In this section I unpack matters regarding the creative life of a composer and those who play and listen to the music they produce. I talk of my experience in the light of those performers and listeners and I weave together those experiences to assist in informing not only what makes me write music but what convinces me that what I do can be of use to others.
Nicholas Cook (1998) talks of authority and authoritarian concepts in relation to both the composition and performance of Western art music. He strives to demystify the hierarchical web of importance he suggests has been put in place over the years and which permeates our connection with music; our intersection with it in a multiplicity of ways. His assertion that, "...the idea which developed during the early reception of Beethoven's music, that to listen to it was in some sense to be in direct communion with the composer himself..." (1998, p. 25) coalesces well with my position on these matters. Placing the composer "in direct communion" with the receiver, both performer and listener, is the position I hold and one which other composers, generally, may seek as well.
The work of Scott K Phillips (2003) reminds me that I am positioned in relation to, and dependent upon, my connections to all those I work with and serve. In discussing Biblical imperatives in personal living he notes that, "None of us can survive and thrive on our own. We are each nested in relationships of various sorts" (2003, p. 53). When glancing back at Cook we are reminded that his assumed authority figures (the composer, conductor and 'appraiser' p. 26-27) of the music world demand that the listener, the audience, in a broad sense, remain aloof from the music–making and to ensure they know the "...correct way to listen..." (1998, p. 27). He contends that music educators, one of the appraisers he presents, tell their pupils to, "...listen attentively, respectfully, in a detached manner (avoiding being caught in the sensory or emotional ebb and flow of the music), and informed by appropriate knowledge" (1998, p. 27). Yet Phillips says we cannot survive alone.
Here I find a struggle for myself: while I relate to Cook's assertions about communicating with the 'composer', I also find myself trying to distance myself from the authoritarian roles which I also assume (composer, conductor and teacher). I strive to move myself away from the dynamics of the paradigm Cook asserts and to locate myself, following Phillips, "nested in relationships"; relationships with performers and audience, with students and those who find my music attractive and confronting.
In conversation with Stephen Cronin (Head of Composition at the Queensland Conservatorium and a colleague), we canvassed the notion of where the connection is for people in listening to music. I spoke of my spiritual perspectives, both past and present, with respect to composition, and he confronted me with the argument that, "...notes don't mean anything...it's what they...make happen in a person..." that is of value (personal communication, February 3, 2005).
Similarly, composer Andrew Boysen suggests that music "notation is so generalised, it's so crude, in a way" (personal communication, October, 2006). In fact, "...between and around...notes, so to speak, lies a vast domain of interpretive possibility..." (Cook 1998, p. 64) The utilising of that 'interpretive possibility', and the response to it, depends on the individual, both performer and listener. Arguably it transcends the "attentively, respectfully, (and) detached" stance proposed by Cook for it would be reasonable to contend that musicians seek "to pick music which is hopefully going to change (the) life (of the listener and performer) somehow" A. Boysen (personal communication, October, 2006).
Such insights challenge me to state where I stand and, through this investigation, explore where I am in respect to my own work and its connection to others. That will inform others in how to build a relationship with my work (and therefore with me) and it will guide my awareness and intimacy with other composers and their output.
The ideas of Laurel Richardson resonate strongly with the narrative focus of my work:
In line with Richardson's arguments, the narrative which is the musical work My Sister's Tears, is at the heart of this process and fundamental in interrogating why I compose. The piece itself presents the story of my response to my sister's suicide in a unique manner; it casts a particular light upon it that no text-based narrative can. The validity of the musical narrative's position is strengthened when composers say:
Though Touchin may well describe deliberation or reflection more than the telling of a full story, his assertion here places the manner of a composer's response to events and their subsequent presentation or representation through musical works into the broad landscape of narrative.
I am assured of my conviction again when Chuck Elledge (Music Editor for the Neil A Kjos Music Company in San Diego, personal communication, July 12, 2005) empathises with me:
From Germany, a colleague tells me that she has, "...worked on (the) composition My Sister's Tears and studied the score, listened to the music. I have no words. I'm overwhelmed. And I really could cry that I have NO BAND [...] to conduct such [...] incredible music." (Marianne Halder, German clarinettist, personal communication, February 19, 2008). Halder gives weight to my contention that the music may itself carry a narrative potently and convincingly.
At the premiere of My Sister's Tears my eldest daughter's partner, Rick Stone, responded to the narrative located in the music.
These responses, from the composer, the editor, the player and the listener, illuminate matters for they tell of an emotional response to the work.
These musicians know me, but their responses are unsolicited. Even then, Elledge could have returned the work with an acceptance or a rejection letter. Significantly, the piece elicited a response beyond the required publisher's reply. There is a story to tell here and one that has engaged those who have come in contact with it. Is it that the musical score can indeed be a legitimate form of narrative? Arguably one might contend that the program notes elicit a response telling the story of the genesis of the work as they do, but the work would still need strength of narrative on its own to earn the reaction from such a diverse group of people as noted here.
This story has inspired a "...conversation from the point of view of the reader..." with both Elledge and Touchin and it has allowed them to both empathise from what has happened in their own lives (see Bochner in Denzin and Lincoln, 2000, p. 748). Rick has suffered the same agony of losing a sibling. On the night of the premiere of My Sister's Tears we spent a long time on deep conversation over our shared grief. His description of how the music portrays "...feelings not of an event per se but ongoing reflections..." illuminates his feelings and experiences, as much as it does mine. Colleagues, friends, family, all attest to the impact of the narrative which is My Sister's Tears.
Working from my position that the compositions can act as narrative, I must now talk about them more broadly and consider the technique, the functionality, the pedagogy and the spiritual impulses that are often seminal in what I do.
I warm to Holsinger's colloquial description of his compositional style and output, as well as his admission that words are not his forte. He suggests that
Much resonates here with me though I am not as affectionately predisposed to his "composer guy" appellation. The experiences I have are ones where I have composed intuitively with little understanding of what compositional parameters might be considered to be. Having had no formal training in composition, or music theory for that matter, I instead, called on aural images and the visual discovery I engaged in as a young musician, and that would lead my pencil as I wrote. I heard what a work sounded like, looked at the score and saw how it was done.
Holsinger's description of the early work he did in the study of composition coalesces well with my experience, though I had no teacher. He is "...basically a 'binge' composer' and the manner in which he approaches his work is to "...grab any chance (he) can get and then 'go around the clock." For he finds that, "music is easy. When it's there, it simply pours out" (2002, pp. 171-172).
As I find, Holsinger admits to a 'process' but he enthusiastically tells how 'good intuition' also leads him.
Though loathe to be considered in the same paragraph on compositional matters as Stravinsky, I am caught by Holsinger's portrayal of how he saw his immersion in the art and how it produced vibrant artistic outcomes for him, especially as the 'intuitive' compliments the 'process'. I am accepting of Holsinger's assertion for I often experience a similar situation in my work.
When circumstance found me in a position to 'learn' music theory with the aid of a teacher, I was already a published composer with awards and award nominations for my output and with concert music and documentary film sound tracks in my portfolio. I still remember vividly the day in second year theory at the University of Queensland, at the age of 35, when the lecturer asked, "What is in a Neapolitan 6th?" and I answered, "Chocolate, vanilla and strawberry." After the grunt from the lecturer subsided, he wrote the chord on the board. I knew it intuitively (a substitute dominant seventh on the flattened supertonic is what I understood it to be), I could hear it in my aural imagination but I had never heard of a Neapolitan 6th.
Holsinger said that, as his compositional career developed, he "wised up" and considered Stravinsky once more.
My "wising up" has come as I have endeavoured to pass my skills and understandings on to my students. Not only am I a "composer guy" but a "teacher guy" and "conductor guy" as well. Any capacities I have to enrich my students in their pursuits would be limited by any incapacity of mine to inform, elucidate and provoke enquiry from them. I interrogated some of those ideas in relation to my Symphony for Wind Orchestra where I pondered the dichotomy that can exist between intuition and tuition; between craft and creativity.
Here I pursue similar matters in regard to My Sister's Tears and other recent works. As I contemplated the sketch of My Sister's Tears I wrote that,
A more detailed treatment of these themes can be found in the review journal cited above. The other doctoral works are addressed at various levels of intensity and Jessie's Well is interrogated in depth.
In my Masters work I reflected on the manner in which I write a piece. I suggested that:
Further to that I asserted that, "sketches form a vital part of my compositional activity but not in the same way as outlined above (Beethoven). It may be that my total lack of keyboard skills precludes me from a physically and aural developmental activity. I find that, quite often, the composition is worked through most thoroughly in my head" (1997, p. 171). I am suggesting here that the physical manifestation of the compositional process, the visible and measurable, are just that, manifestations and not the process itself.
My sense here is that composing, for me, happens on the inside. It is realised in the sketch and, in doing so, sieved through the years of experience of technique, pedagogy and professional life to produce a playable product. For example, as I orchestrate I work through the score paper and place all the instructions, musical descriptors, time and key signs onto the pages because not only does it give me a "template to write on unhindered but it also allows me to check structure, to revisit form and to consider once again the resources I have conceived the work for" (Jessie's Well journal summation, 2005, p. 1).
It is important to assert here that this sieving is not about reducing the work to any form of the "lowest common denominator" to fit a skill set of players or publisher requirements. More so, it is about awareness coming into the process. Much is subconscious in the compositional process for me and making them "physical", by writing onto a manuscript sketchpad, is a bringing into the light the ideas which may not have formed fully in a conscious sense. Whether the work is for amateurs or professionals the act of composition is substantially subconscious, and part of the filtering of the seminal compositional ideas takes place through their manifestation on paper.
Each step of this creative process gradually moves the work to a place where it is rendered viable. A commission to write for elementary band musicians does not commence by placing limitations on the creative process because of the skills they possess. It is, in fact, informed by my experience of writing for this type of ensemble. The writing of the sketch and the score, as noted above, becomes the final act. This is not a measure of the art but a description of the process.
The works under consideration in this doctoral submission range from those composed for 10 and 11 year olds and their energetic immersion in musical endeavour, to professionals. Great consideration goes into the writing of each work whether it is for the finest of musicians or those with more enthusiasm than skill.
Later in this chapter I will discuss the matters that pertain directly to the understanding required to write music for inexperienced musicians. An imperative here is to note that all my works are works in which every endeavour is made to write quality music. British composer Martin Ellerby attests to this when asserting that,
There is no artistic compromise here, rather, a pragmatic realisation of the ephemeral nature of seminal compositional ideas.
Ellerby's assertion suggests that my quest to compose quality works is being accomplished. In looking at my work from a distance he hears in it qualities which are evidence of a composer striving to write music of integrity. In writing music comprised of simple rhythms and uncomplicated harmonies there is no compromise of artistic integrity for it is the work I had intended to write for the musicians I had to write for. My understanding of what younger or inexperienced musicians are capable of is manifest in such a piece, for one must craft a work to the capacities of the performer.
Most often my compositions are written for a purpose; for a specific reason or client. Of the 34 works within the purview of this investigation, 24 are commissions of some form. Of those 24, 19 are commissions at a full arms length from my every day work situation.
This has led me to reflect on what it is that draws commissioners to my work? Staines suggests that familiarity with those works extant is the most solid form of enticement. On beginning the commissioning process for Joshua, he said, "I am delighted that you are happy to compose a work for us. As I mentioned on the phone, we have performed a number of your pieces over the years and my students were excited when I told them we were asking you to compose for us a new piece" (Gavin Staines, Australian conductor, personal communication, August 2, 2005).
For others it is simply my established reputation. The Ministry of Education in Singapore's request, that became With all Thy Might, was much more matter of fact when saying, "As you are an established composer and are familiar with our Singapore Band standard, we are wondering if you will be keen to take up this project." The project was "to write the set piece for next year's Central Judging of Concert Bands for Primary Schools" (Michelle Ang, Co-curricular Activities Officer, Ministry of Education, Singapore, personal communication, September 7, 2005) and that circumstance made the selection of me as composer more about my capacity to produce a work that met specific criteria I understood than about the excitement of a new work.
Some of the works I have composed over the duration of my doctoral study have been written at the request of colleagues at the Queensland Conservatorium or as part of the outreach program of the Young Conservatorium, which I lead academically and artistically. Thus, the works are varied in content and technical and musical demands. For example, Head of Ensembles at the Queensland Conservatorium, Michael Morgan, requested I write a concerto–type work for an honours student. "I should like to suggest again Jamie Kennedy, trombone, who played another fine audition this year. Would you be able to work him in? He auditioned on the Groendahl and would like to play that; however, if you'd like to write him a piece.... :)" (personal communication, September 22, 2005). I responded enthusiastically and Morgan reacted similarly; "I'm really excited about the prospect of a new concerto from you! And I'm sure Jamie is as well" (personal communication, October 5, 2005). The product of this suggestion is Dance Diversions, a concertino for trombone and wind orchestra.
In the development of a specific outreach program within the Young Conservatorium my endeavour was to provide a unique outcome for the finest musicians by way of the composition of a new work for the best ensemble/s involved. I also sought an outcome where those new works might 'flow back' to all musicians involved by way of publication. The planning and implementation of the "Competition and Composition: New Music for Schools" project lead to a series of works being written for various levels of concert band and string orchestra, the majority of which have now been published. The works include A Joyful Noise, Cyclone, Cinque Quattro Alla Marcia, Migaloo and Strip the Willow.
In such cases there is a purpose for me to write, I have a deadline and a specified outcome. But writing a commission is more than that; for me, it is potently linked to my commitment to writing music for the musicians involved, especially when it involves young musicians. As such, it is also strongly connected to the work I do as a teacher and conductor of young musicians and ensembles.
I write with an awareness of who I am writing for though I may not be conscious of that at the time. For instance, when I was writing My Sister's Tears, I noted in my journal, "See how high it sits in the general register of the ensemble...It is something that also has trouble establishing a tonal centre I think. The beginning is floating around D and A major." (MST Review journal, p. 4) I came to realise that this was not a work for amateurs for extremes of range and ambiguous tonal locations are problematic for the less experienced musician. The demands on the players were such that a solid technical mastery and mature musicianship is required for them to connect with all of the demands of the score.
When I write for younger players I am more often aware of the parameters within which I seek to create the work. In considering Jessie's Well I noted that,
I cannot do anything about the hands my music might be placed in when it is finished, and especially when it is published, for many conductors may not have the experience to select repertoire judiciously and might choose works beyond the capacity of their ensemble to play. I strive to produce works for less experienced musicians that connect to accepted norms in standard which are prevalent in the music education community specifically.
Having taught for many years I am cognisant of what abilities are present in the various levels of bands and orchestras I work with. As I write this I am in the process of negotiating commissions for the coming year. The question I always ask is what level the group is. I often do not leave it to the conductor to tell me, but I ask what repertoire they are playing. That allows me to make my own assessment of the capacity of the ensemble I will write for.
While the quality of my music may be up to others to assess, when children tell me that (commenting on Simple Song), "It's a cool song (Emma); I like your song and it's fun to play (Jessica)" then I have a sense that there is something in the work that is engaging. They also tell me that, "I like it because it's hard to count but easy to play (Bonnie)" (Email from the children's band conductor - hyper link this). I know that they are considerate of what I am asking them to do musically and technically, despite their youth.
The case of Cinque Quattro Alla Marcia provides a good example of what is meant by being cognisant of the musical maturation of the ensembles I write for. My experience has shown me that younger musicians enjoy the repetitive nature of ostinati and verse/chorus structures. I had solid contact with the conductor I was working with on the project and she had concerns about what I had written, given her band's experience and the nature of the work. She commented later that "The year 6 students were in their first term of Senior Band and I was asking them to deal with 5/4 time and quite challenging woodwind parts." Jeanette told me that her students "...fell in love with the music, enjoyed playing 5/4, loved the flowing woodwind counter melodies and worked hard at home to perfect their own parts" (Douglas, 2004).
By making such patterns available in music for the younger ensembles it allows them to develop control; with control comes developing expressiveness and with that, satisfaction grows. Swanwick and Tillman's spiral of musical development (2003, p. 76) demonstrates what I had become aware of, that young children engage with the timbre of instruments and voices before they connect with musical expression through performance. As they develop their skills they grow from control through repetition to expressiveness through control.
As they become more able musicians, such patterns and repetitiveness often become less satisfying. In the confirmation process for this study I presented both My Sister's Tears and Cinque Quattro Alla Marcia in a workshop performance mode with my Conservatorium Wind Orchestra. Part of my investigation was to have ensemble members respond to both works. Those responses support my assertion here. Of Cinque Quattro, Carrie suggested "It's very simple and perhaps a little on the boring side, but it works". Another respondent said "the simple melody...gets very tiring" and yet another asserts it was "a tad monotonous...I think it's very well suited for younger bands" (Response sheets from confirmation, 2004). Erin asserts that a "march in 5/4 is an interesting idea and works well" and one university student commented on "interesting orchestration and arrangement" and that the "use of metre was effective" (2004).
My endeavour had been to give them quality music. For me, quality music is not only well constructed and fulfilling its purpose but communicates meaning. Reflecting on the complete "Competition and Composition: New Music for Schools" project, Jeanette Douglas makes a significant statement in saying "I hope that in the future other instrumental music teachers have the opportunity to receive the spiritual gift of music for their ensembles" (personal communication, June, 2004).
As I have alluded to earlier, during this doctoral research I have attempted to explain the spiritual side of what I do. I have also reflected on the nature of my spiritual journey, specifically through the pieces that bridge the time between my Masters and this doctoral investigation. I have considered those works and found that the program notes especially provide insight into my spiritual inclinations during that time of transition from Masters to doctoral work (Hultgren, 2004, p. 3).
In the program note to And Enoch Walked with God... written as a gift to my friend, Tan Beng Wee, I allude to the fact that I, too, would like to "walk with God" (2004, p. 3). I question whether that same man is present in Whirr, Whirr, Whirr!!! when, in the score I ask,
Immortal Invisible, written in 2000, has notes that give evidence of the spiritual journey ever more clearly. Here I refer to myself as "the composer", in the third person as a narrative device.
The work that most strongly bears testament to the fact of spiritual change in my life is Bright Sunlit Morning (2001). The notes in the score tell how my spiritual journey has come to a point of epiphany when I ask the question,
Now, at this point of my life, from December of 2000 in fact, I find that my music is about my soul and my spiritual self. My music is about my faith in Christ and how my belief in Him is paramount. This is not a discussion about whether the music is good, bad or indifferent; this is about why I write music and I sense now that my writing is about a spiritual compulsion and that compulsion is to provide a means for others to speak, to speak of others through my music and to speak myself.
I describe my ability as coming from God. Timothy Mahr, American composer, suggests a similarly conviction. When asked, "where does the music come from?" he asserts, "I am convinced the music is a divine gift from God, a blessing in my life…" Along with Mahr, I agree that "…some may refer to the muse, but I don't quite see it that way" (in Camphouse 2002, p. 235).
Again I find Mahr expressing my feelings solidly when he asserts that, "For some reason, the ability to create music was given to me and I try to take the responsibility very seriously" (in Camphouse 2002, p. 235). This also has resonances with how Martin Ellerby (2005) considers my spiritual locus. He discusses my spirituality and says:
Citing me, he notes:
Having considered that my works can act as narrative and having canvassed broadly matters of technique, functionality, pedagogy and the spiritual imperatives that now underpin what I do as a composer, it seems reasonable to ask whether all of this matters at all. Lawrence Kramer (2007) enquires similarly of classical music and much in his investigation has echoes with mine. As he describes listening to classical music he vividly depicts my relationship to music and especially to my own music: "With classical music I also eavesdrop on myself, to listen to my own experiences. I feel impelled to think about what the music demands and what it offers, what visions it summons and what logic it pursues" (2007, p. 4). Illuminating matters for me further he argues that:
Kramer ponders much on self, location and context here. He also reflects on meaning and personal feeling and in doing so he gives strength to my case. I do not write music to receive praise. That it comes is satisfying, but the primary purpose in composing has more to do with Kramer's considerations. My cultural locus, personal history and sense of self most surely impact on why I write, my desires and the meaning of my works.
When journaling about Jessie's Well, a place I spent much time pondering matters of some emotional and intellectual weight, I stated:
What follows is an in-depth case study of My Sister's Tears. It begins with an autoethnographic narrative of the genesis of the work which describes the story of the story. That narrative is supported by reflections on the compositional process, through personal journals, using this particular work as an exemplar. Responses to the work illuminate the answer to the research question; they give voice, most often other's voices, to the personal intent to change lives through my work.