A.I. and the Enthronement of “Good Enough”

HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey

Much has been written about the rapid rise of artificial intelligence (A.I.) in virtually every aspect of our lives. It is now possible to simply ask an A.I. application such as ChatGPT to create any content or provide any type of information in a matter of seconds.  When I first tried ChatGPT, I asked it to write me a 1000-word children’s story about a bird and a turtle as an experiment. That’s all I provided. Within seconds, the A.I. had created a story featuring characters with names, a conflict, and a resolution. It was cute and something I could see a parent reading to their child. After my initial amazement, I reread the story several times. While moderately entertaining, there was just something about it that didn’t sit well with me. I finally noticed that as fully realized and fleshed out with details the story was, it lacked a unique voice. There was no interesting, unexpected, quirky, or even poetic turn of phrase that one might encounter with a favorite author. The more I reread the story, the more I felt that it was hollow and soulless at its core. The non-human “author” did not have children. It couldn’t empathize and remember from personal experience as both a child and a parent what story-telling felt like. There was simply no sense of wonder. The words just lay flat on the screen gleaming with cold perfection. Instead of feeling warmth when rereading the story, I was ultimately left diminished. It was like eating a beautiful looking meal and being satisfied with how it tasted in the moment but feeling hunger soon after because there was no nutritional value. It then struck me that if this was a real attempt at crafting a story for commercial publication, someone, somewhere, in some position to make decisions about creative content, might easily determine that this story was “good enough” to publish with a few tweaks and was cost effective because no author had to be contracted. That decision might have been arrived at cynically or - perhaps even worse - arrived at because the decision maker truly could not discern the difference between art and cold craft.

Among all the other red flags surrounding A.I., this is one that I believe poses a significant threat to those of us in the creative arts. A story that is “good enough.” Set design and special effects that are “good enough.” And closer to home for me, musical compositions and musical performances that are “good enough.” It’s a lazy way to create, devoid of life experience. While initially impressive and maybe even satisfying, art created this way will ultimately leave no real lasting impression. Whenever I catch myself thinking that whatever section of a musical composition I am working on is “good enough,” I immediately stop composing. I take a break and come back to the section refreshed so that I may properly work through the music and arrive at the right and best solution for that piece. This is hard work accomplished through trial and error, experimentation, and just plain thought. I am certainly guided by craft in my work but I am also guided by intuition, experience, curiosity, and talent. Is an A.I. program similarly guided? Does it have intuition or talent?

Donald Erb (1927-2008)

There is a wonderful quote from my mentor, the great composer Donald Erb, that is affixed to my office door. It concerns itself with the creative process and reads: 

“A craftsman can create entertainment, but you need more than that to create art. You need an emotional, inspirational quality, because in and of itself craft means nothing. 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.’’

No matter how sophisticated A.I. software gets - and I readily acknowledge it is getting more sophisticated by the minute - I do not believe it will ever have something inside it that is compelled to be pushed out. I don’t believe you can program an emotional, inspirational quality within A.I. As Erb wisely points out, you need more than just craft to create art. In looking specifically at A.I., you need more than just sophisticated coding and machine based learning to create art. Humans - real humans who have lived lives full of joy, tragedy, failure, triumph, conflict, and reconciliation - create art to describe the human condition. How can A.I. really do that? It’s true that within the arts, A.I. can create great looking art and great sounding music. It may seem to be better than just “good enough” and it is only getting more sophisticated. However, like the little experiment I conducted with ChatGPT, it doesn’t hold up.   

Ultimately the problem is not A.I. Artificial intelligence in all of its varied forms is simply a tool. The real problem is a society that devalues art because it cannot distinguish between art and craft. It’s a society that has decided that teaching the arts in schools to children beginning from a young age all the way through their high school years is unimportant. It’s a society that places more value on short-cuts and cold efficiency than in the time and life-experience it takes to create something meaningful. Worse yet, we live in a society that, even if it could distinguish between art and craft, doesn’t care. Whatever content is being flushed into our consciousness provides enough entertainment for the moment and that’s “good enough.”  It’s a society that is easy prey for cynical gate-keepers in the entertainment and arts industries. Skynet is not coming for us. We are letting it in slowly all by ourselves. 

One of the reasons that TV and film writers and actors are currently on strike is to make sure producers are not allowed to give in to their baser instincts by providing what is just “good enough” in order to maximize profits. The soulless words of that children’s story experiment I conducted with A.I. haunt me and point towards a possible world that slowly starves itself of the arts while drowning in an over abundance of music, visual art, film, and television content. 

This is a possible world that is certainly not good enough for anyone.

Solidarity

At 12:01 AM PDT on May 2, 2023, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) – a labor union representing 11,500 writers - began a work stoppage against the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP). Two of the main issues driving the decision to strike are residuals from streaming media and the rise of artificial intelligence software such as ChatGPT. It is the writers’ contention that AMPTP's share of streaming residuals has cut much of the writers' average incomes compared to a decade ago. The writers are also concerned that A.I. has the potential of being used as a tool to replace them. The writers wish to make sure software such as ChatGPT be used only as a research tool or to facilitate script ideas. So, what does this labor dispute have to do with music composition and why should I care?

As a composer, I consider myself a writer of sorts although I deal with musical notes and not words. Nevertheless, there is a certain similitude between writers and composers. The mediums of television and film are performing arts. They exist in time, having a beginning, middle, and conclusion. Unlike a novel, poem, painting, or sculpture, the audience cannot linger over details at their own pace. That’s why dialogue, elements of story structure, pacing, and character development are so critical. Writers are also dependent upon actors, directors, and many others behind the scenes to make the art come to life. A screenplay is just a silent collection of sentences and directions until skilled actors tell the story. 

In music, the composer is also working in an art form that is performance based, existing fleetingly in time. Like a film or television program, a musical composition – even one that is purely abstract, so-called “absolute music” - also has a beginning, middle, and conclusion. Musical structure and the effective development of ideas over time are likewise as critical as plot development in a screenplay. Finally, composers are reliant on skilled musicians and conductors (as well as many others behind the scenes) to bring the music to life. Like a screenplay, a musical score is just a silent book of instructions until skilled musicians follow it to create music. In his brilliant book, The Rest Is Noise, author Alex Ross describes a musical composition as “… an artwork in code, which other musicians must be persuaded to unravel. Unlike a novel or a painting, a score gives up its full meaning only when it is performed in front of an audience; it is a child of loneliness that lives off crowds.” Substitute “screenplay” for “musical composition/score” and “actors” for “musicians” and Ross’s observation is equally valid.

This is why I find myself firmly in solidarity with the Writers Guild of America. It’s easy for me to imagine being in their shoes. In fact, on the issue of streaming residuals, I don’t really have to imagine at all. Composers and musical performing artists can certainly relate to the writers’ concerns when examining what Spotify or Apple Music pays them per stream for their music. They most often make a lot less than a single penny per stream. That’s bad enough for artists in popular music genres, with millions of streams. For composers of contemporary classical music, residuals from streaming are effectively non-existent. It’s easy therefore for me to find the writers’ concerns valid and to believe they are being disrespected and treated unfairly.

Without those of us who create content, the performing arts cannot exist. There is a beautiful and necessary collaboration and a certain chain of events that occurs to bring a performance to an audience. In television and film, among other important persons, a skilled director is necessary to maintain a vision, keep the overall project moving in a particular direction, and to help guide actors. Actors, in turn, may move a person to tears or laughter through performances based upon their talent and training. However, none of that matters if there is no story and performers have nothing written for them to say. Likewise in music, a skilled conductor or music coach is necessary to keep the piece moving in a certain direction and to help guide musicians. Musicians, in turn, may move a person to tears or to dancing due to their talent and training. Yet, none of that matters if the musical notes are not there. Whether working with traditional notation on staff paper or working out ideas in the studio by ear, someone must decide that out of silence, these are the notes that are born; this is the order in which they are to proceed; this is the pace they are to move; and this is how they will change over time.

I often tell my composition students that all composers (and I’m sure this goes for writers as well) face a “moment of loneliness” at the outset of the creative process wherein they stare deeply into the void of an empty staff. At this moment, no one can help them. A teacher cannot choose their notes for them, and neither can a friend or family member. They are truly on their own. And yet, one moment the staff is empty, the room is silent, or the page is blank, and the next moment there are notes, there is sound, there is a story. This lonely moment is suddenly transformed into a magical moment, an almost sacred moment. It is the beautiful moment of creation. From literally nothing, art is born. I can’t explain it and I consider it a miracle every time I begin composing a new work.

Our broken world is in desperate need of creation. All around us we are confronted with destruction whether on the battlefield of war; through senseless violence on our streets, in our malls, even our houses of worship; or in the causal devastation of our thoughtless words and actions towards our neighbors.

It’s so easy to tear down and destroy.

It is so incredibly difficult to create.

I can’t help but wonder that if society treats the creators of things they truly love (TV/films) with disrespect and indifference, what hope do those of us who create contemporary classical music have? Does disrespect and indifference towards creators contribute to the coarsening of our culture? I think it does and this is why I stand with all those writers and composers who bring art into existence out of nothingness. From a dopey sitcom or commercial jingle to a film or musical work that changes the world – writers are the builders of our shared society. We cannot and must not treat them as disposable, fungible cogs for those who regard the portraits of presidents on currency as the highest form of art. We cannot cheat them out of an income honorably earned, we cannot disregard art which is created out of a lifetime of sacrifice and experience, and we must certainly not hand the sacred moment of creation over to soulless robots and computers. That would surely result in a shared society that is not worth living in.

This is why the WGA strike resonates with me and why I believe it relates to my own art. Wishing strength and success to all those on the picket lines engaged in the good fight.

The Long Road Back

While I have always been sporadic in posting to this blog, this is my first entry since January 2019; the longest hiatus I have taken since beginning this endeavor in 2010. However, my time away has been from more than just this blog. I have taken a permanent leave from my life as I knew it. On August 16, 2019, my wife Maria passed away from metastatic breast cancer. The reoccurrence of her cancer after being cancer-free for over five years was a shock. The progression of the disease was swift and merciless. There are no words that I can use to adequately describe the depth of devastation in the wake of her passing. It is a loss that I am still trying to process nearly four years later.  

Maria Spell Demos (1962-2019)

When my life suddenly and drastically changed,  many existential questions flooded my mind. In looking for answers, I initially felt like a drowning man flailing desperately and reaching out for anything to keep me afloat. I was also at the intersection of two other significant challenges. First, shortly after Maria’s death, while I was just at the very beginning of the grieving process, COVID-19 overwhelmed the planet. Like almost every composer I know, the onset of this pandemic decimated my professional opportunities and left me isolated in quarantine with only Zoom conference calls and home delivery services as lifelines to the world outside. Certainly, this was not a good place to be while in unbearable emotional pain. Second, I was also still serving as the Director of the Georgia State University School of Music at this time. While the relentless busywork of that gig helped me a bit simply by blunting my thoughts and emotions, it had a deleterious effect on my creative output as a composer. When I first took the position as Director, Maria was still alive and I had energy, focus, and felt as though I could accomplish anything. For a short time, I did. In fact, I wrote a blog post about how my new admin position was actually helping my creative process (see the December 31, 2017 entry for all the glorious hubris). However, after Maria’s death, all such energy and ambition were extinguished. It was as if a huge deluge of water suddenly crashed upon the fire of my aspirations; a campfire encountering a tsunami. It is probably not too surprising that in the wake of this trauma, I am now no longer in an administrative position at my university having returned to the faculty.

The wonderful smol ensemble after their recent 

performance of my work, "small talk" at SoundNOW. 

(l-r): Justin Greene, Amy O'Dell, Monica Pearce, 

Paul Stevens, and Olivia Kieffer. (Credit: Elizabeth Theriot) 

At the same time, I have responded to my new life in various ways. I reinvigorated my prayer life and engaged in self-care activities such as therapy with a licensed professional, physical exercise, reading, and journaling. I also am incredibly fortunate to have family and friends who support me. One other valuable response has been a rededication to music composition. Although I did not ever completely abandon composing, whether at the height of my administrative responsibilities or the nadir of my emotional distress, my creative output was perhaps understandably slowed. Now, I feel like I am finally on the long road back. My return to this blog as well as much needed updates to my website bear witness to this. 

However, as I walk along this long road, it really doesn’t lead “back” to something familiar but rather, to a new destination. I know that I am no longer the same person I was before Maria’s death. Yet, as it turns out, I still need to compose; and need to do so regularly. I realize that the desire to enter the creative process and lose myself in the composition of music is important because it’s the only place that still feels familiar, a surviving treasure from a former life. I am beyond grateful that in the past few years, commissions, performances of my music, awards, and other opportunities I have been blessed to receive for my work serve as validation that whether heading “back,” or to a new place, I am on the right road. 

Call & Response (Part 2)

Happy New Year! 

After a longer than anticipated hiatus, I’m back with Part 2 of my thoughts on score calls. In my previous blog post (admittedly uploaded a very long time ago), I listed three pet peeves I have about submissions to composition opportunities. These issues obviously came from a composer’s point of view. As a weird sort of therapy to soothe my wounded ego, having just received a batch of rejections (which, by the way, always seem to come in batches as if to maximize the dramatic effect on my morale), I have decided to now look at things from a presenter’s point of view.  I believe I can speak from this perspective with a bit of authority having issued score calls on many occasions in my career. While, as a composer, I took issue with practices found in many score calls, we composers are far from perfect in our responses to such opportunities. So, to be fair, and given in no particular order, here are three admonitions presenters have for composers:

1. Read the directions carefully then do something revolutionary: follow them! 

Most opportunities list fairly specific criteria for submitted works. Common among these are instrumentation requirements and total duration of submitted compositions. It is also not uncommon for score calls to ask for certain thematic attributes as well. These are not suggestions! Instrumentation requests are usually driven by performer availability and ability to play at a high enough level to tackle often difficult contemporary scores with few rehearsals. Also, whether it be for a festival, conference, or just a single concert, presenters are thinking about programming for an entire event not just a single composer’s work. This is a very important consideration and is an area where the presenter has the opportunity to demonstrate some real creativity. Selecting pieces that work well together and placing them in a particular order is also a very pragmatic exercise. This is what most often drives the 10-minute duration request. It is only composers who reach a certain stature in their respective careers who are relatively free of such constraints. Composers in this group probably did not submit to score calls anyway. They are usually approached individually by a presenter, commissioner, or consortium. These are the composers who are the “featured” artists at conferences, festivals, or symposia with whom less well-known composers share some performance time. 

If a composer has a question about submitting a piece with a deviation from what is listed, it is better to email the presenter and find out whether this deviation will be accepted before simply submitting. Please remember that presenters generally have a small group of people reviewing submitted scores. Often, the number of scores that are submitted is daunting. For example, when I hosted the 2008 Society of Composers, Inc. (SCI) National Conference at the Georgia State University School of Music, we received in excess of 600 scores. Having to consider so many scores, with too few adjudicators, and under often crushing time constraints, it is a purely practical (and sanity preserving) matter to summarily cut from consideration those scores that do not meticulously follow the score call guidelines. 

2. Entry Fees

This was my number two pet peeve with presenters. However, from a presenter’s point of view, there are legitimate reasons why an entry fee for a score call/competition might be necessary. While there are always egregious excesses from time to time, most entry fees average around what most of us pay for one-month of a subscription to Netflix. As mentioned in my previous post, however, charging an entry fee is a practice that seems to draw a lot of ire from composers. Why do so many presenters do it, then? Simply put, it is a good source of revenue. It’s important to consider the fact that most presenters (whether they are ensembles, individual artists, or organizations) operate on razor thin budgets. Entry fees for score calls do not begin to cover the costs for running a group, individual career, or even that large organization. Most of the time, presenters legitimately want to create opportunities for composers. They also want an opportunity to vet work that comes their way because - let’s face it - not every composition is a masterpiece. There also may be a certain artistic aesthetic preferences within a group that a score call can help refine. The submission of scores to groups out of the blue rarely results in success for a composer. Therefore, the curated score call is a better route to go. Most presenter’s use the entry fees collected from a score call in combination with hard-won grants, paying gigs, and donations to cobble together enough funds to mount one single concert. Also, presenters (who are often performers and sometimes composers as well), should be compensated for pouring over the hundreds of scores that are delivered upon their doorsteps. Their time is equally as valuable as a composer’s time. Besides, compared to the hours of work that adjudicating scores entails, the amount of money collected in a score call would amount to a tiny fraction of an hourly minimum wage. 

Of course, there are many other fixed costs that presenters have to consider and that justify attaching an entry fee to a score call. I personally do not harbor any ill-will towards presenters that charge an entry fee. I’ve sat in their shoes and I know what is involved the minute you press the key to upload a score call. At the end of the day, the decision to apply to a call with a fee is a personal one. No one is forcing anyone to apply. Also, as I remind my students, most score calls are free. I usually set a a budget for myself with an amount that I am willing to spend per year on entry fees. Also, this yearly amount I spend on entry fees feels more like a “donation” to new music. I feel like I am contributing a little bit to the larger eco-system of contemporary music and its promotion by performers and presenting groups. But that’s just me. If you are adamantly opposed to paying any fee, just scroll down to the next listed opportunity.

3. Show Up

If a composer is fortunate enough to have a piece selected for performance as a result of a score call, it’s important to attend the concert if possible. This sounds like a no-brainer, but there are sometimes circumstances that prohibit attending a performance. Things come up. This happened to me recently when not one but two of my compositions were selected for performances at a contemporary music festival this past fall. As the time drew near to make my travel plans, a conflict arose and I was forced to make the painful decision to not attend the festival. At the time, I was fully prepared to have my works withdrawn from the festival programming schedule. It is often the policy of festivals to require attendance of composers whose works are performed. It has happened to me in the past. I was extremely fortunate that the presenter of this past fall’s festival still had my music performed despite my absence. This was a very kind gesture for which I was most appreciative.

Another reason to miss a performance can be due to the location. When pieces of mine have been selected for performance outside the United States, it is sometimes not possible to attend due to travel time and/or financial concerns.

Finally, for those composers who regularly receive a great number of performances of their works, it becomes impossible to attend every concert. However, composers who are receiving so many performances of their music per year that attending them all is not feasible are those who probably don’t enter many call for scores anymore. It’s hard to imagine Pulitzer Prize winning composers scouring The Composer’s Site each week for opportunities to have their music performed.

For those of us who do try to take advantage of score calls, and submit compositions fairly regularly, after paying close attention to the submission guidelines, it’s important to see where and when the performance opportunity will take place. At that point, you have to ask yourself a few questions. Am I willing to travel to the festival’s location if  my piece is selected? Can I afford to attend? Does my schedule permit attending? Is there a an attendance requirement attached to the score call? If you are unwilling or unable to attend, think twice before applying to a score call in the first place. It is very important to be present if possible at the performance of your work; especially if the work was selected through peer-review. Not only is it good form, but showing up in person strengthens the bonds between composer and presenter. If the presenter and/or individual performers like the music and enjoyed meeting the composer, future collaborations outside the normal “Call for Scores” process might take place. It’s hard to make meaningful connections in absentia.

__________

It feels good to finally close the loop on this two-part post. I hope to find a better workflow for this blog in the months to come and post a bit more regularly in 2019. If you are interested in finding out more about my own music - please visit my website at nickitasdemos.com. Also, please feel free to comment below if you wish to engage in this or any other composition-related topic a bit further.

Call & Response (Part 1)

There is probably no denying that the best way for a composer to get music performed is by developing strong personal relationships and writing music for friends. While well worth it, this approach takes time and much effort. That's why contests and score calls from prestigious organizers and performers can sometimes seem much more alluring. I suppose deep down many of us want to be “award-winning” composers. Winning a competition or having a piece selected as a result of a score call is a great way to boost the fragile creative ego, jump-start a new relationship with performers, and add an important line in a curricular vita. I have been regularly perusing score calls for most of my career as a composer. Every week or so, I check such sites as “SCION” published by the Society of Composers, Inc. (SCI) and the “Composer’s Site” webpage among others. At this point, I continue foraging for opportunities as much out of habit as out of an earnest desire to present my music. I also continue to receive a steady stream of direct email notifications concerning opportunities to submit my work. (When you get rejected by as many presenters as I have over the years, you end up on many email lists.) Given all these resources, I think I am usually up to date on the various opportunities out there for composers at any given time. I’ve also been at this for quite a while and have seen almost every imaginable type of score call.

Recently, I came across an opportunity listing that actually caused me to stop in my virtual tracks and chuckle. When describing the parameters of a particular score call, an organization wrote:

Works must be written for this specific instrumentation:

Soprano, accordion, cello, and clarinet

or

Soprano and accordion

or

Soprano and banjo

Of course, I immediately posted a snarky comment about this on my Facebook page and received many equally snarky comments and “likes.” However, this particular score call caused me to think about all the things that drive me crazy as a composer about such calls. To be fair, I have also been a presenter myself and issued my own score calls and am fully aware of many things that drive presenters equally crazy about composers.  So, in no particular order, this blog post and the one to follow will list my Top 3 items that both composers and presenters should think about when issuing and responding to score calls.

In this post, let’s start with Presenters.

1. The Tailor-Made Submission

Once in a while, submitting to an opportunity really pays off.
Just ask Caroline Shaw and Roomful of Teeth! This photo
taken on January 21, 2018 after a performance at
Georgia State University.

In this type of score call, the presenter requires a composer to create a brand-new piece of music tailored specifically for a particular opportunity. Usually, the submitted piece(s) cannot have been premiered in public. This kind of call is an immediate non-starter for me. The nature of competitions (at least in my experience) is that composers have about a 10% chance of success. Why then should a composer expend the energy to write a new piece specifically for a call when the high odds are the work will not be selected? What happens to the piece then? This issue is really exacerbated when the instrumentation called for is non-standard; like a soprano and banjo, for instance.

If an ensemble or presenter is really interested in generating repertoire for themselves, I advise the Verdehr Trio model. This ensemble, founded in 1972 and comprised of Elsa Ludewig-Verdehr, clarinet, Walter Verdehr, violin, and Silvia Roederer, piano, has commissioned over 200 new works. They mostly did this by working directly with composers. No contest necessary. Over the years, the clarinet, violin, piano trio has become a standard medium for composition largely due to the efforts of the Verdehr Trio.

2. Entry Fees

Sometimes, it feels just like gambling when paying a fee to
participate in a call for scores...

Entry fees always cause heated discussions within composer circles. Many composers adamantly dislike the inclusion of such fees in any score call. The presenter should be aware of this animus when contemplating the inclusion of a fee for a planned score call. The higher the fee, the more outrage a presenter may illicit. Nothing causes red flags to go up for a composer more than a high entry fee with the promise of a cash prize for the winner of the contest and a caveat stating that if submission quality is lacking, no prize will be awarded. A composer is left to suspect that the contest was just a funding opportunity for the presenter at the expense of composers anxious to get their music heard. Preying on this type of composer anxiety really doesn’t sit well with many creative artists. Most professional musicians rightly expect to be paid for their services. Why is a composer expected to not only compose a work for free but to actually pay for the 90% probability of receiving a rejection letter?  

Ironically, this will also be my #2 Item on the forthcoming Composers list (Part 2 of this blog post) because I can see another side to this issue…

3. The “Logan’s Run” Syndrome

In the 1976 film, Logan’s Run (based on the book by William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson), one of the themes explored is that of youth worship. The story takes place in a future where the remnants of humanity live utopian lives filled with hedonistic pleasures until they reach the age of the 30 and are euthanized. There seems to be a bit of this type of youth worship in many score calls. Opportunities for composers older than 30 are certainly far fewer than for calls aimed at “emerging composers.” It’s as if once a composer reaches 30 (or older), he or she has already had a successful career and should not be afforded many more opportunities. In many professional contact sports, it’s easy to see how a person over the age of 30 can be considered “old.” This line of thinking is far less convincing when applied to creative artists. While I believe it is vitally important to provide meaningful opportunities for young and “emerging” composers, it also strikes me that by tilting too far in the direction of youth and inexperience, we seem to be excluding many gifted, experienced composers over the age of 30 who have simply had the misfortune of not becoming famous fast enough.

While I could toss in a few more, I’ll stop with these “Top 3” issues for now. My colleagues can probably cite others. In my next post I will switch sides and talk to my fellow composers. There are things we should think about in the submission process as well! Until then, it’s time for me to go back online and look for the next opportunity…