I
have been thinking recently about my first composition teacher, Roger Hannay
(1930-2006). It’s the mid-point of the year and a time I typically pause to
take stock of my creative output. In looking at my work over the past six
months, I can’t help but hear my old mentor’s voice, somehow clearer than
before. What I remember most right now is not so much all the good and valuable
technical training Roger provided. Rather, it’s a question he once asked me.
Atlanta composers chatting it up after a recent performance by Terminus Ensemble in Atlanta. L-R: Natalie Williams, yours truly, John Anthony Lennon, Tim Jansa & Adam Scott Neal. |
I
just completed my fifth composition of 2013 a few days ago, a piece for solo soprano
saxophone. I’m already prepping for the sixth work, a large piece for solo
tenor and orchestra. There are several more pieces in the queue after that. I’m
not sure about all composers, but this seems like a lot for me – especially
given all the outside obligations inherent in an academic career. However, as I
look over my catalog, I notice that I have been on this accelerated writing
pace over the past few years. Since the beginning of 2011, I have finished 17
pieces. Gazing suspiciously on these compositions, it is natural to assume that
a torrent of notes does not necessarily equal quality. After all, Edgard
Varèse has very few surviving works in his catalog and is nevertheless
recognized (and rightly so) as one of the seminal figures of the early 20th
Century. The irony that my 17 pieces written over the past two and half years
equals the entire number of pieces in Varèse’s
catalog (as listed in his Wikipedia article) is not lost on me. Surely, none of
these 17 works measure up to even the least of the pieces in Varèse’s entire surviving
catalog.
However, focusing on one composer with
an extraordinarily small catalog is too narrow a view. History is, of course,
replete with great composers who have literally hundreds of compositions in
their respective catalogs. So where does that leave me? Why do I compose so many
pieces? What compels me to jump right into a new project having barely
completed the previous one?
The new release on Albany Records featuring two works of mine: "Tonoi VII" & "An Empty Blouse" |
It’s these questions that bring me back
again to Roger. I often tell the story of an important exchange I had with him
early in my studies at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. I may
have already recounted it in some past entry in this blog. It’s still worth
repeating. One day, probably sometime in the spring of 1983, I arrived to my
lesson in good spirits having just finished a composition. I remember proudly presenting
all the little doodles contained in my thick stack of dog-eared manuscript
paper and eagerly awaiting some sort of praise from my teacher. Instead, as he
looked over my work, Roger casually asked what I was working on at the moment. I
froze. What was he talking about? Didn’t he see all that work right before his
eyes? When I finally stammered out my answer, that he was looking at what I had been doing, Roger glanced up and informed
me that if I was not currently
working on a piece, then I wasn’t really a composer.
Over the years, I have thought a lot
about that statement. I don’t believe Roger literally meant that unless I was
actively composing a new work daily I could not consider myself a composer. I
think, instead, he was communicating two important ideas to me. First, you
cannot simply rest on past achievements. It doesn’t matter if your finest work
is behind you. A creative artist must push ahead and explore. Your best work
will certainly be in the past if you cease to create in the present. The second
idea follows naturally from this first one. A composer must have a good work
ethic. You cannot move forward and explore without considerable effort
and determination. This is especially true of the path taken by creative
artists.
One of the first public screenings of "A Free Bird," an independent comedy with a film score by yours truly! |
It’s
no accident, therefore, that 2011 was the beginning of an active writing period
for me. I had just been promoted to the rank of Full Professor at my university
in the spring of 2010 and Roger’s question rang loudly in my thoughts. “What are you working on now?” Yes, as
all the pictures in this post demonstrate, over the past few months there have
been lots of performances, a new commercial recording and even my debut as a
film composer. But still I hear the words, “What
are you working on now?”
It’s
not hubris that compels me to increase my creative activities precisely at a
time when it doesn’t matter as much in my professional academic career. It’s
fear. It’s the fear of standing still; growing stagnant. Mostly, however, it’s the
ghostly voice of my teacher ringing up through the decades challenging me to keep
moving. It is neither particularly virtuous nor deleterious to write a lot of
music. The same may be said for those who create at a more deliberate pace.
What’s important is the attitude of
the artist. It’s not about how fast or how much you write or the size of your
catalog. In the end, it’s about being able to answer a simple question:
What
are you working on now?