What's In A Name?

Fourth in a series on my collaboration with the Atlanta Ballet

So far in this series of blogs about my commission for the Atlanta Ballet and my collaborative work with choreographer  and dancer Tara Lee, I have focused broadly on how the project was started and how it has changed over the course of our working together. Yet, these are not usually the first things people ask about when they find out I am working with the Ballet. The most common questions I receive are, “What is the ballet about?” and “What is the name of the piece?”

Like everything else about the project, the name and concept have undergone several changes since Tara and I initially met months ago. Tara’s earliest idea was that of a continuum. We were not sure where this continuum began nor where it led. It was the barest of ideas. Through multiple conversations, the idea of continuum began to evolve. What if we were not talking about a linear continuum but rather a cyclic continuum? The idea of cycles began to take root. We even came up with a working title for the piece: revolve. It was still a nascent thought, however, until Tara presented a more concrete programmatic element.

The finished score!

One afternoon, while meeting at the ballet studios, Tara shared an article with me that had been posted on Facebook entitled, The Peacock Pose: Dance with Divinity by Catherine Ghosh. This article helped Tara form a more definite idea about the dramatic narrative of the work. The imagery of the peacock seemed to unify our amorphous concepts by incorporating three ideas from the mayurasana, or the so-called peacock pose in Yoga to our pre-existing notion of cycles. Tara was also inspired at this point by hearing samples of the music I had composed for certain sections of the piece. After hearing my sketches, thinking about cycles and reading Catherine Ghosh’s article, she proposed that we change the name of the piece from revolve to Pavo - the Latin word for peacock.

To quote Ms. Ghosh, from her article: “Overflowing with rich symbolism, the image of a peacock displaying its fan of feathers has been as cherished as a rising sun, a picture of the heavenly constellations in the sky, a hundred eyes and the wheel of immortality.” Throughout history, the image of the peacock has captivated many diverse cultures and religious traditions. Within my own faith tradition, I was well aware of the peacock’s depiction in Byzantine art as the soul and its beautiful, incorruptible status as well as the Orthodox Christian view of the peacock as an ancient symbol of the Resurrection: as he sheds his feathers, the peacock grows more brilliant ones than those he lost. I was thrilled with Tara’s concept and finally felt some solid ground beneath my compositional feet. It wasn’t long after Tara presented this idea to me that I completed the entire score.

Pavo is cast into five movements played without interruption. This seamless series of events is the remnant of our earliest concept of a continuum. First, the piece begins with a relatively slow and atmospheric introduction. This introduction leads directly into the second movement and the first aspect of the peacock pose we wish to highlight. The movement is entitled the poisons. The music and dance concern themselves with the peacock’s uncanny ability to digest snakes, poison and all. From this, we move directly to the third movement, the gathering storm. This movement plays with the imagery of the wonderful, restless dancing a peacock performs just prior to rainstorms. Having reached a very energetic and rhythmic high point, the music and dance abruptly shift gears and move directly into the climatic section of the piece: the fourth movement entitled transfigurations. Peacocks choose mates for life and as such have become a symbol of fidelity. In this movement, there are two ideas at play. First there is the aspect of faithfulness and strength. Secondly, there is the subtext of cycles remaining from our very earliest ideas about the piece. Now, however, we focus on the individual and the breaking out of personal cycles. These cycles can represent negative aspects of our lives (addictions, poor choices, bad habits, etc.) or the entire cycle of our lives. In either context, the individual has the ability to break negative cycles as well as transcend the earthly life cycle. Tara has conceived of an abstract narrative where one dancer represents the peacock and another an individual caught within a cycle. The peacock dances and absorbs the poison of negative cycles and in a lyric duet, helps to show a transfiguring pathway to the individual. Thus, this movement provides a context wherein the dancers are transfigured beyond the circle they began within. After this climatic dance, the music ends quietly with an atmospheric fifth movement: an epilogue. This music is a sort of retrograde of the ideas found in the introduction. Ultimately, we leave the listener with a question: will I choose to transcend my own cycle or remain within?

At long last, all the elements are set. We have a narrative, the score is complete, there is choreography, dancers have already started rehearsing with computer renditions of the piece and the musicians have their respective parts. Now we enter the eye of the hurricane and await the rehearsals with musicians and dancers, adding in set design and lighting along the way. I can hardly wait!

Coming Together

This month’s blog post is the third in a series of thoughts on my collaborative work with the Atlanta Ballet.

It has been three months and one very interesting ride since choreographer Tara Lee and I began work on a newly commissioned piece for the Atlanta Ballet. While a lot of music written in March is still being used in the piece, much has changed since our initial conversations back in February (see the first installment of this series). The overall concept of the piece has undergone a fairly significant transformation and with that change, the music and overall structure of the score has needed to adapt. Whole sections of music have found their way to the cutting room floor. Although sometimes a bit painful, I more or less expected this type of fluidity in the creative process. It’s different than the collaboration I had in composing the film score. That project presented a completed work that needed music added. Visuals, movements, dramatic narrative and the music for this ballet project, in contrast, are all being created simultaneously. Working with dancers and entering into their world has been a wonderful growing experience for me personally as a composer.

In past blog entries, I’ve commented on the importance of a good relationship between composer and choreographer. My initial thoughts on this have only been strengthened during this creative period. What I have found truly fascinating and quite wonderful to observe, however, is the collaborative nature between the choreographer and the dancers themselves. I’ve had the great fortune of attending a couple of rehearsals with Tara and her company and witnessed this working relationship first-hand.

I’ll admit that at first, I wasn’t paying much attention to the interaction between choreographer and dancers. Initially, I was simply overwhelmed by the movements set to my music. Somehow this was a completely different experience than hearing musicians bring a piece to life for the first time. Watching so much care and artistry applied to music I had created was truly humbling.

Once I got past this rush of excitement at seeing the ballet begin to take shape, I slowly became aware of how the dancers were working together and, in particular, how Tara was guiding the process. She had clearly arrived with definite ideas about choreography but did not rigidly impose these ideas upon the dancers. Instead, the rehearsals were full of give and take. In one beautiful sequence, two dancers featured in the slow, lyrical duet, came up with a set of movements almost by accident. These movements were an outgrowth of Tara’s overall form but perfectly fit a certain section of the music. Tara was quick to embrace the dancers’ contribution. What was truly amazing to me was watching the other dancers pick up on the movements with only one look. An entire sequence was magically created before my very eyes! Watching this creative process was an even more exhilarating experience for me than watching the first choreographed movements to my music when I first arrived.

As a result of the work done in these rehearsals, additional edits and changes to the score had to be made but, as of this writing, I believe the music for the piece is fairly set now. Tara will have another few days of rehearsals with her company to fine tune our adjustments and then it will be time begin putting all of this together. With a more or less final version of the score, my task at the moment is to properly engrave the music send parts off to the performers. Musical rehearsals are set to be begin in a few weeks!

We are still some distance from the destination, but the journey is quickening its pace. I’m sure I speak for all of my co-creators when I say that we are all growing more excited about our arrival!

Team Work

This month’s blog post is the second in a series of thoughts on my collaborative work with the Atlanta Ballet.

If I didn’t already know this, the past couple of projects have certainly reinforced the idea that composers must learn to be collaborators. In a past blog post, I reflected on my work on the soundtrack for a film and how my music needed to be subservient to not only the finished and (mostly) edited movie but to the director’s tastes, preferences and vision for the story. Now I find myself once again in a position where the music I compose is not the sole focus of a project. However, instead of fitting music to a more or less finished work, I now have the opportunity to co-create from the ground up, a piece for not only music but dance as well.

(L-R): Tara Lee, yours truly & Jennifer Mitchell at the
Atlanta Ballet studios.

A month ago, I had only had a few meetings with the choreographer of the Atlanta Ballet project, the wonderfully talented dancer and actress Tara Lee. These first few meetings were more or less “getting-to-know-you” affairs; choreographer and composer getting a feel for one another and ascertaining whether the necessary creative chemistry needed to collaborate on a new ballet piece was present.

Thankfully, things went well and we found ourselves quickly discussing details about the piece. As of mid-February, not a single note had been written but a lot of the important legwork had been accomplished: musicians had been secured, contracts all worked out and the basic structure of the piece had been developed.

So where do we stand now, a month into the process?

Armed with basic ideas about the piece, I entered into the familiar and lonely phase of the work: the creation of music. At a certain point all talk and planning became useless. Unless there was some actual music written, there would be nothing to choreograph. I have been able over the past several weeks, to compose roughly half of the music needed for the piece. However, the process of composing has been quite different than most of my past projects.

Having completed two major sections of the ballet, I sent off computer generated realizations of the music to Tara for her reaction. This was already non-standard practice for me. Normally, I prefer to compose by pencil on manuscript paper; completing an entire work before the notation process. However, the best way for Tara to get a handle on how I was thinking musically was to pause after each section, notate the music using computer software then create the aforementioned computer generated realizations.

After sending off the first audio file, I waited nervously for some – any – response. There had been a lot of talk, but now there was an actual product. I found myself very nervous – more so than usual – while waiting for a reaction. I was most relieved when Tara texted me with word that she liked my efforts. Breathing a sigh of relief, I continued on and created another section and sent a similar audio file. I thought this was going to be the way it was going to work: me sending music and Tara either green-lighting my efforts or needing to go back to the drawing board.

I was a bit unprepared for what came next. I got a call from Tara while shopping at Trader Joe’s one Saturday. She had been listening to the files and wondered if I could make changes. For one thing, the music wasn’t very “dancer-friendly.” With my penchant for odd meters and asymmetrical phrasing, I suppose I should have seen that one coming. What I wasn’t prepared for was the keen insight Tara had on the music and how a simple re-ordering of the sections – bringing some musical ideas out and eliminating others – greatly strengthened the piece. I don’t know that I would have thought to alter the music in the ways Tara suggested. Having complied with her requests, however, I can’t imagine the music going any other way now.

The instrumentation for this work is a bit unconventional, employing among other musicians, a D.J. spinning tracks live with a mixed chamber ensemble. Recently, I was finally able to get our D.J., Jennifer Mitchell, (a former student and wonderful composer in her own right) and Tara in the same room discussing the grooves that would be used in the piece. I am quickly discovering that this is not just a two-person collaboration between Tara and myself. This is a team effort incorporating the sizeable talents of Jen as well. In my score, I indicate the ideas for grooves (dubstep, drum&bass, etc.) but it is Jen who reads my score, hears my pitches and finds the exactly correct vinyl to spin. It’s uncanny how she has selected tracks that fit what I wrote like a glove. This is not karaoke composition. Rather, Jen is helping to form this piece as much as any of us.

I now have a much clearer vision of the piece and have set to work composing the rest of the music. The flurry of text messages, emails, phone calls and file sharing via DropBox is intensifying. I am exhilarated by this team effort and the truly collaborative nature of our work together. Tara, Jen and myself are all bringing our respective artistic visions to the table and in a wonderfully warm and creative exchange are creating a unified work. Soon the creative energies of the other musicians, stage designers and, of course, the dancers will be added to the collaborative mix. I’m sure the destination will be quite grand, but I have already gained much by the journey so far! 

Give & Take

This month’s blog post is the first in a series of thoughts on my collaborative work with the Atlanta Ballet.


Creativity is a very mysterious business. One moment there is nothing. The next, there is an idea. At first, it may be no more than a passing thought; an undefined form not yet clearly visible. And yet, something is suddenly there. I would like to think that as a composer, I have a wellspring of such ideas always simmering somewhere in the subconscious simply awaiting my command to rise up and become music. However, this is most often not how it works. The creative process for me is mostly an act of collaboration.

As I look over my catalog of works, I am hard pressed to find compositions that have not been written with some type of collaborator. Usually, I work with musicians. When a performer or conductor commissions a piece of music, I try to work closely with them; striving to balance my artistic and aesthetic desires with their creative ideas. It is the same when I find myself working with poets, scholars, visual artists and film directors on projects. I find it exhilarating to engage in the “give and take” of collaboration. Often, the result is the creation of a piece that I never would have thought up on my own.

Yours truly with dancer/choreographer/actress Tara Lee

All of this comes to mind as I embark on a new piece: a commission by the Atlanta Ballet. This commission marks the first time I’ve worked with dancers and, by necessity, a new type of collaborative process. The concept is relatively simple: build a musical composition from the ground up along side a choreographer who will be setting the music as it is created. And yet, there is nothing simple about it. How to begin? What is the ballet going to be about? Will it tell a story? What kind of music fits the expectations of the choreographer and the organization in general? What is the scope of the piece in terms of length, number of dancers and instrumentation? What is the overall budget for the production and how does that affect the size of the instrumentation? I’ve decided to try and share the answers to some of these questions by chronicling this project from its inception to completion within the modest confines of this blog.

In late 2011, I began an email dialogue with John McFall, the Artistic Director of the Atlanta Ballet. He spoke of the ballet’s upcoming May production entitled “New Choreographic Voices;” an evening of world premieres and arranged a meeting between myself and one of the choreographers for the production, Tara Lee. I was nervous about this initial meeting. Would Tara and I get along? What did she have in mind for her portion of the production? Fortunately, the meeting went well. I was immediately put at ease as we casually talked about music and dance and I felt that we had very similar tastes.

This first meeting was extremely important because it settled the issue of chemistry between the collaborators. With genuine artistic chemistry, the collaborative process becomes a joy. For my part, I knew as our conversation progressed that I would be able to have fun working with Tara; that I was in sync with her artistic sensibilities and increasingly felt that we would work well together. In many ways, once genuine collaboration is possible, the rest is simply details.

Yet, these details are substantive! After our first meeting, Tara checked out my website and other online sites (such as Reverb Nation and SoundCloud) where my music is available to stream. At our second meeting, she had some definite ideas about instrumentation based on some of the music she heard. Our collaboration had begun in earnest. Over the next few weeks, we met a few more times and exchanged text messages and emails. In the meantime, John McFall felt that things had progressed to a point where a formal commission for the May show could now be made. Still, more preliminary work needed to be done.

During our conversations (now primarily taking place at a coffee shop), Tara and I discussed subject matter for the piece, overall length and instrumentation. I was very interested in her initial idea – a notion of continuum; of time and changes within time. For her part, Tara seemed to be influenced by some of my works. She was drawn to pieces like “Citizens of Nowhere,” that featured the saxophone and “passing vanities” that featured a DJ along with live performers. Based on our conversations and Tara’s research into my catalog, we settled on a decidedly non-traditional quartet of musicians consisting of alto sax (doubling on soprano sax), cello, percussion and DJ.

Once we had decided on musicians, and importantly, John gave me word that the budget would support four live performers for the run of this production, I volunteered to secure the musicians. My immediate concern was the DJ. I turned to composer, performer and DJ, Jennifer Mitchell with whom I had collaborated with in the past. In writing the work, “passing vanities” for clarinet, violin and DJ (a commission from the professional Atlanta-based new music ensemble Sonic Generator), I had worked closely with Jen. It was she who really inspired my choices in recorded materials and score notation for a DJ. We had a meeting to discuss how we might collaborate and produce materials useful to Tara as she choreographed the production. 

After more text messages and emails Tara and I met again last week. This time, I was armed with a formal proposal; a written outline of many of the ideas we had freely discussed earlier as well as a plan for providing materials for her to use for choreographing the work. The piece was becoming more real now that there was something actually written down. After looking over the proposal and making her suggestions, we left with a fairly concrete plan. We knew the subject matter, overall length and basic structure of the work and had settled on the instrumentation along with an ensemble of at least five (perhaps six) dancers.

My task now will be to compose and provide computer-generated versions of the written music along with suggestions for grooves to Jen. She will then provide me with her selected recordings. I’ll mix my computer-generated score with Jen’s recordings for a good approximation of how the finished music will sound. Tara will then have a good model to use for the choreography. As I complete sections of the music, I also plan on attending some of the dance rehearsals once the choreography has been created. It is my hope that the dancing will inspire my composition of subsequent sections of the piece. The notion is that as the music feeds the choreography, the choreography will in turn feed the music so that the piece is truly built in a collaborative manner.

At one point, many weeks ago, there was nothing. Just an email. Now, there is an idea. However, it is more than just a passing thought or an undefined form – there is structure; there is a vision; and most importantly, there are relationships. There is a relationship with John, who initiated the project and ultimately gave it the green light. There is a relationship with Tara; a shared vision of music and dance. There is a relationship with Jen; a talented composer and musician who has already contributed wonderful ideas to this process. There are relationships with the other musicians, most of whom I have worked with in the past. Soon there will be more relationships: dancers, set designers, lighting designers, costumers and the input of many others.

It is humbling to think of all this as I sit scribbling my little notes on manuscript paper. In my next posting, I’ll report on how well we are following all our plans and how the piece is progressing. I hope you stick around for the journey and join us, if you are able, in Atlanta in May for the premiere!  

New Year’s Resolutions for Composers

In a recent posting on the wonderful blog of Orthodox Christian theology, Mystagogy, author John Sanidopoulos presents, without comment, a short quotation attributed to the 12^th Century Church Father, St. Peter of Damascus. On the topic of resolution, St. Peter writes, "If you want to do something good, do it; and if you cannot do it, then resolve to do it, and you will have achieved the resolution even if you do not fulfill the action itself. Thus a habit, whether good or bad, can gradually and spontaneously be overcome. If this were not the case, no criminals would ever be saved, whereas in fact not only have they been saved, but many have become conspicuous for their excellence. Think what a great gulf separates the criminal from the saint; yet resolution finally overcame habit." It’s that final line, "…resolution finally overcame habit" that I find so compelling. Perhaps, we all know this deep inside and this is the reason we dutifully make our resolutions over and over again, year after year. As I am apparently not immune to this desire, here are the top five New Year’s resolutions I have made for my own professional career:

1. Write Everyday

This is a mantra my students hear continually from my lips. It’s a notion that I heard from both of my principal teachers, Roger Hannay and Donald Erb. I remember Roger once asking what I was writing. Having just completed a piece (a Herculean task for an undergraduate and one that I thought merited high accolades), I off-handedly replied that I was “in-between” pieces at the moment. “Then you are not a composer right now” was his quick response. For some reason, this comment stuck with me. It was further bolstered by Donald Erb who continually asked me what I was working on, even long after I had graduated. Both of these great composers expected that I would be constantly writing, constantly embarking on new projects and constantly growing as a creative artist. For the most part, I practice what they preached in this area. I don’t literally, physically, sit in my studio each day without interruption – 365 days in succession – writing music. But I do come pretty close. And on those days that I am not actively writing – I am usually noodling in my head; rolling ideas around until they begin to take on an urgency that compels me to commit them to manuscript. My resolution in 2012 is to maintain this one good habit instilled in me by my teachers.

2. Feed the Aural Imagination

A good diet for composers!

One of the best ways to maintain an ambitious writing schedule is to have a deep reservoir of ideas. To create music that goes beyond mere craft, a composer must have a well-developed aural imagination. I’m a firm believer that for a composer – someone responsible for creating something literally out of nothing – this aural imagination is fed and maintained by active engagement in thought-provoking and inspiring activities. Of course, the first activity is that of music itself. It’s important to listen to recordings and, preferably, attend live performances of as much music as possible. However, feeding the aural imagination goes well beyond just music. I believe a composer needs to be exposed to great visual art, to dance, to theatre and great literature. Composers should grapple with great ideas – secular and sacred. Engaging in and thinking about art, philosophy, politics, literature, religion among other disciplines feeds the creative spirit. This is an area where I have lagged in recent years. I’ve read too few books, attended too few art galleries and far too few concerts. My resolution in 2012 is to correct this undesirable trait.

3. Take Advantage of Opportunities

The idea that a composer would not take advantage of an opportunity seems ridiculous. Yet, how often I have let deadlines for score calls and similar opportunities pass me by. How many times I have not immediately followed up with a performer or ensemble that I met in some professional or social setting. I could fall back upon the well-worn excuse of not having the time. For me, this is no excuse. Rather, it is a cop-out. In 2012, I need to do a much better job of following leads, applying for grants, fellowships and commissions and submitting to as many eligible (and affordable) score calls and competitions as I can. I need to continually remind myself of something I stress to my students: composing music is my work. I have many other important obligations, but it is critical for the composer to distinguish between professional obligations and true work. I should not compose after my "work” is completed. I need to fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability so I can get back to my work; to writing music and taking advantage of all opportunities to write more music. 

4. Use Social Media

In 2011, I finally launched a new professional website. I also began to participate more fully in several social media outlets including the ubiquitous Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and the new kid on the block, Google+. I was diligent about maintaining this blog and also set up pages on ReverbNation and SoundCloud where my music can be streamed. Furthermore, I got my 2007 chamber music recording, Aegean Counterpoint, up on iTunes and Amazon.mp3. And still, I am way behind in the new frontier of social media and Internet marketing. I’m a firm believer that composers must promote themselves. We don’t often have professional representation and print publishing opportunities are vanishing faster than smoke in a wind tunnel. In 2011, I realized that sites like Facebook were not just about posting pictures of pets and alerting the world to scores in online games. Social media is a serious force that can be used to do what publishers and agents used to do for composers: get composers noticed, commissioned and performed. Good examples of rethinking about social media and online marketing can be found in two recently posted articles. The first, written by Gerrit Hall on the technology site, Mashable, is entitled “Facebook Timeline Is Basically Your Digital Resume.” The second article, written by Michael Wolf on the technology site, GigaOM, is entitled “Why 2012 Will Be the Year of the Artist-Entrepreneur.” Both are fascinating articles and speak to my point that composers need to begin to harness the great potential the Internet offers. However, to do so takes diligence and some sacrifice of time. I believe it is time well spent and resolve in 2012 to make even better use of this tremendous resource.

5. Give Back

Yours truly with the Fall 2011 GSU Student Composers.

In addition to writing everyday, feeding my aural imagination, taking advantage of all opportunities and effectively using social media, it is important for me to remember to give back to my profession as much as I can. First and foremost, this means being a good composition teacher. This is no small task – especially given the fact that I stand in the overwhelming shadow of truly great composers and teachers. I am indebted in ways that cannot be expressed in mere words to these teachers. The only way I know to properly pay them back for all they have given me is to try, as best I can, to do the same for my students. My 2012 resolution is to be more patient and understanding and to be more engaged in my pupils’ work and careers. I resolve to remember that it’s a tough business we’re in and everyone needs as much help as they can get. Moreover, I resolve to be a better colleague to my fellow “professional” composers and performers. After all, if we don’t look out for each other, who will?

So there is my list. Hopefully one or two of these resolutions will take root and will overcome some undesirable habits. What’s on your list for 2012? Leave me a comment and let’s talk!

Old School Thinking

The respected composer David Lang recently released a new album on the Cantaloupe Music label entitled “this was written by hand.” The album consists of two works for solo piano performed beautifully by Andrew Zolinsky. One composition is entitled “memory pieces” – a cycle of memorial works written for Lang’s friends and the other piece is the one that bears the album’s name. It’s a name that caught my eye even before I noticed who wrote the music. In doing just a bit of cursory research, I learned that “this was written by hand” was a work created by Lang after the composer realized that he had not physically written a piece of music with a pencil since purchasing a personal computer in 1993. In his liner notes, the composer wonders whether “…the means of writing had any effect on the writing itself.”

In coming across this piece, I’m struck by just how “old school” my method of writing music has remained over the years. I was frankly astonished that a composer of my generation had not written music by hand since 1993. Of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this. My surprise speaks more about my own working habits than anything else. With very rare exceptions, all of my music is still written by hand. Pencil against paper; eraser dust and overhead light; instead of the clicking of keys (computer or keyboard), the quiet rubbing of lead onto manuscript with only occasional breaks in the relative silence as an electric pencil sharpener whines in the air from time to time.

From days gone by: the tools of the notation trade...

I have written several works solely at the computer and have disliked the process. For me, there is something very genuine about the act of physical writing. The pencil is a metaphor of the creative process for me. As I write, I give of myself and as the music is slowly formed, I am slowly drained – much as the pencil slowly diminishes in size until it becomes too small to use. All of its energy and life now lay spread upon pages and pages of manuscript paper. I’d like to think that I have poured out myself equally upon that paper. This is the true act of composing for me. Using a computer seems like a cheat or rather, a penalty for my misuse of time and the resulting necessity to speed up the process a bit to meet a deadline. There’s no doubt in my mind that the means of writing – for me – absolutely has a profound effect on the writing itself. This is probably not discernable by a listener, yet it is absolutely something that I feel as I write.

A portion of my doctoral dissertation from 1991:
lovingly written and engraved by hand

Of course, this can only be true for me personally. It would be patently absurd for me to suggest that using a pencil is the “correct” way of composing. The mere fact that David Lang has not used a pencil in nearly 20 years and his career is much more successful than mine is a testament to this. Also, most of my students have rarely – if ever in their entire lives – used a pencil and paper exclusively for writing. Moreover, they will most likely never abandon the computer. In my early years as a composition teacher in the mid 1990’s, I used to force students to write with pencil and paper. I felt that their creativity was being dictated by how well they knew how to use computer notation software. Over the years, I have largely abandoned this rigid stance. In trying to enforce this posture, I began to look more and more like a horse and buggy driver wistfully gazing upon a beautifully crafted carriage as cars sped by.

And yet…

I can’t help but feel a little sad – and more than a little old – when simply writing a piece of music by hand has become such a novelty that it garners attention. “Writing by hand” has now joined “cooking from scratch” as an activity rarely practiced by many and I can’t shake the feeling that we are all somehow the poorer for it. 

Old Dog...New Tricks

I’m closing in on three decades of composing music. It’s hard for me to even look at that sentence, after having written it, and believe that it’s true.  After so much time, it seems logical that my years of experience would have led me to many different types of projects. While it’s true that my catalog is ripe with orchestral, chamber, vocal and band music, there are still, nevertheless, many genres that have eluded me. Opera, ballet and film scoring immediately come to mind.

I can now scratch at least one of those genres off the list. I have recently completed my first movie sound track: the score to an independently produced comedy. I found the process extremely interesting and instructive in two major ways. The first has to do with my selection as the film’s composer. I was connected to the director of the film via Facebook. He and I were high school classmates who had, over the years, lost touch with one another. When I began plunging into social media in a big way a few years ago, he was one of the many old friends who “found” me and wanted to befriend me on the social media behemoth.

At first, I had a particularly “old school” notion about how I would acquire “friends” on Facebook. Namely, they would have to be people that I knew really well and with whom I was already interacting with on a relatively frequent basis. This was certainly not the case with every old high school friend who “befriended” me. However, it began to occur to me that social media could be used for much more than keeping up with close friends. Here were opportunities to reconnect with people from my past, strengthen ties with acquaintances and, most importantly, make new connections.

After accepting my old classmate’s friend request, he soon contacted me directly and explained that he was directing a new feature length motion picture and, having noticed my career path as a composer and given our past association, was interested in having me score the film. The power of the Internet within the context of social media was driven home to me immediately. Here was an opportunity that came my way simply due to my clicking a button on a social media site. From that point forward, the lesson has not been lost on me and I have embraced social media in a big way. Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google+, you name it and I’ve probably got a profile page on it!

Having learned my lesson with respect to social media, the second fascinating aspect of this project was simply learning the ropes of film scoring itself. Having never attempted this before, everything seemed new to me. I suppose I was slightly prepared for the project having written several large-scale vocal works. In the writing of these vocal works, I learned to make the music subservient to the text. This skill came in handy as now my music would need to be subservient to the characters, their dialogue onscreen as well as to the tastes and preferences of the director. If you do not truly enjoy collaboration – film scoring is certainly not for you.

In my case, the process of writing film music was liberating in a strange way. Having so many constraints thrust upon me sharpened my compositional chops considerably. I enjoyed the challenge of fitting specific types of music to very specific time frames (ranging from segments of 18 seconds to ten minutes). Then there was the added complexity of writing music for a comedy. Coming up with ideas that were light enough for the comedic material without sounding trite posed a huge challenge. In the end, I felt that I was largely successful in my efforts. I composed 25 segments of music with a total duration of over 50 minutes, crafted music that satisfied the needs of the movie, the wishes of the director and still nourished me as an artist. I’m sure that the entire project has made me a better composer and a more sensitive collaborator. Yet, I still have a long way to go before I master this genre. If anything, I now know what I don’t know about writing music for film!

However, it’s a comfort to know that even after so much time composing, this old dog can still learn a few new tricks…