Blog
This is control
A few years ago I was privileged to have a work of mine feature in a composition workshop given by a renowned Scottish orchestra. It proved to be a pivotal experience for me, but not in the way I could have predicted. I had written quite a fun piece, all melodic riffs and catchy rhythms, that ended with a single, undulating tune echoed from the beginning of the work. Even though this melody was taken-up by most of the ensemble, including three woodwind parts, I didn’t want this phrase to be broken anywhere; putting in places for woodwind players to breathe seemed implausible. So, I took the decision (rather naively, perhaps) that the performers would just have to choose the places to breathe themselves; I assumed that they’d take a breath when necessary in the most musically-sympathetic place.
Well, I was wrong. What actually happened (rather predictably, with the benefit of hindsight) was that my refusal to comply with the practicalities of playing wind instruments resulted in those players continuing the phrase until they literally couldn’t play any further. At this point they desperately gasped for breath, having starved themselves of oxygen for far too long. And I thought: “Well, how weird is that?! Something that I wrote on a piece of paper resulted in three people I have never met before half-asphyxiating themselves!”. It occurred to me that the written score is not just for transmitting musical ideas but also a kind of encoded choreography that the performers adhere to, a series of physical instructions that govern the movement of the group for the duration of a performance.
A second experience, in contrast to this, occurred more recently. Whilst looking over some of my sketches (for a piece that was ultimately abandoned), an instrumental student at the RSAMD complained to me about the way I had written something; “That’s typical of you composers”, she said, “you’re always trying to control us. But you can’t”.
This seemed to juxtapose my experiences in the orchestral workshop and got me thinking; is not all written music a form of control? After all, if you write “down bow” over a note, that symbol controls the violinist’s right arm for a split-second; a semi-breve dictates how a brass player’s natural breathing is interrupted etc. If these actions are all required to create the composer’s music, does this mean the composer has authority over these actions as well as the music itself?
So, I set upon writing a piece that looked into the idea of a musical score being a document that creates a contract of control between composer and performers rather than an artefact that is ultimately independent of the composer and is realized / interpreted by others. The piece is currently entitled Struction (shut-up and listen) and is quite a theatrical work for small ensemble and the composer’s (pre-recorded) voice which makes demands of the instrumentalist, seemingly on a whim. The pre-recorded composer is called Thomas Butler, he shares my name and voice but is essentially a fictional character. He is demanding, often rude, and unrealistic in his expectations of what performers are able to do (quite unlike the real Thomas Butler, I would hope).
Struction isn’t finished yet; it’s currently about seven minutes too short and there’s plenty more to explore in the concept. I’ll write more about this piece as it happens.
And you are?
Greetings.
This is my second attempt at a first post, the original having suffered at the hands of an unfortunate administrative error by my webhost (but that’s another story, the moral of which is “make backups!”). So I’d like to say hello again and welcome you to the weblog, the friendly first-person area in an otherwise austere third-person website.
Here you’ll find information on my current composition projects, ongoing research and general musings on music (new and old). Updates may be a little sporadic but hopefully interesting (we’ll see).
Please join in the discussion, I’d be interested to hear your views. Happy reading!
