okay, find six plumbers and find out what they charge for six hours of work. We’ll play for half of that.” It’s an amusing story except for the fact that in real life, the bandleader would probably take the gig at the lower price or another band would. The musicians would then still perform at their highest capable level. The passion good musicians have for making music would not allow for anything less. So what has the client learned? Artists will give the same effort for less money.

The ASO and Chorus at Carnegie Hall on October 27.
(Photo by Chris Lee)

From the humble cover band to the highest levels of orchestral concert music, the passion trap is present. As I have recounted in past blog entries, the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra has recently endured a brutal labor dispute. As Scott Freeman notes in his recent article for ArtsATL.com, “The two-year contract that the musicians accepted included a total of $5.2 million in salary concessions, an average pay cut of about 16 percent for each. The size of the orchestra fell from 93 to 88. Under the terms of the deal, the ASO will go from a 52-week orchestra to 41 weeks this season and 42 weeks in the second year.” Not long after this dispute was resolved and the season began, the ASO performed a concert in Carnegie Hall that had been planned before the lockout. How did the musicians respond to their drastic cuts in salary, orchestra size and their season? The members of the orchestra behaved as all wonderful and passionate artists do when they are onstage. They performed brilliantly and received great reviews. The bitterness of the labor dispute dissolved for a moment and all that remained was the music. What does management take away from this?

I do not mean to suggest that the musicians should have protested their mistreatment by performing below their abilities. I don’t think any of us should do that. Returning to my realm of music composition, I readily acknowledge that even if I were not paid for a commission, I would still try to compose an excellent piece of music. However, I can’t help but wonder if, somehow, I unintentionally contribute to a culture that fosters indifference to the arts and the exploitation of creative artists. The musicians of the ASO or that cover band may not have had many options in their negotiations. Do I have more choices? There have been plenty of times when a commission has come my way and when the talk turned to payment for work, I was informed that there was no budget for that. Most often, I’ve written the piece anyway and was appreciative of the performance. Yet, what’s the message I’m sending? Not many other professions operate this way. To take just one example, no entrepreneur would engage in the creation of a product if satisfaction for a job well done were the only reward. No one consistently gives a product away for free. There needs to be a profit involved or the business collapses.

So what am I to do? Trapped within my passion for creating great art, I fear that by sticking to my guns and demanding payment for everything at all times, presenters or potential performers will simply move on to the next composer. If, on the other hand, I compose works and never receive (or even ask for) payment for my efforts, how can I be a professional composer? How can I justify all the hard work involved?

For the serious composer, there is no easy exit from this trap short of being “discovered” or winning a significant prize. Therefore, I’ve come to believe that my best bet is to follow the admonition of being “wise as [a serpent] and harmless as [a dove]” (Matthew 10:16). Christ gave this instruction to His disciples so that they would not be unnecessarily wounded as they preached the gospel. This is good advice within the narrow field of the arts as well. There is no need for me to be unnecessarily wounded in an agreement with a performer, presenter or ensemble. Being wise as a serpent means to take my career seriously. If it feels like I’m being taken advantage of, I probably am. It wouldn’t hurt to channel a little of that reptilian wisdom on occasion and take a pass on certain opportunities. However, this cannot be my rigid credo. By also trying to be as harmless as a dove, I must strive to not carry a chip on my shoulder nor retaliate against perceived injustices. Sometimes it really is in my best interest to simply write the stupid piece for free or at a huge discount. I have to remember that, like myself, most presenters, performing groups or individual musicians do not have deep pockets. Being harmless as a dove means I charge when and as much as I can as the specific situation warrants. It means that sometimes, when the budget is tight, I work out acceptable in-kind service arrangements such as guaranteed performances of a commission, guaranteed recording of the work, release of the performance for recordings and/or online streaming, etc. Being harmless as a dove also means treating every opportunity as unique and not applying a one-size-fits-all approach. Being wise like a serpent but harmless as a dove during negotiations may be all I need to establish myself as a true professional.

In the end, walking into this passion trap seems to be my only option. However, there’s no need to go in with my eyes closed, hoping for the best. How I proceed is important. Knowing that it can be a trap, yet walking in anyway, eyes wide open, with caution and confidence makes all the difference.

What's In It For Me?

I, like many in the city of Atlanta, have been following the recent events that have regrettably led to a lockout of Atlanta Symphony Orchestra musicians along with the suspension of their salaries and health benefits. This is a story that has troubled me both personally and professionally. 

At first, one may wonder how the difficulties facing this orchestra affect me, a relatively unknown composer. After all, the ASO has never programmed my music. Why should I care? If the orchestra were to disappear tomorrow, would it impact my professional career in any material way? These are short-sighted and selfish questions. I am, of course, deeply affected by what is happening at the Woodruff Arts Center on three basic levels. 

First, I am concerned on a personal level for the individual performers who make up the symphony. The story of the current situation has been covered quite well by Scott Freeman and Mark Gresham in a recent article over at ArtsATL.com. While I have read this piece as well as press releases from both the musicians and management, I do not pretend to know the intricacies of the labor dispute. What I do know is the membership of the ASO. I consider many of the musicians in the orchestra colleagues, having worked closely with them in various performances of my chamber music in the city over the years. More than that, many of the musicians are friends of mine. These are dedicated artists who have sacrificed much throughout their lives to make it into the chairs they occupy in the orchestra. Many of them have children, spouses or other significant persons who depend upon them. This lockout is already wreaking a heavy and terrible human toll. 

Secondly, I have a large personal stake in the health of the ASO. Few composers go it alone. Unless writing solely for electronic instruments, we are dependent upon performers to breathe life into our scores. The ASO has always been a shining beacon of art and culture in the city of Atlanta and beyond. It has been a center of gravity drawing some of the finest performers in the world to the city and creating a vibrant artistic eco-system wherein composers like myself can thrive. Throughout my professional travels in the musical world, it has been made quite apparent that my peers also hold this orchestra in very high esteem. The fact that this lockout has become a leading story nationally speaks to the importance of the orchestra not only to the city of Atlanta but also to the entire nation. Every day that the lockout continues further jeopardizes the current season as well as the very future of the orchestra itself. Should the orchestra not quickly recover from this lockout, I fear irreparable harm will come to the entire Atlanta arts community. Many fine artists may choose to leave the city. The brightest and most talented musicians exiting conservatories and schools of music may think twice about even bothering to audition in Atlanta. It is irrelevant whether or not the symphony performs my music or not. It is even irrelevant if they play any contemporary music at all. All of us left standing will be the poorer in the wake of a potential talent drain. Moreover, the entire city of Atlanta will be diminished in the eyes of the country. The ramifications of this lockout are, indeed, far reaching and will linger for years.

Finally, I am troubled by this lockout because I believe it to be a bit unfair. Despite what little I know about the current labor dispute, it seems to me that the musicians themselves are not solely responsible for the budget deficits plaguing the orchestra. They are powerless to make the types of decisions that lead to budget shortfalls. After years of sacrifice, untold hours of practice, success through a highly competitive audition process and daily rehearsal/concert schedules, their job is to perform the music placed before them at the highest possible level. At this job, they consistently succeed beyond expectations. 

Both sides have indicated that a solution may not be far off. I am confident that the administration loves this orchestra as much as anyone and wishes to preserve it. With all respect, I do not believe that this lockout is a useful tactic. It is my fervent hope that the lockout will be lifted as soon as possible and the musicians’ salaries and health benefits will be restored. I furthermore hope that both sides continue to actively work for a solution that everyone can live with. The arts in Atlanta depend upon it.

Labor Pains

It has not been the best of times for one of Atlanta’s most venerable performing groups, the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. Over the past few weeks, several emerging stories concerning the orchestra have caught the attention of the press as well as the local arts community. First, there is the increasingly contentious contract dispute between the ASO Players Association and the orchestra’s board and management. The details can be found in an article written by Mark Gresham. Unfortunately, stories of major orchestras running up deficits, operating in the red and ultimately facing financial crisis are far too common in our nation. The reasons for this rising phenomenon are varied and far too complex to discuss within the confines of this small blog post. The bottom line is that this type of dispute casts a pall over the artistry of the orchestra and makes many within the arts community nervous about the future.

A second story that has become another public relations issue for the ASO, even as it struggles with its current labor dispute, deals with community outreach. The orchestra management has recently informed some local high school choruses that they will not be invited to perform with the ASO this year, as they have in the past, for an annual Holiday concert. Citing issues of diversity, the management is seeking to include other groups for this year’s concert. Regrettably, this has caused a firestorm of protest within the community. Exactly what the ASO does not need at this time!

Finally, another article trending in Atlanta has to do with a recent performance by a pseudo-pop/classical vocal group, Il Divo. This group is the operatic crossover vocal quartet created in 2004 by American Idol fixture Simon Cowell. They were featured on summer pops concert billed as “Il Divo and the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.” However, the orchestra did not actually perform. They were asked to simply pantomime to pre-recorded backing tracks provided by the vocal group. To add to the ignominy, the orchestra members did not learn of this until they showed up for the gig and it wasn’t even the ASO they were using as backing tracks but a completely different recorded orchestra. This story, again covered by Mark Gresham, is detailed in a recent article published in ArtsATL.com.

The fabulous musicians of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra

What does all of this have to do with composers? All of these stories have one common thread: the mistreatment of professional musicians. As a composer who interacts with performers frequently, this is an issue that must be taken to heart. How do we show our appreciation to those who have devoted their lives to performing at the very highest level? In the recent London Olympic Games, we all marveled and swooned over the accomplishments of athletes. Yet, does it ever cross our minds that every member of a professional orchestra like the ASO has put in the same – if not more - countless hours of practice?

It’s bad enough when management balks at salaries or when pros are forced into humiliating situations such as the Il Divo concert. It’s worse when we, as composers, treat performers the same way; when we look upon them as means to an end – namely the performance of our music – and not as highly trained professionals, colleagues and artists without whom our music remains nothing more than silent designs on paper. Of course, composers are rarely in a position to threaten a musician’s salary and most of us don’t consciously think about ways to demean performers intentionally. However, we often do lots of little things that show a lack of respect. How often are we late in delivering a score and parts? How often is our printed music not clearly notated and error-free? How often do we write unidiomatic musical lines? Do we micro-manage a rehearsal? Do we properly acknowledge and thank performers after a concert? Dealing with composers can be another road hazard the professional musician quietly deals with.

Yet despite it all, musicians continue to perform. They grit their teeth and play that Il Divo gig; they spend their valuable time practicing our music; they do their best to count our incomprehensible rhythms and navigate the unidiomatic parts we composers bring to them on short notice before a concert; they usually always go that extra mile. Remember that public relations miscue spoken of earlier wherein certain high school choruses in Atlanta will not be invited to perform with the ASO? The orchestra members have responded in a press release detailing their offer to play for the kids for free. This doesn't surprise me. Most of the finest musicians I know are also the most generous people I know. I can’t help but think of all the times fabulous performers have also played my music for free or, often, for payment far below what they should have earned.

My hope is that the recent ASO stories all conclude in ways that strengthen the organization. These stories have reminded me that performers put up with a lot. While I shouldn’t feel nervous about composing challenging music or following my own artistic voice, I need to balance my writing with courtesy and respect.  It’s the very the least I can do.