As you may have noticed, one of the many noble purposes of ITM has been to champion the existence of composers who have, we feel, been unjustly neglected, such as this one and this one. It would be very easy to saturate this blog with the lives and music of hundreds, nay thousands, of obscure figures in the vain hope of igniting a little interest in their output, but this seems both an impractical and an inadvisable course of action. How can one be sure that any musician is actually worth celebrating?
To this end, and also fulfilling an earlier promise, I have prudently devised several categories in order to aid with the Neglected Composers series. This are designed as a quick field guide to determining the reasons for the aforementioned neglect (a printable leaflet version with diagrams, life cycle, conservation status etc may become available should demand arise) and allow the observer to determine the worthiness of hitherto unheard-of composers through five easy labels:
#1. 'Loada Rubbish': Composer's music is genuinely worthless; either over-contrived, formulaic, uninteresting, juvenile or in some other way considered by our good selves to be, in a nutshell, a pile of crap. Examples: I lack the legal clout to provide a full list, which is a strong hint that most of the exponents are composers still alive and working.
#2 'Of its Time': Music is either too obscure in conception to be appealing without specialist knowledge, too reliant on dead cultural idioms to make ready sense to modern ears, or boring due to subsequent repeated pillaging of ideas. Examples: all kinds of medieval chaps such as Anonymous I, II, III and IV, Hildegard of Bingen etc; most pre-Tudor folk song; increasingly musique concrete.
#3. 'Wrong Side of the Fence': Composer worked under insular regime, was in exile, imprisoned, or from territory with few cultural links to the rest of the world. This can also apply to certain periods of output from otherwise well-known figures. Examples: Tubin, Popov, Pavel Haas.
#4. 'They Liked it Back Then, But...': Music is popular/fashionable, even to the point of celebrity, during composer's lifetime, but inevitable dip in interest following death has turned into a nosedive of obscurity. Examples: Rubinstein, Salieri, Stanford.
#5. 'Who?': Composer has made little or no attempt at posterity - music either written for personal enjoyment, deliberately unpublished, or lacking in any commercial nouse. Either that, or too new to have yet reached a mass audience. Examples: Sorobji, Gesualdo, scores of contemporary composers lucky enough not to be in Catagory One.
Rest assured, dear reader(s) that in future posts we shall continue to select only figures worthy of mention on ITM. Alternatively, the occasional post along the lines of 'Just Exactly What's Wrong with Morten Lauridson' may not go amis either.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Post-mortum
OK, let's cut to the chase: I didn't win.
Naturally, this is a disappointment, but it comes with much for consolation. I was told first-hand by the member of the orchestra on the selection panel that the number of entrants in the competition was over a hundred, and that more than thirty of these had postgrad music degrees. Simply getting to the final means that my piece was judged to be superior to a significant number of very well-qualified competitors. Also, how many 23-year-olds have actually had some orchestral work performed in a public concert? Hearing a piece on this scale played in front of you is a valuable piece of education as well as a great excitement.
Best of all was after the concert, when I was taken to a series of after-parties by members of the orchestra. These became gradually less formal in stages; firstly with a drinks reception in which I met Sally Beamish and exchanged pleasantries, then the rest of the judges and select members of the orchestra. All were highly complimentary, as were the wonderful students of St Andrews whom I had no difficulty pretending I was one of. Later, as I went to a theatre bar with some new friends, I began to get more and more the impression that orchestra generally preferred my piece to play than the other two (St Andrews does not have a music department, so the concert was all the more impressive given that it was played by linguists, scientists and English students). I was particularly pleased when the timpanist greeted me with the soundly delivered statement: 'That was a really excellent timpani part!'. The principal cellist - I believe she was called Jo - was also very complimentary (I'd written a cello solo towards the end of the work) and several other players made it known that although the parts were somewhat difficult in places, it was still highly enjoyable to play. By the after-party the effect of alcoholic beverages had kept the stream of encouraging comments from the players alive. I thus consider to have fulfilled one of my 'golden rules' of composition. I was quite ready for my complimentary night at the Fairmont hotel by the end (less so for the rally-esque driving style of a Fifeian taxi driver, on an unlit A91, in fog, at 2am) and will remember St Andrews' students with the greatest of affection.
I must, of course, consider possible reasons for having not won the prize. High on the list is the quality of the other two entrants' music; Mark Boden (the winner) and Simon Smith, both of whom are older and more experienced than myself. By coincidence, all three pieces took literary sources as their inspiration, and both of theirs showed some technical prowess above my own, particularly with regard to texture. That said, I think that the overall style of the other two finalists' pieces was a) rather similar and b) not as specifically tailored to the occasion as mine. Simon's piece was subtitled 'elegy for orchestra', and whilst a very effective piece of writing in its own, begs the question of whether it is entirely appropriate for what is really a celebration. My approach to composition in The Sun Rising seemed distinctly traditional: fugal counterpoint, more 'edges', clear melodic motifs and a more impassioned, rhetorical style. Mark and Simon's music seemed to use a palate of much more amorphous, texture-based sonorities in which the parts of the orchestra generally mix together into an overall effect. Not for the entire course of a piece - Simon's featured a prominent bass clarinet solo - but there was much less in the way of individual lines for instruments than in my music. I can't help thinking this may have been a weakness in my work, as in several places the orchestration did not work quite as expected, and my string parts were very demanding. On the other hand it made for what I (and others) felt was more exciting and exuberant music... Still, I broadly agree with the choice of Mark's Six Degrees as the winner, at least on its musical merits. And I shall keep very safe the bound copy of all the premiered scores, which we were presented with after the concert.
The tourist-y bit of my trip will be subject to an illustrated commentary in the near future, which we hope will be both entertaining and enlightening.
Naturally, this is a disappointment, but it comes with much for consolation. I was told first-hand by the member of the orchestra on the selection panel that the number of entrants in the competition was over a hundred, and that more than thirty of these had postgrad music degrees. Simply getting to the final means that my piece was judged to be superior to a significant number of very well-qualified competitors. Also, how many 23-year-olds have actually had some orchestral work performed in a public concert? Hearing a piece on this scale played in front of you is a valuable piece of education as well as a great excitement.
Best of all was after the concert, when I was taken to a series of after-parties by members of the orchestra. These became gradually less formal in stages; firstly with a drinks reception in which I met Sally Beamish and exchanged pleasantries, then the rest of the judges and select members of the orchestra. All were highly complimentary, as were the wonderful students of St Andrews whom I had no difficulty pretending I was one of. Later, as I went to a theatre bar with some new friends, I began to get more and more the impression that orchestra generally preferred my piece to play than the other two (St Andrews does not have a music department, so the concert was all the more impressive given that it was played by linguists, scientists and English students). I was particularly pleased when the timpanist greeted me with the soundly delivered statement: 'That was a really excellent timpani part!'. The principal cellist - I believe she was called Jo - was also very complimentary (I'd written a cello solo towards the end of the work) and several other players made it known that although the parts were somewhat difficult in places, it was still highly enjoyable to play. By the after-party the effect of alcoholic beverages had kept the stream of encouraging comments from the players alive. I thus consider to have fulfilled one of my 'golden rules' of composition. I was quite ready for my complimentary night at the Fairmont hotel by the end (less so for the rally-esque driving style of a Fifeian taxi driver, on an unlit A91, in fog, at 2am) and will remember St Andrews' students with the greatest of affection.
I must, of course, consider possible reasons for having not won the prize. High on the list is the quality of the other two entrants' music; Mark Boden (the winner) and Simon Smith, both of whom are older and more experienced than myself. By coincidence, all three pieces took literary sources as their inspiration, and both of theirs showed some technical prowess above my own, particularly with regard to texture. That said, I think that the overall style of the other two finalists' pieces was a) rather similar and b) not as specifically tailored to the occasion as mine. Simon's piece was subtitled 'elegy for orchestra', and whilst a very effective piece of writing in its own, begs the question of whether it is entirely appropriate for what is really a celebration. My approach to composition in The Sun Rising seemed distinctly traditional: fugal counterpoint, more 'edges', clear melodic motifs and a more impassioned, rhetorical style. Mark and Simon's music seemed to use a palate of much more amorphous, texture-based sonorities in which the parts of the orchestra generally mix together into an overall effect. Not for the entire course of a piece - Simon's featured a prominent bass clarinet solo - but there was much less in the way of individual lines for instruments than in my music. I can't help thinking this may have been a weakness in my work, as in several places the orchestration did not work quite as expected, and my string parts were very demanding. On the other hand it made for what I (and others) felt was more exciting and exuberant music... Still, I broadly agree with the choice of Mark's Six Degrees as the winner, at least on its musical merits. And I shall keep very safe the bound copy of all the premiered scores, which we were presented with after the concert.
The tourist-y bit of my trip will be subject to an illustrated commentary in the near future, which we hope will be both entertaining and enlightening.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Lines composed whilst packing
I shall be flying off in a few hours to Edinburgh (although not before going to a meeting at work), where tomorrow I will then travel on to St Andrew's for the final of the competition in which The Sun Rising is to be performed. Having remembered this morning to bind a copy of the score I feel my preparations are pretty much complete - indeed practically everything has been out of my hands since early February, and my success in this competition depends now almost entirely on the performance of the orchestra and the disposition of the judges. Nevertheless, whatever happens it will be a valuable experience and an interesting trip to somewhere I haven't ever visited; so, should my phone be up to the job, I may attempt a spot of mobile blogging whilst there.
A full report with plenty of pictures will be available after I return on Friday night. If possible, excerpts from the recording of my piece may also appear so you can hear what all the fuss is about. Pray for good weather!
A full report with plenty of pictures will be available after I return on Friday night. If possible, excerpts from the recording of my piece may also appear so you can hear what all the fuss is about. Pray for good weather!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A short announcement
Namely 'Huzzah, this year's Proms programme has been released!'
A fuller analysis of the season's offerings may be produced in time, but a cursory glance at the listings uncovers more than enough to whet my auditory appetite. Notably, there's a pleasing amount of lesser-performed music, including Bax's Second Symphony, Berg's Der Wein, and actually some Honegger. The usual classics predictably get another outing, but who's complaining - where else can you listen six feet away from Valery Gerghiev for a fiver?
A fuller analysis of the season's offerings may be produced in time, but a cursory glance at the listings uncovers more than enough to whet my auditory appetite. Notably, there's a pleasing amount of lesser-performed music, including Bax's Second Symphony, Berg's Der Wein, and actually some Honegger. The usual classics predictably get another outing, but who's complaining - where else can you listen six feet away from Valery Gerghiev for a fiver?
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