From our Sounds Promising Young Composers, Part II
/In an environment where access to opportunities for emerging composers is more competitive than ever, Salastina’s Promising Composers Programme has been like gold dust at this point in my career. As Nicholas Ma so wonderfully put it in the first half of this blog post — not only have we had the opportunity to write, workshop, and record a new piece for Salastina’s world-leading musicians, but also to connect and curate a real community of composers through our monthly Family Meetings over Zoom with with Maia, Kevin, and Derrick.
I’ve definitely found the selection process for Sounds Promising to be unique amongst many artist development initiatives and schemes. It’s always interesting to see what happens when you put a group of “community leaders” together, so to speak — almost like curating a community of communities. From my experience on this programme, it’s led to fascinating conversations and insights in our Family Meetings; while each of us has a very different skillset that we’ve honed through the different facets of work we’ve done, we’re all learning from each other, bouncing ideas about contemporary music and the artistic community, and helping each other out.
Alongside fellow Sounds Promising participant Nicholas Ma, I wanted to provide an opportunity for all of us composers to reflect on our experience on the programme, how each of our individual approaches have shaped our pieces for Salastina, and how the programme has developed us as artists. If you haven’t yet, please do read the first of these two blog posts, hosted by Nicholas — and do stay tuned for the second half of these wonderful premieres, happening this Sunday 19th!
- Zygmund de Somogyi
Quite a few people have been involved in cross-cultural and cross-genre projects (including Derrick) - what kinds of projects have you undertaken + how have they impacted your work?
Jazreel Low: There is a locally-brewed composition workshop-cum-programme called the New Sights Fellowship, which focuses on featuring instruments from different ethnic ensembles in Singapore, and hosts workshops for idiomatic writing as well as exploring the local culture. It was through this program that I gleaned a deeper appreciation for Singapore's multiculturalism and was prompted to contemplate the necessity of achieving equal representation in music. In writing my composition, ‘Shophouses’, I tried to strike the right balance between traditional and Western musical elements whilst writing idiomatically for the different ethnic musicians. It also incorporates various ragas and maqams interchangeably with different modes - this is something I would like to feature more of in future works!
I previously also scored the music for a short documentary titled Pulau, which featured the migration of local inhabitants from Singapore’s neighboring islands (also known as “pulau”) due to land development pressures. The director wanted music throughout the film, so it challenged me to write in a way that did not overwhelm the dialogue and have the music shift to match the tone of the scene, whilst incorporating elements of traditional musical timbre for a more “kampong” feel.
Zygmund de Somogyi: I’ve recently been doing a lot of experimental theatre work! I’ve spent the past year working with an immersive theatre company called Mushmoss Collective, with wonderful collaborators and humans Ariella Como Stoian and Susie MacDonald (and sometimes actor Lisa Maeda — whose narration features in my piece for Salastina, ‘A LIGHTHOUSE FEVERDREAM’!). Our roles are all multi-faceted; rather than a traditional “theatre company” setup where I’m mainly in charge of the sonic side of things, we all have a hand in different parts of the process. One of our most recent shows involved an installation we call the “Memory Tree” — an immersive archive of audiences’ experiences and shared storytelling, with responses and changes reflected between each performance. I also played a prophetic shrimp giving out ominous tarot cards. It’s been a lot of fun to work on.
I’m always surrounded by, and immersing myself in, interdisciplinary and cross-genre projects as a composer. Much of this probably has to do with my upbringing. I’m not from a classical background — I struggled with the cultural baggage and lexicon of classical music for a long time (and to an extent, still do). I learned music from playing in punk rock bands and touring the country playing small DIY basements — I still play in a punk band, writing songs under the moniker Trouble Sleeping with some old friends of mine in Sheffield.
In a lot of ways, I’d say my approach to composing is more informed by my experiences in punk and DIY communities than classical music. I never bought into the mythologies of classical music — therefore, I feel much of my appreciation of the canon comes from a more naturalistic and purely-musical place, outside of that cultural baggage. But what do I know. Maybe I just like sounding cooler than I actually am.
Are you a sketch-on-hand type of person or a compose on software, etc, and how does that affect your composition process? (Eg. Derrick says he is a compose-from-start-to-end type of person.)
Mieke Doezema: I use a combination of techniques to investigate potential compositional ideas. My routine usually starts with improvising on guitar or piano (neither are my main instrument) to unravel some sort of melody, texture, or sonority I find interesting. As I record myself, I will either talk through or sing where I think an idea could go. Once I have my recordings, I will then move on to notation using software or hand. I try to practice writing by hand to strengthen my inner ear but I think it’s fair to say many of us skip to software notation in a crunch.
Aaron Israel Levin: My composition process often starts by accident. I find inspiration in everyday sensations and experiences, like the sting of a bitter winter wind, or that sloshy, molasses-like feeling of trying to run in dreams. Out of nowhere, I might have the idea for a melody or orchestrational color. I’ll then go to the piano to try and translate this idea from my imagination into something that can be performed by a real life musician. From there, my composition process dances between playing at the piano, sketching by hand, and using computer software to help me realize these concepts. This process is often messy and inconsistent, but Salastina’s composer mentor Derrick Skye — with his own idiosyncratic and brilliant process — has been an invaluable resource in helping me refine the mysterious, beautiful, and scary undertaking of transforming musical ideas into musical reality.
William Jae: A little old school, but I usually sketch my pieces by hand on the piano. Once I get a decent grasp of what I want (or when I run out of paper), I then begin inputting the music onto a notation software. When I first started composing, I didn't have access to notation software and I had to heavily rely on my ears to accurately imagine the music. Looking back, I find that playing the music is a much more holistic and hands-on approach. Although I will say, it is fun to put together the most absurd tuplets onto a notation software and hear it play back.
What role does research play in your compositional process (cultural traditions, interdisciplinary subjects, current events)?
Celina Kintscher: My piece for Salastina, ‘Fractured Hope’, took me on a journey of feeling the emotions, processing the emotions, understanding the event, and translating all of that into music. I felt the urge to write about an event that moved me, kept me up at night, and deserved undivided attention: the earthquake in Turkey earlier this year. This time I was a bystander to someone else’s reality. My role was to retell, but in order to achieve that I had to feel even the tiniest fraction of those emotions myself. Being in contact with a Turkish family, I went from thinking about the earthquake largely as a physical event to the huge aftermath that thousands had to deal with. The journey from desperation to some sort of peace was personified in my head as Hope. If Hope is a being, perhaps it truly cannot recover from some forms of grief. It’s fractured — but its pieces are still there. In honoring the Turkish family’s story, ‘Fractured Hope’ became a commemoration of the tribulations Turkey was facing, making its way across the ocean to an audience who, like me, could just try to understand.
Zygmund de Somogyi: Compositionally, I think everything is a kind of research. It doesn’t have to be academic or anything (and definitely isn’t, for me) — but learning something about yourself, what sounds you like/dislike, what works for what instrument for whose ears… It’s all research, in its own way.
For me, what interests me the most is feeling. Music — whether mine or other peoples’ — has always been an avenue to express myself in a way I can’t with words. I usually describe my compositional aesthetic as metamodern, or “post-postmodern” — or aligning with cultural sensibilities of metamodernism — which forms the backbone of my compositional research. There’s a lot to describe within that field, but what speaks to me the most are its treatment of simultaneous irony and sincerity — being serious while pointing out the impossibility of seriousness — somewhere between hope and cynicism, between “modern” romanticism and “postmodern” apathy. Films like Everything Everywhere All At Once, or TV shows like The Last of Us or BoJack Horseman, do this very well.
That being said — for me, the best art is that which transcends the era in which it’s created. I wouldn’t necessarily say my work is overtly political, or engages directly with current events — however, I do believe my work is still political, in the sense that engages with the mentalities and sensibilities of its time. In a sense, everything is political — it just depends to what degree one engages with political structures.
Mieke Doezema: I strive to make sure the stories I tell through my music are accurate and founded in facts. When I draw inspiration from a concept, I make sure to double and triple check that my thoughts and opinions are based in fact and that they are poignant enough to cause debate. Whether I am inspired by martial arts or climate change, I make sure to research all angles to verify the picture I’m painting is my irrefutable truth.
How do you find a sense of closure/know when to end a piece? (Always going back to re-edit, having a trillion “final” copies titled Composition FINAL DRAFT 28 REAL.pdf)
William Jae: As long as the performers find it doable, I am content. My professor once said that, "A work of art is never finished, it is merely abandoned." Although I may never write a perfect piece, I do believe the ideas persist and will permeate and transform in future works.
Jazreel Low: I am no stranger to having many “final” versions myself; last I counted, I had less than a trillion, but more than 28 versions of what was supposed to be the final work. But more often than not, my works are never considered final until the “final final” performance/recording. We could probably find infinite ways to add and change things in a piece, especially because of the rate at which we learn about new forms/techniques to experiment with. Ultimately, the deciding factor definitely has to be how accurately the piece conveys its intentions and of course, the much more tangible deadline.
Riccardo Perugini: Discovering closure within a composition requires finesse. I've discovered that self-imposed deadlines provide a valuable sense of conclusion. Equally essential is accepting imperfections; perfection is an elusive goal. Maintaining a continuous workflow nudges you to finalize one project and move forward to the next. Furthermore, revisiting compositions after a few years and crafting new versions for different instruments enables me to infuse my present artistic vision into my older music, breathing new life into it while achieving a fresh sense of closure.
How was the experience attending the rehearsals of the pieces, and hearing the other composers’ pieces come to life too?
Jonah Cohen: Attending the rehearsals of the pieces was just a ton of fun. Salastina's Resident Artists and guest artists were such a joy to interact with, and were very flexible and willing to make adjustments. Working with musicians of an extremely high caliber is always a privilege, but Salastina's musicians are really something special. Hearing my pieces and the pieces of my colleagues come to life through the rehearsal process was very informative, and I feel that I have gained a greater understanding of the logistics of rehearsal and the capabilities of different instruments. In addition, I have to give a big shout out to Adan Alonso, Salastina's Virtual Production Manager, who was so helpful and accomodating during the workshops.
Nicholas Ma: It’s always such an incredible (and at times, surreal!) experience seeing your composition come to life. I’m always amazed at this process - what initially may have been fuzzy images in your ears or on the page gets given form in the real world by performers who have dedicated their time and experience to playing your piece. HyeJin, Luanne, and Charlie played my piece way better than I could have imagined - I love how they also added their own artistic interpretations to the piece (especially in the limited aleatoric sections!) and whenever there were parts I was concerned about, they made helpful suggestions and demonstrations on how I could improve these figurations.
Listening to the other rehearsals was also fascinating. It offered a glimpse into how my peers composed, their inspirations, and thought processes. They would often come up with techniques or ideas that were so unique! Just listening to their pieces and what the performers had to say about their works greatly enriched my own artistic perspective. Apart from this, I also learnt about the technical side of things. Adan, who was in charge of all the technical equipment and recording, gave many helpful tips and information about gear, setup, and recording details when he heard my interest in how professionals do recording sessions. Overall, this was an invaluable experience!
In a world where it feels like classical music is under threat — through the economic reality of emerging artists in the industry, the evisceration of major arts funding in my home country, the elitists who proclaim the irrelevance of classical music and composers — sticking together, building a foundation of artistic community, is more important than ever. It’s unbelievably heartwarming to have experienced the solidarity, camaraderie, and kinship that Salastina have nurtured with us this past year. One naturally osmoses the mentality and ideology of those one surrounds oneself with — and I hope that I can take forward what I’ve learned through this ambitious, nurturing, and inclusive community that I’m unreservedly grateful to be part of.
To round off this season of Sounds Promising: I want to extend a wholehearted, unwavering thank you to Salastina’s amazing directors, Maia and Kevin; to our mentor Derrick Skye, whose artistic and developmental insights have been invaluable; to all of Salastina’s wonderful performers, who did such an incredible job at realising our pieces; to our technical maestro Adan (for his intransigent patience!); to Audrey, Marissa, and everyone who made Sounds Promising possible for us; and finally, to all of the composers and artists who have made music and community with Salastina — past and present. You’ve all made our experience together so unbelievably special.
See you at the premieres!