Category: Columns

Support Systems

We all know the truism that art doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It exists within the context of the art that has preceded it, and the art with which it is contemporaneous. It exists within the context of the life and beliefs of the artist who created it, and everyone who helped to shape that person’s life and beliefs.

So, too, your career as a freelancer (should you decide to take that path) exists within a broader context of its own. And just as you can shape the context of your art by studying, practicing, and forming the connections to position your art to its best advantage, you can also shape the context of your freelance career by continuing your education, working to refine your practices, and ensuring that you have effective support systems in place.

I’m fortunate to have an incredibly supportive husband, who has acted as both cheerleader and disappointed school teacher as necessary over the years. Both of our families have offered unconditional moral (and sometimes financial) support, and our friends have been at turns enthusiastic and healthily skeptical of my various harebrained ideas.

It’s these support systems that have kept me afloat in more ways than one. They keep me going, and they keep me grounded. If I can get the musical and non-musical parts of my support system excited about a potential project, I know that I’m on to something; and if I’m met with skepticism and confusion, I know that I haven’t thought things through enough.

Support systems keep me going and they keep me grounded.

Sometimes, though, you don’t have the support system that you need. You may have a spouse or parents or friends who stubbornly refuse to understand what you’re trying to do, and who consistently fail to support you when you need it most. It’s frustrating and can be unhealthy if you let it stand in your way. But how do you fix it?

Sometimes, an appropriately timed, calm conversation can help to make some headway. Explaining your goals and your plans to reach them can assuage fears about your future. How many of us have well-meaning families who want the best for us, but think that we’ve chosen the “wrong” path? One conversation won’t fix everything, but it might open the door to more understanding and to a deeper involvement in your art.

Other times, however, you have to create new support systems to make up for the lack of support at home. Maybe that means forming a local group of like-minded people that meets regularly for lunch or coffee, where the members share their successes and their struggles and offer advice, support, and encouragement. Maybe that means finding an online community that you can join to address the same issues. In case you weren’t aware, you’re in one right now. NewMusicBox has built a wonderful community of artists who are trying to make this whole thing work, just like you. Reach out. Ask for advice. Make connections.

You Are Not Alone

Last week, I mentioned bringing my bad habits from my former day job into my freelance life and struggling to get work done. The morning that that article went live, I was on the elliptical machine at my gym, listening to an episode of the Self-Publishing Podcast about time management, and the guest told the story of her early days as a freelancer. While working 60+ hours per week at a corporate job, she managed to get more of her own work done than when her time later became entirely her own. When she said how aghast she had been at that fact, one of the hosts chimed in to say that that very thing is one of the number one issues that freelancers face. It’s an almost universal problem. Most of our lives, we’re on someone else’s schedule (parents, teachers, bosses), and aren’t trained to value our own time in the same way, or taught how to manage ourselves given total freedom. Fortunately, although the problem is common, it’s also easily remedied with the right tools.

We aren’t trained to value our own time.

Over the past few weeks, a number of colleagues have written to say that this or that problem I wrote about deeply resonated with them. I say that not as, “Well done, Dennis,” but to point out that you’ll encounter many of these same problems yourself and that you’re not alone in doing so. Knowing the pitfalls didn’t prevent me from falling prey to any of them, though it allowed me to recognize what was happening and gave me a base of knowledge for how to attempt to remedy the situation. And it was hugely helpful to know that my struggles were not unique—that others had gone through the same thing and had come out the other side.

I Wish I’d Known…

About ten years ago, in large part because of the time commitment required to pursue my master’s degree, I spent a period of two years unable to get a day job. I hadn’t yet done any research into being a freelancer and didn’t consider myself to be one. Nor had I started to learn about the intricacies of publishing or the necessity of approaching my art with an eye toward business and my future. I was a graduate student with no job, only a few, barely paying commissions, and a small handful of web clients who rarely needed my services. I maxed out my student loans and did odd jobs to be able to eat and pay rent. Nearly a decade later, I can recognize that I was severely depressed—mostly spending my days watching Buffy on Netflix while tinkering with client’s sites. I barely composed if it wasn’t required of me. Eventually, I stopped paying rent entirely and was nearly evicted.

I wouldn’t know what I know now if it weren’t for what I didn’t know back then.

Sometimes I look back on those two years and think, “I wish I’d known then what I know now.” Honestly, though, I wouldn’t know what I know now if it weren’t for what I didn’t know back then. Recovering from that period set me on the path that led me to learn about publishing and marketing and distribution models, and to start sharing what I’d learned with others.

And, more importantly, I simply didn’t know those things then. I can speculate endlessly over what I would have done differently and how, but the infinitely more important questions is: how can I take what I’ve learned, and do better now?

Parting Shots

Before I sign off, I’d like to thank NewMusicBox for inviting me to write these posts and for offering me the opportunity to be so publicly vulnerable, and to thank you for following me to some of the darker places of my career. I hope what I have shared offers you some help and inspiration. I think we can all use a little more vulnerability in our lives. Our art demands it, and we should demand nothing less of ourselves.

Don’t let the fear of failure get in your way.

The thought that I’d like to leave you with is that, whether you follow the path of the freelancer or not, when you first start out at anything, you will never be perfect. Composing, engraving, email marketing, publishing, networking: you probably won’t even be good at the beginning. You’ll fail a lot, but you’ll learn from each failure. And every time you do it again, you’ll improve. Don’t let the fear of failure get in your way, or you’ll never get anything done. So go out and fail. Then fail better next time.

Up Next

This last year has been a great start for the Libera Composers Association consortium project; what started as a short-term venture among friends is quickly expanding to a nationally-reaching collaboration between composers and school music programs. While we are still accepting bands for the consortium this season, my co-director Maxwell Lafontant and I are already making plans for next year. We have learned quite a bit in our first season about how to reach out to band directors and what we can do to make our consortium more convenient for them in the future. While there are some general administrative changes underway–such as switching our operating calendar from a “calendar year” model to a “school year” model–there are a lot of bigger-picture changes we hope to make in the coming seasons.

Next year’s composers will write their initial scores as piano reductions so instrumentation of the final product can be tailored to each band.

In order to facilitate a more collaborative experience, we plan to have next year’s composers write their initial scores as piano reductions. In this way, with the main musical material of the work easily accessible and clearly understood, band directors and composers can collaborate throughout the season to tailor the instrumentation of the final product to each band individually. This will also give our composers, most of whom are still in degree programs or freshly graduated, an in-depth look at orchestration and arranging, while also allowing them to more intimately appreciate the kinds of challenges high school bands face. This training will offer them the opportunity to better understand the current high school market for future works and projects, as well as provide them with a variety of arrangements available for future performances.

We have also received a large number of requests to add concurrent series for orchestra and choir, which are also programs across the country in desperate need of projects like this for their students. While we are still looking at how feasible accommodating these requests are at this time, we believe that adding at least one of these ensemble types to our project next year may in fact be possible. We have even discussed the option of using student texts for a future choral series, providing young writers the opportunity to have their words shared across the country as part of our consortium. While we would end up with fewer composers for band next year (only three or four rather than five or six), we would have the ability to work with multiple musical programs within in a single school, thus providing multiple composers (and therefore a wider variety of opportunities to high school students) per program in a single school year.

Max and I have been looking at composers for next year, attempting to find alumni composers in more disparate areas of the country, creating ease of access to our composers for a larger number of schools at a lower cost. We also hope to bring alumni composers together from an even wider variety of disciplines and musical backgrounds.

One of our composers, Dylan Carlson, has been making connections with schools in the Los Angeles area, and we’ve been in discussions with the district about becoming an official arts partner, meaning that those schools would have more consistent access to all of our composers in that geographic area for lessons, workshops, and clinics. These kinds of partnerships could be mutually beneficial for municipalities across the country–Chicago, New York, Atlanta, Dallas. All of these larger metropolitan areas have many schools in a concentrated area that could benefit from young composers working with the students to create more vital, interesting performances for the community, and an even more interactive educational environment for students. Also, with these kinds of partnerships, the potential for interdisciplinary collaboration can be developed as well. With so many of our composers having backgrounds in theater, film, video games, history, the sciences, literature, and the plethora of other fields that our liberal arts education has taught us to synthesize with music, the possibilities for school-wide involvement in this kind of project are endless. We hope to further develop the potential for interdisciplinary work in future seasons, as we work with schools to see what kinds of projects they would like to develop with us.

The goal is to re-engage students in the musical arts and to educate them about the relevancy and vitality of artistic endeavors.

More than anything, the goal of the Libera Composers Association is to re-engage students in the musical arts and to educate them about the relevancy and vitality of artistic endeavors. We feel the best way to accomplish this is to create well-crafted music, to connect students to living composers who are studying and working in the field today, to collaborate directly with music programs—both those in need of revitalization and those looking to further enrich their students’ musical experiences—and to create stronger, more concrete connections between school music programs and their communities through performance. Particularly at time when funding for the arts has become tenuous and school districts are struggling to meet a wide array of demands with smaller budgets, it is more important than ever to bring projects like this to communities across the country.

Course Corrections

Tobenski's calendar with color coded post-it notes.

Within six months of starting my new freelance life, things had gone off the rails a little bit. Even though I’d read The Freelancer’s Survival Guide and had done tons of research, I really wasn’t quite prepared to be my own boss. I carried my resentment toward my former day job into my freelancing, along with all of my bad habits, and that’s not a recipe for success. As a result, I’ve found my freelance life to be an exercise in course correction.

One way my resentment toward the day job manifested itself was in not wanting to get up in the morning, and I carried this over into my self-employment. Sleeping in is a habit that I’ve cultivated my entire life, made worse by insomnia and a penchant for reading late into the night. I hate mornings and, given the opportunity, I do what I can to avoid them: namely, sleeping well into the double-digit a.m. hours. It’s a source of never-ending amusement and frustration for my husband and our families. However, for a freelancer, it can be a terrible habit and a difficult one to break.

For a freelancer, sleeping well into the double-digit a.m. hours can be a terrible habit and a difficult one to break.

Being a night owl isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, but it forces a different kind of schedule on your waking/working life. A good friend of mine has similar sleep patterns to mine and makes it work quite well. He wakes up at the crack of noon, teaches for the afternoon and into the evening, then composes late into the night. His partner, however, works “regular hours.” As a result, they rarely see one another, but they’ve managed to make it work for many, many years. Fortunately, since they’re both musicians and they perform together regularly, they have built-in time to work together, in addition to the specific time that they set aside to be in each other’s company. Otherwise, they would live their lives as ships passing in the night.

Dean Wesley Smith, another night owl, chronicles his daily writing habits on his blog. He sleeps until between 11 and 1, uses daylight hours to manage the small publishing company he co-operates, as well as the antiques and collectibles shop he owns, then deals with his admin tasks and has dinner with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch in the evening, takes an hour or so for TV, then writes until 3 or 4 in the morning. He’s incredibly prolific and has found a rhythm that works very well for him.

Dean and my friend are fortunate not to have children, which would make their schedules untenable. They’re also fortunate to have partners who are fine with the degree of their absence and don’t mind the odd hours they keep.

For myself, I’ve found that because I want to: a) spend time with my husband (who works regular hours at a jingle house); b) be considerate to my neighbors (and my husband) by not working at the piano after certain hours; and c) have a somewhat normal social life, my night owl ways are a hindrance. Consequently, I’ve had to adjust my sleep schedule to ensure that I have more daylight hours in which to work. Admittedly, it wasn’t easy, and I’m prone to relapse; but my husband helps to keep me honest, and we spend our early mornings together at the gym.

I also later came to realize that depression had set in some time during my first year working for myself. It took hold and grew almost imperceptibly: gradually eroding away my motivation and eviscerating my work ethic. I’d never before had cause to worry about either of these, but realized one day that I wasn’t doing what I needed to in order to achieve my goals. As a result, I’ve had to deal with some of the underlying causes for my depression, as well as implement systems to keep myself on track.

Systems

Over the years, I’ve tried a number of different ways of structuring my working hours.

In some systems, I’ve tried scheduling different types of work for different days. For example, only doing web design work on Mondays, blocking off Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for composing and other musical pursuits, and leaving Thursday for anything else that needs to be handled. Or variations thereof.

Other systems involve blocking off time for specific types of tasks and creating a template for the week. A block might be anywhere from 30 minutes to 4 hours and may be labeled variously “composing,” “web work,” “admin,” “podcasting,” or “listening & walking.” In one variation on this, I have just a morning block and an afternoon block, each labeled “Tobenski Music Press,” “Music Publishing Podcast,” “Perfect Enemy Records,” or “Tobenski Web Design,” and I address the priorities of each business during the corresponding block.

A bulletin board with an elaborate vertical and horiztal arrangement of large post-it notes on which various task reminders are handwritten

An attempt to organize my life that seems to be working.

A third system I’ve tried doesn’t parcel out time in increments at all, but sets weekly deadlines for different projects. One week, my priority may be to finish a piece I’m writing, and the next week is devoted to podcast production. Whatever else is on my plate, I have to meet that particular deadline by the end of the week.

I’m still tweaking my systems to find the best solution. Each of the styles I outlined above attracts me for different reasons, as does a more “go with the flow” approach.

The more diverse your activities are, the more difficult it can be to schedule them concretely.

I’ve found that the more diverse your activities are, the more difficult it can be to schedule them concretely, especially when they involve working for clients. Anyone who has done client-based work knows that clients can be the most demanding at the least opportune times. They may have an issue that absolutely needs addressing immediately (or that they think needs addressing immediately), and it can be difficult to say no: both to the client and to the money. With these types of interruptions, which can eat up an entire week or more, it’s difficult to keep a system consistently in place.

Finding Balance

As with diet and exercise, the best system is the one you can stick with. Johnny B. Truant, one of the writers I follow, structures his days in flexible morning and afternoon blocks, with family time built in. He’s up before dawn, writes for four hours, then spends his afternoons on the admin side of things. He’s adamant that the writing and the business stay separate, and he’s equally serious about both. He refuses to work past 6:00 p.m. and never works on weekends, instead devoting that time to his family. With this schedule, he and his writing partners publish a yearly word count equivalent to the entire Harry Potter series, while running a network of eight podcasts, managing four publishing imprints, mentoring other writers, and putting on the yearly Smarter Artist Summit.

Aaron Copland was reported to rise at 9 or 10 a.m. each day, linger over the newspaper, then handle correspondence and business every morning before lunch. In the afternoons, he would engage in score study, prepare lectures and articles, meet with musicians, or read. Finally, he would only compose after dinner, but would carry on until after midnight. On average, he composed around an hour of finished music per year.

Prolific, bestselling authors C.J. Lyons and Joanna Penn completely eschew daily schedules. Lyons thrives on keeping her days varied, and Penn merely blocks off a period of days or weeks for individual projects but keeps her schedule otherwise flexible.

At the moment, when I’m asked how I balance composing with web design and engraving and running two podcasts and being a vocalist, et cetera, I respond, “I don’t.” Right now, what works for me is taking things as they come, prioritizing on a daily and weekly basis while trying to maintain a long-term view of my career at the same time.

What works for me is taking things as they come.

As I write this, I’m within spitting distance of finishing two website redesigns for clients. So until we launch the sites in the next week or two, those clients’ needs (and the checks they’ll be writing me) are my top priority, while writing these weekly columns, because they’re on a short deadline, are a competing priority. Once these columns and the two websites are finished, composing and podcasting will once again move to the front burners. And because I’ll be recording my second album in the coming months, that will take on a larger and larger share of my time until that project is finished. By the end of the year, I have plans to revitalize an old business that has lain fallow for some time and add yet another income stream, while phasing out my reliance on web design and engraving.

Flexibility has become my watchword, and it allows me to juggle all of my pursuits.

One of the best, as well as most frustrating, things about freelancing is that there’s no one way to do it. There is always room for improvement, but the important thing is that you find what works for you. Mimicking others can only get you so far.  It can give you options for how to handle your own scheduling, but—in the end—the only thing that matters is what works.

One Size Doesn’t Fit All, but Can You Hand Tailor a Consortium?

Members of the Deerfield-Windsor School Band

With the other members of the Libera Composers Association already hard at work on their new pieces for the consortium, my co-director Max Lafontant and I set out to find interested directors for the project. Our alma mater, Luther College, is notorious for its numerous Dorian Festivals and camps—programs that host performances and clinics on campus for high school musicians from around the Midwest. We were able to convince the music department to give us a list of band directors who had sent students to the Dorian festival last season, knowing it would be a great source of directors who already had positive ties to Luther and its music program, even if they were not alumni themselves. When we got the list of over 100 bands, Max and I spent weeks combing through school websites to check out the programs and directors.

While many schools and programs were basking in the public glow of their marching band seasons (early-to-mid fall), we found that this was not the case across the board. Some of the band directors no longer taught at the schools. Some had recently had their budgets slashed. (One school in Iowa had even had their band program eliminated entirely.) Max and I became concerned, realizing that—even with our modest instrumentation guidelines for the composers to work with as a core ensemble—there were plenty of schools that simply didn’t have the instruments or resources to participate. While it was too late to accommodate schools in such dire positions for that particular season, it did impact how we planned to move forward with subsequent seasons. (More on this next week.) In the meantime, we reached out to about ninety schools from the list provided to us by Luther, and a few dozen more directors from a pool of colleagues and personal connections. We even had our composers reach out to directors from their hometowns, hoping to make local connections.

Grade 3 concert music can be difficult to find for directors.

Initially, there was a huge response from the band community—grade 3 concert music (late middle-school or early high school levels) can be difficult to find for directors, and many of them indicated they had never been part of a commissioning experience or consortium before. However, our consortium model was unusual. Normally bands will commission a work in tandem from one composer, sometimes receiving updates throughout the composition process, and then premiere the works later in the year. Sometimes bands will join consortiums once a work is finished based on a perusal score and the composer’s reputation. Our consortium had a range of composers and the works were already underway, but incomplete. While we had many interested directors in late September, we found that it was difficult to sustain that initial feeling of investment until our perusal period in January. While we had a band or two join the consortium officially before the scores were complete, most of the directors wanted to see music before committing, but didn’t want to wait until January to complete their spring programming. The biggest difference between arranging a consortium and a single commission is how hand-tailored a particular work can be to a specific band (the latter having the greatest potential for customization, while the former tends to be more generic), and our project was attempting to synthesize elements of both experiences.

Members of the Deerfield-Windsor School Band

Members of the Albany, Georgia-based Deerfield-Windsor School Band rehearsing for the first performance of a consortium piece, a composition by Max Lafontant, which was featured on the band’s February 26 concert. Photo courtesy of Deerfield-Windsor music director Justin Swearinger.

Max and I tried several different tactics to address the issue. In some cases we gave the directors a summary of the works being composed, having the composers write abstracts about their intentions for the pieces they were working on. In other cases, we put them in contact with the composers directly to form more personal connections. We sent out a newsletter with information about the directors who had joined, updates on the works-in-progress, pictures of the composers’ workspaces, and even a short article with tips about how to work with a composer (since so many of our directors expressed this was their first time). Max and I had talked with our mentor, Dr. Brooke Joyce, about high school band directors at the beginning of this process. He told us that band directors are some of the most overworked, exhausted, underfunded educators in the country. We needed to keep our communication with them convenient, clear, and concise. It would be all too easy for them to drop a project like this otherwise. Therefore, one of our greatest challenges was trying to balance our communication—to be proactive without badgering, to be clear without being verbose. Also, there are as many different preferences as there are directors; some of our directors loved getting newsletters with helpful tips, others found it obnoxious. Spreadsheets abounded as we kept track of a great number of details about each director and school we worked with; not just to help us keep directors on the project for this year, but also to help us understand how to better serve directors in the future.

So many of the band directors expressed this was their first time working with a composer.

The recording session with the Luther College Concert Band proved to be a very useful recruiting tool. Dr. Joyce helped us to organize and run the session. We had the band (under the direction of Dr. Joan deAlbuquerque) read and record 30” to 1’00” of music from each piece so we could post excerpts online. This was a great resource for interested directors, since they could get a strong idea of what the pieces would sound like with a real band even though the works were yet unfinished. The reading session was also helpful to the composers, who could now gauge how difficult their piece may be for high school students, make note of what in their score appeared to be unclear to the conductor and the ensemble at first glance, and also simply hear how their piece was sounding with a live ensemble. All of the composers in the LCA were grateful that our alma mater was so supportive of the project, willing to give over precious rehearsal time for these readings.

We already have a healthy number of performances scheduled for the coming season and a great number of directors who are itching to participate next season.

While many of our groups are currently in the Midwest, Dylan Carlson and Neil Quillen are both based out of California and have been working to bring bands from L.A. and San Francisco into the project. We also made contact with an international school in Tokyo, Japan, and are working to expand through similar avenues next year. Our first performance (which took place in late February) was from a small band in Albany, Georgia, performing Max’s work. Also, while we are still looking for more bands to join the consortium, we already have a healthy number of performances scheduled for the coming season and a great number of directors who are itching to participate next season. While we definitely faced our challenges this past year, Max and I learned a lot from the directors, administrators, and composers we’ve been working with, and we are looking forward to developing this exciting collaboration next season.

Pitfalls of Living the Freelance Life

Wednesday, April 17, 2013, was my last day as a full-time 9-to-5er. That day, I organized the last few bits of work to pass off to my successor, drank too much at the company farewell party, then went home and packed a suitcase. I had two out-of-state premieres in the ten days that followed, and I was excited to embark on this new adventure of full-time freelancing.

I knew that the freelance lifestyle was fraught with difficulties, so part of my research in the preceding months had been to learn about potential problems that might arise. Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s Freelancer’s Survival Guide (get used to hearing about this book) was an invaluable resource in this respect. In it, she talks about burnout, dealing with client issues, worrying about income, handling the problem of unstructured time, and any number of other pitfalls that freelancers face. I was convinced that I was prepared for whatever life threw at me.

Time Management

One of the things about being a freelancer is that your time is entirely your own. Your days aren’t structured by the policies of whatever business employs you. You’re also completely responsible for your own success or failure, so quite often that means that you end up working long after normal “business hours” to meet your clients’ deadlines, or to stay caught up on all of the projects that you have going at once. Sixteen-plus-hour days can come to be commonplace. They’re equally commonplace with certain types of day jobs, but there’s a special white-knuckled frenzy that can come with being your own boss. The concept of “weekend” loses all meaning, except that it’s the time of the week that your friends with day jobs want you to come out. You don’t have paid vacation, you don’t have benefits, and it feels like the only way to keep up is to keep working more and more.

“Weekend” loses all meaning, except that it’s the time that your friends with day jobs want you to come out.

The danger here is burnout. You work such crazy hours for such a long time without any sort of break—and without rewarding yourself—that something finally just snaps. You’re either a frantic, stressed-out wreck who can’t handle anything anymore, or you’re a vegetable and can barely bring yourself to get out of bed. Burnout can be the kiss of death for a freelance career and recovering from it is a long and difficult process.

One of the other things about your time being entirely your own is that you set your own hours. You have no boss, no supervisor, no timesheets, nobody making sure you’re in the door and at your desk on time. So why not start a little later? Why even set an alarm? A midday nap? Yes, thank you. Feel like knocking off a little earlier? Okay! Just not feeling it today? Don’t worry—you’ll catch up tomorrow. Probably.

Without structure, it’s very easy to slide into laziness. And if you’ve spent your entire life abiding by someone else’s schedule, it’s easy to want to rebel against the clock, especially when you first start freelancing. You want to give yourself a little slack for the first week, and so you wake up later than you really should; but within that week, you’ve formed a habit of sleeping in. There are countless ways that you can train yourself to be lazy when you never were before.

Without structure, it’s very easy to slide into laziness.

Burnout and laziness are two extremes of poor time management. But the good news is that with some self-awareness and self-discipline, you can find a mode of working that uses your time effectively, and that takes into account your scheduling/motivational strengths and weaknesses.

For those predisposed toward slipping into laziness, it can be important to create self-imposed daily work schedules and artificial project deadlines. Keeping written logs of the work you do can help to keep you honest and motivated. Breaking projects down into component parts and scheduling them out can keep you moving forward.

I keep a bullet journal in an attempt to keep myself honest in this regard. Every weekend I survey the projects on my plate, take stock of the appointments I’ve made, and come up with a loose plan of attack for the coming week. Then every night, I plan out the next day’s agenda. I find it satisfying to check off the things I’ve done; it gives me a sense of accomplishment and motivates me to keep moving. Sometimes, though, I get cocky and think that I can keep my plans in my head without writing them down. Inevitably, I slip back into bad habits within a few days and need to pull out the bullet journal again to get back on track.

A bad week in Dennis Tobenski's bullet journal.

Here are pages from my bullet journal during a bad week; pages from a good week appear at the top of this post.

For those headed down the path toward burnout, it’s incredibly important to take breaks and vacations. Schedule regular breaks for yourself—and actually take them! Make it a weekly habit to go to the movies or relax over a nice dinner out. Schedule in time to read a book for fun, check out a museum, or go hiking. And take a vacation from time to time; set aside at least a few days when you’re not allowed to do any work. You’ll thank yourself for it.

Work Load

Probably the most terrifying thing about being a freelancer is knowing that you could have a bad couple of months and suffer financially because of it. Consequently, one of the ways that many of us choose to deal with this possibility is to diversify our income streams. We can take on additional work in other areas to help keep us financially stable if one source of income becomes temporarily unreliable.

One problem here, of course, is that you run the risk of working yourself too hard or spreading yourself too thin, and the specter of burnout once again rears its ugly head.

It’s possible to take on too many different types of work so that it’s impossible to prioritize tasks or schedule them effectively. Personal projects can take a back seat to easy money and clients’ urgent deadlines, making your days feel disjointed and frenzied.

A friend of mine was telling me recently about his freelance situation: he focuses in two primary areas which earn him some income, on top of which he has a time-consuming but stable part-time job and a reasonably low-maintenance yet profitable side business. He would like to shift more of his efforts into his primary areas of focus, but making this shift happen requires that he extricate himself from one of his other, more reliable sources of income. Given extra time to dedicate to his real passions, he could make those areas more profitable; in the meantime, however, he would be removing one of the pillars of his family’s stability, which is frightening.

Juggling all four sources of income plus his family life requires an enormous amount of time and energy, and it has taken its toll on his mental state. He’s constantly exhausted, always feels behind, and knows that the situation is unsustainable. Fellow freelancers in a similar position know this exhaustion, and also know the illogical complication added to the equation by the facts that he takes pride in and genuinely enjoys everything he does, and that he isn’t a “quitter” and doesn’t want to feel like one.

And not to be underestimated here, too, is the investment—of time, of money—that goes into each and every endeavor. There’s a feeling of ownership that takes hold, as well as a reluctance to “throw away” that investment when the time comes to move on. My friend has spent years building his side business to what it is, invested countless hours learning that trade, and spent no small amount of money acquiring the proper tools. For myself, I’ve easily spent thousands of hours and untold dollars learning HTML, CSS, PHP, and MySQL, not to mention what I’ve invested in learning and purchasing all of the software and content management systems I use for my web design business.

Moving on from these businesses, when it’s time for us, will be difficult. But not moving on from them when we need to will hold us back in our true pursuit of making music.

Mental and Physical Health

Last on my list of potential pitfalls this week is your health.

Traditional day jobs can be bad enough for your health. Sitting at a desk from 9 to 5 with only a few breaks to get up and move around has turned us into a very sedentary society, but it also requires that you at least get up and move to go to the office. Most freelancers work from home, so the trip to the “office” doesn’t require a commute. Or pants. Consequently, it’s far too easy to live an even more sedentary lifestyle than if you worked for someone else. And without coworkers to judge you for what you eat in the lunchroom, your diet can suffer as well. It’s easier to snack out of boredom, and you don’t have to hold up any pretense of eating like an adult.

Self-discipline and time management skills come back into play here. Scheduling breaks, taking walks, setting aside time for the gym, getting enough sleep: all of these are necessary not just to avoid burnout, but to avoid health problems, as well.

Breaks and walks don’t just keep your heart in shape and your waistline from expanding. They prevent injuries, too. I can’t count the number of freelance writers I know who have had to deal with carpal tunnel syndrome. Repetitive stress injuries are far too common among the self-employed because of our drive to keep working and working and working. This can ultimately be deadly to productivity, as recovery is painfully slow. And without employer-provided insurance, healthcare is already expensive enough without inflicting completely avoidable injuries and health problems on ourselves.

And finally, breaks, walks, workouts, sleep, and socializing are necessary for your mental health. Being shut away from the world, seeing only your significant other and your cat for days on end does some bad things to your state of mind. Take it from me.

Seeing only your significant other and your cat for days on end does some bad things to your state of mind.

Depression has far-reaching effects and can undermine all of your motivation, planning, and self-discipline. It’s all well and good for me to say, “Be disciplined,” but when depression sneaks up on you and gets a foothold, your discipline is slowly eroded away. It’s insidious. My comment, “Or pants,” earlier may have seemed flip, but in my opinion, repeatedly making the “commute” to your desk without pants is the canary in the coal mine. So in addition to everything else you have to know about the business side of things, know the basic signs of depression, too, and be prepared to seek out help. Because although you’re “going it alone,” you’re absolutely not alone, and the people around you are as much the key to your success as your drive and talent.

Your physical and mental health are closely linked. Being proactive about your physical health can buoy your mental health and boost your motivation, productivity, and self-discipline. Both the upward and downward paths can be circular: poor health can contribute to depression, which contributes to decreased productivity, which contributes to greater depression, etc.; and good health can foster a positive mental state, which boosts productivity, which improves your mental state, etc.

So set yourself up for success by taking care of your health, as well as your career.

Last week I wrote that within months of starting this new freelance adventure “everything had gone wrong.” Next week, I’ll tell you why, and which of these pitfalls I fell prey to (despite knowing about them in advance!) and how I’ve tried to course correct over the years.

Banding Together

Having developed a rough idea of what our consortium would look like, my colleague (and now co-director) Max Lafontant and I got to work. The first big task was to figure out how many composers we wanted to have involved and who we were going to ask. While we wanted to provide a wide variety of music for the band directors, we knew that we still needed to pay the composers for their time and thus keep the number realistic. In the end, we settled on five total composers—myself, Max, Scott Senko, Neil Quillen, and Dylan Carlson.

Photos of the five participants of the Libera Composers Association.

The five composers in our collective: (top row) Neil Quillen and Maxwell R. Lafontant; (bottom row) Scott Senko, Dylan Carlson, and me (Kimberly Osberg).

Neil had just finished up his master’s degree at NYU Steinhardt and had worked on video games and short films; his orchestrations were fantastical and his music held a whimsy we thought a lot of bands would be attracted to. While Scott had never written for band before, he had a reputation for gorgeous choral and vocal music, and would bring a fresh perspective to the project. Dylan writes excellently detailed textural music with challenging harmonies, which would be great for directors who were looking for something to fit into a more advanced pedagogical curriculum. Max, veering towards the more neoclassic side, would be a great addition to any standard band program of marches, film music, and transcriptions. My work, Band Together, included both indeterminacy and rhythmic hocketing, providing both a counterpoint to more standard repertoire as well as an intense lesson in ensemble playing. [Ed. note: A page from the score is pictured on the top of this page.] While we hoped band directors would program more than one work from the consortium, we anticipated that there would be at least one work of interest to most directors looking to fill out their concerts.

While we hoped band directors would program more than one work from the consortium, we anticipated that there would be at least one work of interest to most directors.

Originally, we also had another composer involved—one who was known for incorporating elements of jazz fusion and minimalism—but due to unforeseen circumstances, he had to be released from the consortium. This proved to be a tricky scenario to navigate, as there were directors interested in working with him specifically. While we were able to find pieces of equal interest for some directors, others decided to wait until next year to see if this other composer would be available at that time.

This situation made Max and I realize that there was real, widespread interest in a project like this. While we had thought this would be a great way to spend the next year, it was clear that this project had the potential to grow far beyond that. And, even though we could make some educated guesses about how to develop and run a nation-wide consortium, we—quite frankly—didn’t really know what we were doing. Max and I decided we would try to get our alma mater, Luther College, onboard; there were many artistic connections between our project and Luther, so we felt we had a very strong case to get clerical, promotional, or even financial support from the college. We reached out to our former composition teacher Dr. Brooke Joyce to get his opinion on the project and see if he would be interested in being involved.

He was very excited about the project—as far as we knew, there really wasn’t another college or university that provided this kind of opportunity for its composition alumni, and this would be a mutually beneficial collaboration for bands, composer alumni, and the college alike. Skipping over a lot of e-mailing, while a full partnership with Luther was not feasible at this time, they were happy to provide us with other support—printing and shipping our scores, connecting us with bands and directors who had ties to the college, and sending press releases about the project. The Luther College Concert Band even agreed to do a reading session for us so we could send clips of the works-in-progress to potential directors (rather than sending MIDI renderings, which—especially for pieces that have special effects—can be unhelpful or even misleading). With Dr. Joyce as our point-of-contact person, we were able to reach out to the Iowa Composers Forum, which agreed to act as an umbrella organization if we ever grew large enough to start accepting donations. For this season, however, it was simply “money-in-money-out,” so while we will still have the composers report the income on their taxes, we had no need for fiscal agents or to file as an LLC/non-profit just yet.

One of the more difficult tasks was setting up our payment structure in such a way that we could keep the scores affordable for band directors.

One of the more difficult tasks was setting up our payment structure in such a way that we could keep the scores affordable for band directors, yet still be able to fairly compensate our composers. While some of us felt that a sliding scale would be best (charging schools with bigger budgets more money and schools with smaller budgets less), others felt a flat fee for both visits and scores would be the fairest. In the end, we came up with something else entirely. While there was a flat buy-in fee to enter the consortium ($100), we gave schools a discount for each additional score they purchased. The first score would be $35, but if they bought two scores it would only cost them $65 ($35 for the first score, $30 for the second). This meant that any school that performed all of the works would only pay $225 for five brand-new scores and parts. Their buy-in fee also includes customization options, so if the instrumentation doesn’t quite fit their ensemble (such as having a bass clarinet but no bassoons, or having a lot more percussion than what is scored), the composers in the consortium agreed to do reasonable re-orchestrations so that no band was barred from performing a piece due to instrumentation limitations. This also meant that the composers still got a chance to collaborate with directors, despite their pieces being written before directors were contacted. While the schools would still have to negotiate with the composers individually to compensate for visits, Skype sessions, or clinics, this kept the initial investment low enough to allow more rural programs to participate.

With our collaborating forces excited about the project, the structure of the group finalized, and the music well on its way to being completed by the perusal date, we still had one big task left: finding interested directors.

Taking The Plunge

Four years ago today, I was immersed in the American Choral Directors Association National Conference in Dallas. It was my first ACDA conference, and I had hit the ground running: I was catching up with colleagues, trying to make new contacts, and getting the lay of the land so that I could be better-prepared for the next time. At the same time, I was frantically finishing parts for an orchestral commission, suffering through horrible edits for a now-abandoned choral music recording project, and mentally preparing for a major life change: when I got back to New York, I was going to quit my day job and go full-time as a freelance composer.

At that point, I’d been working for a few years as the Accounts Payable guy for a historic non-profit theater in Midtown, and it had been wearing me down. I’d worked office jobs before—lots, in fact—and mostly, for some reason, in finance despite the fact that my degrees are all in music. I’d been a Fund of Hedge Funds administrator on Wall Street, I’d temped heavily for financial services firms, and had even assisted the Finance Department of the company that manages the Empire State Building.

I composed on evenings and weekends when I had the energy, and stole time away during the day job to handle some of my musical admin tasks and to “network” on Twitter. The 10-to-6 thing didn’t bother me overmuch, and the work itself was easy enough, but more often than not I came home from the job frustrated and angry and in no mood to be creative. The atmosphere at the job was, in short, toxic. That’s nothing new to most 9-to-5ers, and I’d had my share of bad jobs before, but it made the sacrifice of my time and energy chafe that much more.

And in retrospect, I was also in the midst of a delayed quarter-life crisis. I was 30, nearly 31, and surrounded by people who had walked away from their art long ago in favor of financial security, and were palpably miserable because of it. How long would it be until I was one of those souls who looked back wistfully at their happier days as an artist while filing another TPS report? I’d been in NYC for nearly 10 years at that point, and although I’d accomplished a fair amount, I hadn’t moved halfway across the country to one of the most expensive and difficult places to live so that I could play it safe. If all I’d wanted was security, I could have stayed in Normal, IL (yes, Normal), and gotten a job at State Farm.

So the day I got back from Dallas, I sat down with my boss and gave my notice.

Laptop with music notation software program on screen on table with glass of orange juice on the side

In the months leading up this, I’d spent a lot of time talking with my then-boyfriend/now-husband about the decision, and he was 100% on board. I had some money saved up, and I was confident that between the momentum I was gaining as a composer and all of my various side-hustles, I could replace enough of the W-2 income I’d be losing with new musical income and new side-hustle clients.

I had also been doing a lot of research. I read countless articles, blog posts, and books about living as a freelancer, and I was a devotee of a handful of podcasts by successful freelance writers. The common refrain was, it’s not easy, but with hard work and persistence, you can make this lifestyle work for you.

One of the best resources I’d come across, and one I still swear by today, was Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s Freelancer’s Survival Guide. In the book, Ms. Rusch tackles everything from adjusting your mindset about being your own boss, to handling your freelance finances, to the types of setbacks you can expect and how to overcome them, to negotiating and networking and assessing risk. Her insights into our motivations and behaviors when it comes to the idea of “work” are eye-opening, and for that alone I think that the book should be required reading for anyone who works any type of job, whether it’s freelance or not.

I also devoured David Cutler’s The Savvy Musician, Angela Myles Beeching’s Beyond Talent, and Jackie Battenfield’s The Artist’s Guide; scoured the blogs of writers Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Dean Wesley Smith, and Joe Konrath (titans of indie publishing who regularly write blog posts to help their fellow writers find their path); and hung on every word of The Creative Penn and the Self Publishing Podcast.

All of these resources will tell you that freelancing isn’t for everyone, for any number of reasons. Some people are just risk averse, and prefer having stability: for families that rely on two stable incomes, going freelance is often too risky a proposition. For some, the uncertainty can be psychologically unhealthy, since modern society so often links self-worth with “success”, especially financial success. And some people are, quite reasonably, content to earn their living separate from their art. We each have different values and needs, and we all have our reasons for wanting or not wanting to go freelance.

My good friend Ed Windels wrote some excellent posts here about being a composer with a day job. In preparing to write this first article, I re-read those, and agree 100% with what he has to say on the subject, and find there to be remarkable overlap in his views on what it takes to be a 5-to-9 artist and my own on what it takes to be a full-time freelancer. Both paths are difficult and take an exceptional amount of discipline and sacrifice. Neither is inherently better than the other: so long as it works for you, it’s the right path.

For me, I decided that I needed the change, and wanted to see if I could make it work.

Pages of sheet music from four different projects

So how was this whole thing supposed to work? I was on the precipice of giving up a very comfortable salary, staring into the complete unknown. Surely I had a plan?

At the point where I decoupled from the day job, I had two commissions lined up, and a handful of premieres on the horizon. It was a nice way to start my freelance life, but thanks to my work on Wall St., I was familiar with the caveat, “Past performance is not an indicator of future results.” I couldn’t rest on those laurels, and just wait for the next thing to come along. I also knew that I couldn’t immediately rely on meaningful income from music, so I would have to make up the shortfall from my now-former job in another way.

I’ve designed websites for musicians since 2007, and have done professional-level music copying work for about as long, so I could take on more work in those areas to stay financially afloat, and spend the remainder of my time on composing and growing my network of contacts. I was prepared to expand my web design business, and started canvassing local businesses in my neighborhood, looking for leads on potential new clients. A handful of new web clients could keep me afloat for months without taking up all of my time. I also let it be known to a few contacts that I was available for more engraving work, which paid well, and took a blessedly finite amount of time.

Musically, I was prepared to go deep into workhorse mode. I keep a spreadsheet of pieces that I want to write, so I wasn’t going to be at a loss for ideas; and, while I would certainly do my best to hunt down new commissions, I felt it just as important to keep writing regardless. If I was going to make it, I was going to have to keep expanding my catalog in meaningful ways.

Those of you who have followed my writing or my podcasts know that I take the firm stance that every piece you write, once it is finished, is a product in your catalog, a new asset on your books. Building on that, I made the decision that I would be better served building my catalog where I felt it needed growth even when the new works weren’t commissioned. More works—more assets—meant more opportunities.

So, armed with a plan and the collected knowledge and wisdom of the artists who I’d been following and studying, I set off as a full-time freelance composer.

Within months, everything had gone wrong.


Dennis Tobenski

Dennis Tobenski is a composer, vocalist, and advocate for new music and living composers. He hosts two music business-centered podcasts aimed at helping composers and performers to learn more about the practical aspects of their careers: the Music Publishing Podcast, a weekly, hour-long conversation with other professionals in the field of concert music, and The Composer’s Guide to Doing Business, where he answers questions and discusses current issues within the new music community.

 

Who are you championing today?

Is your local orchestra programming/university curriculum/conference speaker line-up a little light on the voices of women? Has someone looked you in the eye and shrugged it off, since the field is “mostly men” and so it’s difficult to discover what women are even creating? Through the years here on NewMusicBox, we’ve had some deep chats about gender and creativity, improvements in gender parity, explored the challenges to professional advancement for women, and even made some long lists for those looking to expand their horizons. We’ve also profiled the work of many female creators in the field right here on NewMusicBox. In celebration of #InternationalWomensDay, here are just a few examples for your back pocket the next time you meet someone who is having trouble finding any ladies in the house. There are plenty more in the archives!

Missy Mazzoli: Communication, Intimacy, and Vulnerability

Laurie Spiegel: Grassroots Technologist

Matana Roberts: Creative Defiance

Sarah Kirkland Snider: The Full 360

Singing It: Generations in Jazz

Paola Prestini: Following Her Vision

Lisa Bielawa: Fire Starter

Nadia Sirota: Lyrical Attraction

Ellen Taaffe Zwilich: Goose Bumps in the Candy Shop

Chaya Czernowin: A Strange Bridge Toward Engagement

Du Yun: No Safety Net

Melinda Wagner: It’s Just Who I Am

Caroline Shaw: Yes, a Composer, but Perhaps not a Baker!

Mary Jane Leach: Sonic Confessions

Miya Masaoka: Social and Sonic Relationships

Eve Beglarian: In Love with Both Sound and Language

Arlene Sierra: The Evolution of Process

Exponential: The Music of Zoë Keating

Collective Arrangements: The Story of the Libera Composers Association

A long desk covered with pages from a musical score plus a calculator and various writing implements.

There was nothing unusual about the project to begin with: as an emerging composer, I wrote a work for high school concert band, had the premiere, made changes, and wanted to put together a consortium to premiere the now heavily-revised work.

The original piece, Band Together, had been written for my former middle school band director’s retirement—her last concert and the school’s first commission. As part of the collaboration, I traveled back to my hometown to run a week-long clinic with the students on the piece. The work included aleatory passages, and so I spent a few class periods teaching the students how to interpret notation symbols that were unfamiliar to them as well as introduced them to a few simple extended techniques. It was inspiring to watch their faces alight as they discovered new sounds on their instruments for the first time or as they got to experiment within the bounds of the boxed notation, which gave parameters for improvisation. They asked questions about their instruments, about how these sounds were made—it was as if they had discovered that entirely new instruments had been hiding from them all along. This, I thought, is one of the great goods new music can provide students. The experience was impactful for me as a composer, and I looked forward to sharing the revised work with more students across the country as part of a consortium.

But, as I began to think about what bands I would reach out to—friends from college who were teaching, old band director acquaintances, schools with local connections, etc.—I began to see the potential for something exciting.

My alma mater, Luther College, has an impressive and tightly-knit alumni network; I knew that having a consortium that consisted mostly or entirely of Luther College alumni band directors would be a great way for me to both honor the college and network with more band directors. I began compiling a list of former colleagues who were still teaching high school band, trying to get a sense for how many bands could be involved and what their buy-in cost would be for the project. I soon realized that many of the schools I was considering were in more rural areas—small schools with odd instrument distributions and tiny budgets. I couldn’t charge these programs a standard buy-in rate for this work, and with only a small list of schools to begin with, it was difficult to justify simply charging less; printing and shipping fees still had to be covered, travel expenses had to be accounted for. The solution seemed simple enough—I just needed more bands. While I was willing to go outside the Luther alumni network for bands, I knew I would have to get help from others: friends from school who use to play in band, as well as friends that might still be in contact with their band directors and would be willing to introduce me and the project.

Putting together a consortium with alumni band directors was a smart idea, but putting together a consortium collective with alumni band directors AND alumni composers was a great idea.

The first person who came to mind was my composer-colleague, Maxwell R. Lafontant. He had played tuba for a long time, and we were still in touch. Yet, the moment his name popped into my head, I had a thought: putting together a consortium with alumni band directors was a smart idea, but putting together a consortium collective with alumni band directors AND alumni composers was a great idea. If I was using alumni directors anyway, why should I be the only composer to take advantage of that network? And if more composers wanted to write for that group of directors, why not also give the directors the ability to choose pieces from several different composers? Luther alumni composers are spread out across the country in a variety of disciplines: film, video games, theater, church music, concert music, and so on. Not only would this give directors a wide array of styles and perspectives to introduce to their students, but they had a higher chance of finding a composer who was living near to them and therefore would save on travel expenses. The other composers I began to consider bringing onto the project were young like me, either finishing up a master’s degree or freshly graduated, so they wouldn’t expect a huge fee to write a new work for band; and, with more composers involved, we would be able to capitalize on a larger number of connections, meaning more bands and a lower buy-in cost for everyone.

Max was a natural first choice as someone to bring onboard for the project. Back at Luther we had collaborated often, even writing two pieces together. When I called him, he immediately agreed to join. Within thirty minutes we had a project calendar, an enlarged list of schools to contact, the names of the alumni composers we planned to reach out to, our buy-in model, and several ideas for funding our group’s expenses. While some of these things would, of course, change over the next year, it still surprises me how many details from that initial phone call remained throughout.

With a plan in place, all that was left to do was start, and we wasted no time in doing so. Yet, as we would soon see, there was a lot more to consider in putting a project like this together—and the real work had yet to even be discovered.


Kim Osberg

Kimberly Osberg is an emerging composer from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, who recently earned her master’s degree in composition from the Jacobs School of Music at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. Since arriving in Bloomington in 2014, she has premiered countless chamber works, an opera, and collaborations with filmmakers, dancers, and playwrights.

Creating Music about “The Greatest”: Muhammad Ali

When I set out to program the final concert of our 2016-17 Festival of American Music, little did I know it would have so many incarnations! I’m partly to blame for what we internally call the “ever-changing program.” Originally the featured piece on the second half of the program was going to be a new work inspired by Muhammad Ali that I was writing, but it turned into an opera. So instead of a 15-minute work it became a 70-minute rap opera, The Greatest: Muhammad Ali. This shouldn’t have surprised me because taking on a subject like Muhammad Ali is not like turning a novel into an opera where the story is contained in the pages. Ali’s life was so much bigger than any one story about him. I thought I knew enough about Ali’s background that the composition would flow easily. But early on, I realized that I needed to learn more. Ali was so much more than a boxer, so much more than even just himself; he is a symbol and has a story that leads to broader implications and subjects.

I realized there would be no notes, not even themes, nothing—no music would get written until I learned about this subject. I hit the books in a way I haven’t done since college and basically turned on my old research brain. The first book I read was King of the World by David Remnick. That was the gateway book, because it is great writing and Remnick puts boxing into context so that it’s not just describing fights but also who the fighters were. It’s not just Ali’s fight with Sonny Liston; it’s the whole history of Sonny Liston, because you can’t understand the fight between Ali and Liston, or Liston and Floyd Patterson, unless you know who those people were and how they were portrayed in the media.

Then I realized that I needed to learn about the context of the time period including black history and culture as well as the Vietnam War. I read works by Amiri Baraka, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, and anybody I could find that would help me put things into the larger context of black history and culture that related to Ali. Finally I decided I’d never know enough, but now I knew what I need to know, and I needed to start writing this script. That was definitely challenging because I’m not a script writer, I don’t write librettos, I don’t do that; I write lyrics for my songs. So for the first time I was writing a libretto for a dramatic work that I knew was going to be an opera-like piece; a rap opera (and sung opera, too). Ultimately to do this now 70-minute opera right, we need to do it in its own performance with a full production. So that meant changing the program.

Muhammad Ali and Teddy Abrams

Now the final concert is a celebration of American musical possibilities—presenting composers from the past, showcasing the Louisville Orchestra’s involvement in the creation of new music, and supporting contemporary composers of today. So in addition to selections from The Greatest; Muhammad Ali, we have pieces from Samuel Barber, Sarah Kirkland Snider, Herbie Hancock, and Lou Harrison. And our guest artist is an amazing singer who focuses on American music and contemporary music, Susan Narucki. She is singing selections from Penelope by Sarah Kirkland Snider, who is an absolutely brilliant composer. I’ve been dying to do some of Sarah’s music and this is the first time I’ll actually have a chance to present it. She’s definitely a composer to watch!

Shifting gears, Herbie Hancock is an example of an American master musician/composer and likely one you will rarely find on an orchestra concert because he writes jazz charts. We did a trial run at recent education concerts where the orchestra played the chart for Cantaloupe Island. We didn’t arrange or orchestrate it; we just gave them the chart that Herbie would have played (a bunch of chords and a melody). We came up with a version of it as a smaller group, so that’s what we’re going to present for this concert. (This is not something you want to try out first in a full orchestral context if you haven’t had time to work it out.) Not only did that earlier audience love it, but it gave our musicians a chance to shine and improvise; last time we did it, we had two horn players get up and improvise a duo. This is not something I believe you’re going to see in any other orchestra. In the second half of the program, we’ll play three movements of Lou Harrison’s Suite for Symphonic Strings followed by selections from The Greatest: Muhammad Ali.

Our Festival of American Music is a serious commitment to the music and the composers of our time, the legacy of the Louisville Orchestra, and the broader legacy of American music. We are celebrating and featuring composers alive today, and we’re broadening the definition of American music that can be played by an orchestra. I hope that our audiences who are passionate about music, of any kind, are going to find something in the festival that resonates with them.  As I built these programs, I learned and heard things that I never even dreamed were possible in music and that’s inspiring for me. I can’t wait to share that with everyone!