Category: NewMusicBox

Exchanging Perfectionism for Contentedness

I used to wear the title of “Perfectionist” as a badge of honor. My former office mates and I, for example, jokingly competed for being more “type A” than the next person: one would make sure all the papers in the files were facing the same way, and I would make sure that the tabs for any added files would alternate flawlessly – left, middle, right, left, middle, right. . . . We bragged about how well-formatted our spreadsheets were. Being on the finance team, our ability to reconcile accounts down to the last penny was implicitly part of our job description.

As a composer, I’ve realized that perfectionism is encouraged frequently to some extent and with good reason. Precise notation minimizes uncertainty for performers and makes rehearsals more efficient.  Thoughtful orchestrations ensure that gesture is not lost.

Don’t allow perfectionism to creep in too early in the creative process.

However, I’ve also learned the hard way that such meticulous attention to detail has a time and place. My weakness is that I allow perfectionism to creep in way too early in the creative process, preventing me from letting ideas flow freely so that I can complete a piece. I’m learning to own the fact that improvisation is one of the compositional techniques that generates my ideas rapidly, but for some reason, part of me feels obligated to over-intellectualize my pieces early on.

For instance, in one section of a theme-and-variations-based piece that I began in the fall, I struggled with the texture of one variation in particular: I would write an idea, discard it, and repeat the process with much frustration. There was a gap in the piece for months on end, but I had decided that the pacing was not satisfactory if I eliminated that section. Yet, after improvising on the piano during a 15-minute break at work, I finally came up with the texture I wanted. I instantly recorded it on my phone so that I could remember the details when I got home.

Since I graduated from college, I’ve had less of an impetus to stick to deadlines such as end-of-semester recitals that force me to put down my pencil and say that the piece is “good enough” to share or perform. I’ve found that I have relatively little trouble coming up with new ideas, yet developing the ideas through their completion is much more of a struggle. Unfortunately, using self-imposed deadlines as a strategy to counteract this tendency has often had little effect on me. I simply keep extending them.

Don’t lose self-esteem because of a denied sense of accomplishment.

One of the mantras that I’ve learned from Rory Vaden’s best-seller Procrastinate on Purpose is, “Done is better than perfect.” More often than not, if I am waiting to complete something because I feel that it is not “perfect,” I fail to complete the project at all. As a result, I tend to lose self-esteem because I deny myself a sense of accomplishment, giving myself even less confidence to tackle the next project at hand. The result is an ongoing, downward emotional spiral.

I’m slowly learning to combat my desire for perfection by seeking satisfaction in the progress that I’ve made. When I allow myself to be content, I can finally reflect on what worked and utilize that knowledge to move forward, building my confidence instead of tearing it down. Even when ideas don’t work out, framing them as an opportunity to learn from what didn’t work allows me to further my progress.

In the case of the seemingly magical fifteen minutes where I re-wrote an entire section of that piece, reframing my failures in this way made me realize that it wasn’t just that moment that helped me to arrive at a solution. It was changing my process from simply discarding ideas to identifying morsels of progress in those subsequent drafts which helped me to finally move forward.

 

INDEXED: What we’re reading when we read about Lamar’s Pulitzer Win

Ever since Pulitzer Prize Administrator Dana Canedy announced Kendrick Lamar’s win in the music category a bit after 3 p.m. on Monday, news outlets and social media have been alight with hot takes and existential reflections. As the first artist working outside the classical-ish field (with a couple more recent nods to jazz) to snag the prize, the selection of Lamar’s album DAMN. seems to have signaled a lot, both in terms of the parameters of the Pulitzer itself going forward and regarding some larger cultural shifts when it comes to art and gatekeeping.

For those looking for drama, the anxiety and the undercutting were quickly found in the expected Facebook feeds and comments sections. The background on how DAMN. came to be considered among the submitted entries came to light before the day was done.

Nearly 48 hours later, it remains a hot topic in newsrooms across the country, despite being crowded into the chaos that is the daily political news cycle in 2018. We’ve indexed some highlights below.

Kendrick Lamar and the Shell Game of ‘Respect’ (The Atlantic)
The first non-classical, non-jazz winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Music needs the accolade less than the accolade needs him.

With Kendrick Lamar’s Pulitzer Win, The World May Finally Be Catching Up to Rap (Pitchfork)
Rappers usually speak of the Pulitzer facetiously…boys from the hood are never Pulitzer winners. Well, until [Monday].

What Kendrick Lamar’s Pulitzer Means for Hip-Hop (The New Yorker)
Doreen St. Félix considers how Lamar’s historic milestone—becoming the first hip-hop artist to win a Pulitzer Prize for music—figures in the grander, affected consecration of blackness within élite spaces.

What the classical-music world can learn from Kendrick Lamar’s Pulitzer Prize (The Washington Post)
Alyssa Rosenberg chats with composer, writer, and performer Alex Temple.

This Year’s Other Two Pulitzer Finalists on Losing to Kendrick Lamar (Slate)
Some classical fans are furious that the rapper won. The guys he beat are thrilled.

Kendrick Lamar Shakes Up the Pulitzer Game: Let’s Discuss (The New York Times)
Zachary Woolfe, the classical music editor of The New York Times, and Jon Pareles, the chief pop music critic, discuss the choice.

Personally, while assembling this index I got the biggest boost out of just spinning the album again—in reverse this time. David Lang, can you tell us which version jurors were listening to?

Did we miss a good take? Drop a link below.

A Talent for Organization

About 35 years ago, a psychic told me that I had a “talent for organization.”  I looked at her like she was crazy.  Did she not know that I was first and foremost a musician, finishing my coursework for a DMA in piano, with a minor in composition?  I was insulted and appalled, associating “organizational talent” with the corporate world of gray business suits, balance sheets, and indoor 9 to 5 jobs – everything I had rebelled against my entire life.  I could certainly imagine a future job teaching piano at a university, but the idea of any kind of “organizational” occupation gave me hives.

I associated “organizational talent” with the corporate world … everything I had rebelled against my entire life.

But here I am, retiring after 34 years as co-founder and artistic director of the new music group Network for New Music; and, looking back, I have to admit that the experience of putting together (yes, “organizing”) that first proto-Network concert of new music with my musician friends in 1983 was intoxicating and, ultimately, addicting.

Back in 1984, when NNM was incorporated, the venerable Relâche Ensemble was the only non-academic new music group in Philadelphia. In the opinion of Joseph Waters (Network’s co-founder) and myself, there was room for a new game in town.  Joe and I originally ran Network as a membership organization, in order to generate funding through dues (thus the name “Network”).  When Joe left for the West Coast after two years, I dropped the membership format, as it required the programming of many works that were embarrassingly bad in exchange for composers’ membership dues.  As I began programming music by more recognized composers, I realized that the quality of my own, incipient compositional efforts could not compare with other music on Network programs.  At that point I concentrated on becoming the best pianist I could be, while running the organization, finishing my DMA, rehabbing a house in a sketchy section of Philly, and enjoying the early years of motherhood.

Like many startups, Network relied on the generosity and enthusiasm of participating musicians and composers, all of whom were paid peanuts for their work.  Excitement was high, and so were performance standards. What money there was always went first to the musicians.  As Network achieved middle age in the early 2000s, the board and staff realized that support for a strong organizational infrastructure, including union-scale wages for performers, was necessary for NNM to sustain itself over time.  This was a crucial period for Network, and a point at which many young organizations falter and die.  But I am happy to report that NNM continued to grow and prosper.

As NNM matured, artistic and institutional collaborations became more important, both as an opportunity for composers to deepen and expand their work and as a means of attracting wider audiences. Always somewhat of a purist, I originally came to the collaboration table with doubts.  I resisted anything that would interfere with my own, very personal experience of the music.  However, I was soon persuaded that deep, intentional cross-disciplinary collaborations could produce legitimate and meaningful new art.

Deep, intentional cross-disciplinary collaborations could produce legitimate and meaningful new art.

I personally felt a natural affinity for music/dance projects, as both took place in time and dealt with movement, rhythm, and phrasing.  I am proud of Network’s early collaborations with dance groups, including: a partnership with (the then-named) Phrenic Ballet which led to the creation of new choreography for Vincent Persichetti’s King Lear (the original Martha Graham choreography was lost); a full-length concert work, with music by Robert Maggio, choreographed by the Leah Stein Dance Company; Lung-ta, the Windhorse, composed by Andrea Clearfield with dance by Group Motion and art by Maureen Drdak; and various new dances responding to commissions by Lee Hyla, David Ludwig, James Primosch, Chen Yi, and others.

I am equally proud of the many other collaborations Network has fostered across disciplines, including with: the visual arts and artists (Barnes Foundation, Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, The Print Center, the Philadelphia Museum of Art); poets in NNM’s ongoing Poetry Projects (Sonia Sanchez, Stephen Berg, Trapeta Mayson, Frank Sherlock, Beth Brandt, Stephen Dunn and many others); and with composer/video artists Maurice Wright and Gene Coleman.  Many “Aha!” moments experienced by artists and audiences during these projects outweighed the messy challenges inherent in the process of putting them all together.

Also meaningful to Network were in-depth explorations of the works of renowned composers (Bernard Rands, John Harbison, Milton Babbitt, Elliott Carter), as well as a three-day festival of electro-acoustic music and whole programs devoted to the music of other countries: Great Britain, Korea, Japan, and Italy.

Linda Reichert, Joan Tower, and Jennifer Higdon seated together on a couch in 1995 (Photo by Don Springer)

Linda Reichert (left), Joan Tower (center), and Jennifer Higdon (right) in 1995 (Photo by Don Springer, courtesy Network for New Music)

Through it all, I have always been something of a connector for myriad ideas about programming, guest artists, venues and collaborations.  I think I was able to consider the (often exceedingly strong) artistic opinions of others—including the views of Network’s excellent advisory board—while also trusting my instincts about curating programs that encompassed a wide variety of styles.  I got a lot of feedback from audience members, through conversations and online surveys, and I did not think I was doing a good job unless listeners exited a concert loving some works and really disliking others.

I did not think I was doing a good job unless listeners exited a concert loving some works and really disliking others.

Network for New Music has played a big part in the integration of new music into the broader cultural community in the Philadelphia region.  NNM began championing new music and composers at a time when this music was segregated from the rest of the classical concert- music world, and associated almost entirely with the academy.   Network helped to coax this music out of the silos and into the mainstream.  Nowadays, new music can no longer be called “classical”, and it can be heard online and in every corner of the community – from libraries, subway stations, and firehouses to outdoor parks and public squares.  Composers are brilliantly promoting their own music (and they care if you listen) and often performing it as well.  Younger composers and musicians naturally breathe the air of collaboration and connection, and new ensembles are springing up everywhere, with impressive levels of performance.  My hope is that many of these fine groups can make it through the “middle age” period, and mature into sustainable organizational models that can provide their players with stable living wages.

My own tastes have evolved to be broader and broader over time. If a work has “a voice” and achieves, on a high level, what it sets out to do within the context it creates for itself, I am all for it, whether it moves me or not.  The only music I cannot bear is music that bores me, which is usually the result of some form of brain-numbing predictability.  I am so viscerally irritated by boring music that I sometimes start audibly muttering to myself in the concert hall.

I am so viscerally irritated by boring music that I sometimes start audibly muttering to myself in the concert hall.

So, what remains of an organization after a co-founder/artistic director leaves a group she directed for 33 years?  (Jan Krzywicki, the wonderful Network Ensemble conductor, tells me I might be the longest continually-serving new music A.D. in the country; it would be interesting to know if this is a fact.)  The organization either gracefully closes up shop, or a transition takes place.  After a deep and valuable discussion, which forced us to even more clearly define and articulate the relevance, purpose, and viability of our mission, Network board and staff decided the organization should continue forward under new artistic leadership.

Here are some of the reasons for our decision to carry on:

  1. The musicians in the Network Ensemble are the Jewel in the Heart of the Lotus, and can’t be matched for their virtuosity and commitment to excellence;
  2. The Network Board of Directors comprises some of the finest and most dedicated arts professionals in this city or anywhere;
  3. NNM’s small-but-mighty staff is smart, hard-working and highly effective;
  4. Network’s roots within the cultural community go deep and wide.

In sum, Network’s core values and reputation for organizational and artistic excellence guarantees it will survive and prosper well after the exit of its current artistic leader.

And so, we began a thorough, two-year succession process.

I look forward with great excitement and interest to the new directions and vision Thomas Schuttenhelm, NNM’s soon-to-be artistic director, will bring to the organization and to the Philadelphia community.   Thomas – a fine performer, composer, author and educator from Hartford, Connecticut—is thrilled to be joining the Network team; he and I will work together for several months to ensure a smooth transition.  After that, I look forward to having time to again explore and play dead composers’ music (Bach and Beethoven), volunteer for a yet-to-be-identified environmental organization, learn Italian, and continue my work toward achieving a handstand, independent of a wall.

At the end of my Network tenure, I am already feeling the loss of the inspirational relationships I have so enjoyed with Network musicians, composers, board, and staff.  But I am also filled with pure gratitude for the huge opportunities I have had to work with these fine human beings, especially those amazing composers, who somehow fashion beauty out of thin air, translate it into markings on a page, and trust that musicians like those in the Network Ensemble will bring this music to life, moving hearts and minds in the process.

An outdoor photo of the 30 composers that NNM commissioned for its 30th Anniversary in 2014 (photo by Annie Sarachan)

The 30 composers that Network for New Music commissioned for its 30th Anniversary in 2014 (photo by Annie Sarachan, courtesy Network for New Music).

[Ed. Note: Sunday, April 29, 2018 at 1:30pm, Network for New Music will honor Linda Reichert with a catered benefit concert at the Settlement Music School in Philadelphia that will feature world premieres by Andrea Clearfield, John Harbison, Jennifer Higdon, James Primosch, Bernard Rands, Augusta Read Thomas, Melinda Wagner, Richard Wernick, and Maurice Wright as well as a reprise performance of an earlier Network premiere by Michael Hersch, and a performance of a work by Gareth Haynes, the winner of the Network Student Composition Competition. Since capacity is reached, ticket sales will end on April 27 and there will be no tickets at the door.—FJO.]

 

2018 ASCAP Foundation Morton Gould Young Composer Award Winners Announced

ASCAP Foundation President Paul Williams has announced the recipients of the 2018 ASCAP Foundation Morton Gould Young Composer Awards which encourages talented young creators of concert music. The composers, whose award-winning works were chosen from over 500 submissions from all over the United States, will be recognized at an ASCAP event later this year.

Below are details for this year’s 17 award-winning composers and the works for which they were chosen. Wherever possible, we have also featured a complete recording of the award-winning work (either embedded below the listing or linked from the title of the work). (Recipients who are under the age of 18 are listed only by state of residence, as per ASCAP’s policy.)

    • Oren Boneh of Oakland, CA (b. 1991 in Kansas):
      Lug (2017) for flute/piccolo, saxophone (soprano/baritone), piano, percussion, and string trio [13′]
    • Theophilus Chandler of Houston, TX (b. 1992, in Durham, NC)
      Songs from Brooches (2017) for two sopranos and orchestra [17′]
    • Frazar B. Henry of Florida (b. 2005 in Long Beach, CA)
      In Exordium for orchestra [3’55”]
    • Molly Joyce of Pittsburgh, PA (b. 1992 in Pittsburgh)
      Over and Under (2016) for organ and orchestra [9′]
    • Mayumi Kimura Meguro of Brooklyn, NY (b. 1993 in Mexico City, MX)
      Hana o Tobashite (2016) for orchestra [7′]
    • Alexis C. Lamb of Dekalb, IL (b. 1993 in Denver, CO)
      Meia for berimbau (solo through sextet) [30’30”]
    • Bo Li of Kansas City, MO (b. 1988 in China)
      Encirclement for orchestra [12′]
    • Piyawat Louilarpprasert of Ithaca NY (b. 1993 in Bangkok, Thailand)
      Particle Odyssey (2017) for orchestra [10′]
    • Charles Meenaghan of California (b. 2001 in CA)
      Klepsýdra for orchestra [18′]
    • Shashaank Narayanan of New Jersey (b. 2004 in India)
      Percussion Evoluzione for percussion ensemble [17’30”]
    • Charles Peck of Philadelphia, PA (b. 1988 in Norristown, PA)
      Vinyl (2017) for chamber orchestra [8′]
    • Peter S. Shin of Kansas City, MO (b. 1991)
      Screaming Shapes (2017) for amplified flute, bass clarinet, violin, cello, and fixed electronics [5’30”]

Screaming Shapes (2017) for amplified flute, bass clarinet, violin, cello, fixed electronics, and dance from Feral Bodies on Vimeo.

  • Aferdian Stephens of Jersey City, NJ (b. 1992 in Bayonne, NJ)
    Trio for violin, clarinet, and piano [18′]
  • Tina Tallon of Cambridge, MA (b. 1990 in Baltimore, MD)
    luscinia (2017) for orchestra and live electronics [13’30”]
  • Felipe Tovar-Henao of Bloomington, IN (b. 1991 in Colombia)
    La Mirada del Ouroboros (2017) for harp and sinfonietta [15’30”]
  • Max Vinetz of New Haven, CT (b. 1996 in Baltimore, MD)
    Allemande (2016) for solo cello [7′]
  • Alex Weiser of New York, NY (b. 1989 in NYC)
    and all of the days were purple (2017) for singer, piano, percussion, and string trio [28′]
A composite image of all 17 winners and 6 honorable mentions in the 2018 ASCAP Foundation Morton Gould Young Composer Awards.

The 17 winners and 6 honorable mentions of the 2018 ASCAP Foundation Morton Gould Young Composer Awards (all photos courtesy ASCAP).
First row (from left to right): Molly Joyce (photo by Nadine Sherman), Theophilus Chandler, Shashaank Narayanan, Justin Zeitlinger, Jenny Yao, Alex Weiser, and Frazar B. Henry;
Middle row: Piyawat Louilarpprasert, Charles Meenaghan, Oren Boneh, Bo Li, Tina Tallon, Felipe Tovar-Henao, Aferdian Stephens, and Mayumi Kimura Meguro;
Bottom row: Emma Cardon, Akshaya Tucker, Nathan Paek, Max Vinetz, Patrick Lenz, Charles Peck, Alexis C. Lamb, and Peter S. Shin.

In addition, six composers were given honorable mention.

  • Emma Cardon of Nashville TN (b. 1998 in Alexandria, VA)
    Airport Birds for string quartet [10’55”]
  • Patrick Lenz of Houston, TX (b. 1994 in Scranton, PA)
    Pillar of Fire for wind ensemble [7’05”]
  • Nathan Paek of Washington (b. 2004 in WA)
    NEUROTOCCATA (2018) for two pianos [4’33”]
  • Akshaya Tucker of Austin, TX (b. 1992 in Willow, NY)
    Breathing Sunlight for violin and cello duo [8’48”]
  • Jenny Yao of South Carolina (b. 2000 in Hangzhou, China)
    Non Compos Mentis (2017) for wind quintet, string quartet, and double bass [7’46”]
  • Justin Zeitlinger of New Jersey (b. 2000 in NJ)
    Broken Images for solo oboe [4’39”]

Established as The ASCAP Foundation Young Composer Awards in 1979 with funding from the Jack and Amy Norworth Fund, the program grants cash prizes to concert music composers up to 30 years of age whose works are selected through a juried national competition. To honor his lifelong commitment to encouraging young creators especially during his 1986-1994 tenure as President of ASCAP and The ASCAP Foundation (as well as the fact that his own music was first published, by G. Schirmer, when he was only six years old), the Young Composer program was named the Morton Gould Young Composer Awards, following his death in 1996. These composers may be American citizens, permanent residents, or students possessing US Student Visas. This year’s Morton Gould Young Composer Awards composer/judges were: Du Yun, Daniel Felsenfeld, Joel Hoffman, Lowell Liebermann, Tamar Muskal, Alvin Singleton, and Edward Smaldone.

Founded in 1975, The ASCAP Foundation is a charitable organization dedicated to supporting American music creators and encouraging their development through music education and talent development programs.

 

What the Stage Means to Me

First of all, I’d like to preface this by recognizing that I see a lot of composer-centered posts on NewMusicBox. This is insightful for me as a musician (and as a writer, in this situation) because, well, I’m not a composer (SPOILER ALERT: yet!).

So my not-so-hidden goal this week is to offer composers some context and insight regarding the professional challenges I’ve encountered and the goals that keep me motivated and moving forward, while also hopefully inspiring some performers while I’m at it. Composers want their music played well and played often, and we performers want to play awesome music, so maybe this dialogue will lead to a better understanding and more beautiful music being written and performed? A boy can dream.

In my last entry, I spoke about fear and judgment and how they impact my decisions within the context of artistic risk and career choices.

The one place I’ve recently realized they do not impact me is on stage. I think it is important for composers to know that when they write for me or for my chamber ensemble Sybarite5. Does this mean I might get some crazy, out there shit written for me now and then? Yup. IS that my goal? Nope. I just want composers to know that they should feel free to express their point of view in their music without being too worried about it. Almost every time I or my ensemble gets a new piece from someone who wrote it because they “think” it sounds like music “we play,” it never works. In contrast, when I get a piece from a composer that has their own focused and unique voice, I and my Sybarite5 colleagues are often are compelled to perform it. And perform it often! At the end of the day, if I’ve chosen to repeatedly perform a piece in public, it’s not usually because I hate it. It’s usually because it resonates with me in some way, and I want to communicate that on stage with the audience.

“Love Is a Dog From Hell” – Bukowski

Why do I do it? I love it. I love the music. I love the instrument—bass is the best! I love the freaky little ensemble we’ve made (#stringquintet #FTW). And more than anything, I want to share this love with the world when I perform.

Now, if something about that “share the love” sounded vanilla because it was carefree and simple, you’re gonna have to prepare for some disappointment. Love ain’t easy, and neither is playing and presenting new music.

But I don’t play because it’s an easy job. It’s not; it’s grueling. Life on the road away from family, kids, your support team, and your routine IS TOUGH. And, news flash, it doesn’t get easier. Anyone who wants to romanticize the routine of a traveling classical chamber musician is flat-out mistaken. Don’t get me wrong, we get to do great things. But there is a price to pay—including the literal cost of doing this job. I don’t play because it’s a good way to make a bunch of money. If I wanted to make a bunch of money, I’d be in real estate, finance, law, or medicine. Period, end of story.

But for some reason unbeknownst to me, life and music cannot be centered around money for me. It just cannot. There has to be something more.

Does this sometimes make my life scary, unstable, and difficult? YES. Do I always find a way to make things work? YES.

I make it work, but it’s challenging. So why do I love the stage so much? For some reason, on stage I can be true, honest, vulnerable, innocent, and authentic in a way that is meaningful to me (and ideally others). To me personally, the stage means FREEDOM.

To me personally, the stage means FREEDOM.

Freedom to be myself. Freedom to express. Freedom to share.

Why is it important for me be authentic on stage and who needs to know about that? How about the glorious people who write the beautiful music we wanna play. And, I think the music is the stuff that connects us humans to each other.

How does knowing this help composers? I want composers to know this because I’m hopeful that they will write and communicate more honestly and authentically, and know that it’s more than a concert for me.

How does it impact the work and its presentation? It often means that there are added layers of engagement in musical selections. There’s the music, the story, and the relationship with the composer.

How does the authenticity of the composer and the authenticity of the performer line up? I think in these cases, like seeks like. I’m interested in composers who have an authentic voice. More than that, I’m compelled to program their works and perform them repeatedly. I’m looking for a piece that is going to have a lifespan and not be a flash in the pan.

So when you write music for me, or my ensembles, you should have that info. And, chances are, if you have written for us, you do. Because we are friends with our composer colleagues. We hang. We want to hang. We get along. We value knowing the composers who write for us and having a truly collaborative relationships with them just as much as we value the music they write. Yes, you did read that right, we value the person as much the product. Why? Because when we play those pieces it’s like having a friend join us on stage.

How does Sybarite5 pick the people we work with and the music we play?

I guess I’ve got a week to write that down and let you know.

Kendrick Lamar Awarded 2018 Pulitzer Prize for DAMN.

Kendrick Lamar has been awarded the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for DAMN.. The annually awarded prize is for a distinguished musical composition by an American that has had its first performance or recording in the United States during the previous year. This year the award includes a $15,000 cash prize.

WINNER:

DAMN., by Kendrick Lamar

Recording released on April 14, 2017, a virtuosic song collection unified by its vernacular authenticity and rhythmic dynamism that offers affecting vignettes capturing the complexity of modern African-American life.


Also nominated as finalists for the 2018 music prize were:

Quartet by Michael Gilbertson

Premiered on February 2, 2017, at Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall, New York City, a masterwork in a traditional format, the string quartet, that is unconstrained by convention or musical vogues and possesses a rare capacity to stir the heart.


Sound from the Bench by Ted Hearne

Recording released on March 24, 2017, by The Crossing, a five-movement cantata for chamber choir, electric guitar, and percussion that raises oblique questions about the crosscurrents of power through excerpts from sources as diverse as Supreme Court rulings and ventriloquism textbooks.

Last year’s winner in music, composer Du Yun, sent out her congrats to the 2018 winners:

The nominating jury for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize, reviewing 186 music entries, included:

Regina Carter, jazz violinist, Maywood, NJ (Chair)
Paul Cremo, dramaturg/director of opera commissioning program, The Metropolitan Opera
Farah Jasmine Griffin, William B. Ransford Professor of English and Comparative Literature and African-American Studies, Columbia University
David Hajdu, music critic, The Nation and professor of journalism, Columbia University
* David Lang, composer, New York City (*Pulitzer Prize Winner)

This year’s recipients constitute the 102nd class of Pulitzer Prize winners. The prizes will be awarded at a lunch on May 30, 2018, at Columbia’s Low Memorial Library.

Wearing All the Hats: Reflections on Being a Teacher, Too

Back in college, I often viewed teaching private lessons as a way to earn a bit of extra spending money. I taught a couple of children through the University of Redlands at the time, and it was just enough to cover modest expenses such as clothes or my cell phone bill. Since I was convinced that I wanted to focus on freelance composing and performing when I graduated, I didn’t thoughtfully consider the possibility of teaching as an integral aspect of my identity as a professional musician. Though I have always had the utmost respect for K-12 teachers, I had decided that having my own classroom full of students wasn’t the best fit for me. And with my limited business skills, I assumed that a modest studio of private students would not be lucrative enough to cover major household expenses.

In the years since, I’ve learned that teaching lessons can be a very reliable source of income when the business aspect is managed well. Reading books like The Savvy Music Teacher by David Cutler gave me the financial chops that I needed to go from teaching under the auspices of other businesses, which kept a sizeable portion of my income, to managing clientele on my own.

What I didn’t expect was how much teaching would shape and mold my identity as a performer and composer. I had been told that it would reinforce my technical abilities as I continue to study music, but to my surprise, there have been many other benefits as well.

Students remind me of what it is like to approach music with a sense of curiosity, lightheartedness, and joy.

On the days when I am feeling frustrated with my own progress as a musician, my students—especially the children—remind me of what it is like to approach music with a sense of curiosity, lightheartedness, and joy. Most of my students have sought me because they essentially want to play music for fun. They seem to have few assumptions about the successes that a musical life could grant them as they grow older, so they are naturally free to explore many creative paths with little worry that what they are doing is the “right” thing.

Though it is taking a bit of extra effort to retrain my thinking as an adult, I’ve been learning to relinquish feelings of guilt around artistic exploration that doesn’t feel immediately purposeful or profitable. There is something about being a teacher that tacitly holds me accountable to learn without ceasing, and I remind myself that in some respects, all of the skills that I acquire will find their way into my artistic voice and prove their worth in due time.

Above all, my students inspire me to write and play for them. I can still remember myself as a young child, sitting on the edge of my seat in awe as I watched my teacher play with the local symphony. Education is one of the ways I am choosing to give back and stay connected to the heart of my community. I feel fulfilled knowing that I can give a young student the same experience that my teachers gave me.

Initially part of me felt a little dirty for teaching as a way to make money…

Initially, as a budding freelancer, part of me felt a little dirty for teaching as a way to make money on the side. I sometimes felt the stigma that if I needed to teach for a living, I was somehow failing at being a performer or composer. When non-musicians asked me what I did for a profession, I perceived that identifying as a music teacher quickly overshadowed my other identities as a musician, just as saying that I worked in an office during the day made it seem as if I played gigs only for chump change.

Now that I’ve been teaching for several years, I feel pride in knowing that the greater portion of my income is earned from a variety of activities in music. I no longer feel burdened by others’ opinions of what I do for a living because I know that whether I am teaching, performing, or composing, I am dedicating myself to a career that gives me life.

 

John Nuechterlein to Retire as President/CEO of American Composers Forum

John Nuechterlein has announced that he will retire as President/CEO of the American Composers Forum effective December 31, 2018. He shared the news recently with Forum board and staff, noting the decision to move on came slowly over the past few months. “The Forum is an extraordinary ecosystem of creative, imaginative people,” Nuechterlein says. “I feel privileged to have been part of that for twenty years, and I will miss it deeply.”

John Nuechterlein (photo by Nancy Hauck, courtesy American Composers Forum)

John Nuechterlein (photo by Nancy Hauck, courtesy American Composers Forum)

While John is retiring from his leadership role at ACF, he has no shortage of plans for the future. “I’ve listened to a lot of new music in my career at the expense of seeing new theater, watching new film, and exploring the work of visual artists,” he says. “I have a long list of places to visit for the first time, but I also look forward to discovering more of the rich tapestry of what is right here in Minnesota.”

John became President in 2003 after serving as its managing director for the previous five years. The breadth of programming has grown during his 15-year tenure through several new initiatives, most notably the NextNotes® High School Composition Awards and the national ACF CONNECT program. Especially meaningful to him was the recent launch of In Common, a collaborative artist residency program that gives communities an opportunity to explore their own diversity by sharing stories through the creation of new music. “The Forum has a long history of finding new ways to both support composers and integrate them meaningfully into our culture,” Nuechterlein explained. During his tenure the innova® Recordings label also experienced exponential growth–it’s now one of the most successful new music labels in the country with over 600 titles in its catalog. Its contribution to the contemporary music scene is internationally recognized.

“On behalf of the Board of Directors and the community of composers around the country”, says Board Chair Mary Ellen Childs, “I’d like to thank John for his excellent leadership over many years. He leaves ACF in superb shape, with a strong staff, secure financial footing, and an exciting new strategic plan on the horizon to guide the organization going forward. While we’re sad to see him go, we’re thrilled for him and all that is next in his life.”

The Forum’s board of directors will be conducting a national search to fill the position.

from the press release

Constantly Missing Randy (Endless Bummer)

[Ed note: One of the highlights of this year’s 20th anniversary MATA Festival will be a repeat MATA performance of P(l)aces by Randy Hostetler (1963-1996) during the April 13, 2018 concert called MATA’s Greatest Hits. The posthumous world premiere performance of that composition, the score for which MATA co-founder Lisa Bielawa reconstructed from manuscripts, computer files, and videotapes rehearsals of the work in progress that she found among effects of his that his parents kept, took place during the very first MATA Festival in a concert on January 13, 1998 at Anthology Film Archives in New York City. Its extremely strange mix of metrical complexity, appropriated riffs from reggae, salsa, and many other styles of music, taped sounds of barking dogs, power tools, and lamps made it one of the legendary events in American music history as did its illustrious cast of perfomers: Bielawa and MATA’s other co-founder, Eleonor Sandresky, the Talujon Percussion Quartet, trumpeter Susan Radcliff, trombonist Monique Buzzarte, trombone, guitarist Oren Fader, Jack Vees on electric bass and washtub bass, percussionist Frank Cassara (who served as a timekeeper), and conductor Beatrice Jona Affron, music director for the Pennsylvania Ballet. Since in addition to performing in that premiere, Jack Vees had an unusual relationship with Randy Hostetler, we asked him to share his memories about him and that premiere.—FJO]

It has been twenty years since the performance of Randy Hostetler’s P(l)aces on the first MATA festival. Randy was a composer whose works lit up our world—for many of us starting in the early 1980s—and that glow continues on through today.  His life was cut short (probably by Addison’s Disease) in 1996. His death left a huge tear in our community—not just because of the brilliance of his own works, but also because Randy’s generous spirit brought people of all sorts together.  Shortly after he moved to California, he established the series Living Room Music, which gave opportunities to many composers and performers and provided a much-needed outlet for alternative new music in the Los Angeles area.  It was through a network of friends and colleagues that I began to know of this extraordinary person.

One of the factors that makes writing this remembrance especially difficult is that Randy’s is one of my first and deepest friendships with someone that I never met in person.  OK, this will take a little explaining, but I think it will point out what a remarkable presence Randy is (not was) in this proto digital era.

Randy and I maintained an almost perfect symmetry of being on opposite coasts at exactly the same time.

Randy and I somehow maintained an almost perfect symmetry of being on opposite coasts at exactly the same time.  While I was at CalArts (official student-hood starting in the early ‘80s) Randy was an undergrad at Yale. When I came East in the summer of ‘86, landing at Yale as a spouse-in-tow of a grad student (Libby Van Cleve), Randy was heading toward CalArts. I like to think we passed each other somewhere in Kansas.

Shortly after arriving at Yale, I began to hear stories from Martin Bresnick about this really cool, young composer I should have met, but who had just graduated and left to continue his studies at CalArts.  These included some of the escapades of Sheep’s Clothing, a student performance art group, under Martin’s direction.  That group has left a legacy of antics from its members, which included Randy, Jeff Brooks, Scott Lindroth, and David Lang.

And the Randy-related stories didn’t stop there.  Pretty soon I was hearing more about this “kid” from Art Jarvinen, one of my closest longtime friends and accomplices. Art and I had been involved in a number of Dadaist and Fluxus performances, so we were used to seeing and hearing things that most others don’t just happen across in their travels.  This is just to say that for Art to remark about something or someone, it really had to be truly remarkable on a grand scale, and apparently Randy was.

I would go back to Southern California pretty frequently in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, usually to take part in performances or the Monumentally Bad Poetry Soirees at Art’s house.  Although Randy would certainly be part of this crowd, it seemed every time I came west, he’d be on a trip somewhere else.  I was constantly missing Randy. Bummer.

Mel Powell, who had seen a lot in his lifetime (and had learned to let our silliness just wash over and not perturb him), knew that the “catchiness” of the surface of Randy’s pieces was a reflection and link to deeper truths, not just icing to hide the lack of them. If I would bump into him during my visits back to CalArts, Mel would often bring me up to date about the latest batch of crazy kids.  Even in this milieu, Randy stood out.  Mel commented about “that Eight-Ball piece” (actually titled 8) as being particularly memorable.  There was something about it that Mel knew was much more than witty novelty.  If you take the time to watch Randy’s performance of it, the experience is enthralling, and Mel knew it was brilliant.

Somehow as the late 1980s became the ‘90s, my trips to L.A. became less frequent, but the common use era of email began to open up other possibilities. Art Jarvinen was instrumental in connecting Randy and me.  We traded a few emails, and I believe that somewhere in a landfill in Connecticut there’s a NeXT cube with the extent of our correspondence on it.   In 1996, things seemed about to change.  I would be headed out west again, and this time Art was planning on setting up one of his incredible dinners for us to finally meet in person.

Then in February I got “the phone call” from Art.  Randy had passed away after what seemed to be a very brief illness.  Art was devastated.  Though being of stoic Finnish stock, Art could be tremendously impacted by friends’ deaths. In response to Randy’s passing, he wrote the beautiful Endless Bummer, a gentle and poignant turn on the surf music of “Endless Summer”.

A graph paper page from the original manuscript score of Randy Hostetler's P(l)aces.

A graph paper page from the original manuscript score of Randy Hostetler’s P(l)aces.

What I remember about the first MATA festival and the process of bringing Randy’s P(l)aces together is this: Lisa Bielawa and Eleonor Sandresky had both gone to Yale around the time Randy was there. As they began the huge task of programming the festival, it was clear that P(l)aces would be an important element both aesthetically and emotionally.  To be honest, I don’t remember if they first asked me to play bass on it, or if I insisted that I had to.

If we try to put it into a particular box in terms of style, P(l)aces is uncatagorizable.

P(l)aces shines a light on at least two important aspects of Randy’s work. First, if we try to put it into a particular box in terms of style, it is uncatagorizable.  However, it does have certain attributes of both modernist and post-modernist styles (and probably Classical and Romantic too, but that’s calling for a wider paint brush than I brought today).  I think it has something to do with Randy’s sense of how to take primal elements and to find how they relate in complex ways instead of taking the easier route of just being complicated. This has a benefit for the players.   As part of the ensemble, it always felt like individual parts were rooted in a familiar tradition, but all the parts together were unlike anything I’d ever heard.

Similarly, in Randy’s electronic works he manages to sculpt the familiar into the unique with the use of only the bare minimum of studio frippery.   A prime example is Happily Ever After. It has no robust algorithms, no elegant Max patches, maybe even no reverb.   What it does have is a collection of very human-sized stories told by many of his friends and recorded by Randy.  They all start the same way (“Once upon a time”) and all end the same way (“happily ever after”).  What happens to the individual threads in between is up to each storyteller, but the resultant whole is an exquisite tapestry woven by Randy that gives dignity to each of those threads.

Randy’s generosity towards other composers and performers carries through to all of us who listen to his work.  He never directs our attention to his own skill as a composer, but subtly shifts our attention to have us reconsider our own selves—and each other—in a more favorable and generous light.

A page from Lisa Bielawa's digitally engraved score for Randy Hostetler's P(l)aces

A typical page from Lisa Bielawa’s digitally engraved score for Randy Hostetler’s P(l)aces showing his penchant for dense polymetric textures.

Why Even Try?

When I made the videos above to promote Sybarite5’s new album Outliers via my new side hustle Bright Shiny Things, one of my fantasies was that someone in an office somewhere saw a video, cracked up, and then said to their office mates, “Hey, come over here and see this funny-ass video from Sybarite5.” I then, in my mind’s eye, pictured the entire office crowding around one screen to watch our videos, laughing and chanting, “We love Sybarite5!” for 5-20 minutes/hours. I know this is exactly what happened, at least on a few occasions. Please don’t tell me otherwise, as my fragile ego cannot take it.

Anyway, I sincerely hope the videos contributed to our fans’ enjoyment, as well as to the album’s #1 debut on the Billboard Traditional Classical Charts.

(Now, we know there are those who will throw their arms up and scream, or quietly mutter under their breath, that we’re cheapening this classical art music by adding humor. These are probably the same people who think we need to only wear tuxedos on stage forever. These people likely want us to be something other than what we are.)

So why do it? Why do I go to the hassle of doing this for “new music?” It’s not for the money, and it’s not for the fame. No one is #newmusicfamous or #newmusicrich.

Here are the stock answers: The work is fun, and I believe in the project. I believe in the ensemble, music, and the composers. I know this music needs to get out into the world, and I want to see that happen in any way possible. So if I need to make some videos, FINE.

But I think I can dig a little deeper. The next answer is still pretty simple—we as artists continuously need to find new ways to talk about the music and the art we are creating. And I’m not afraid to make funny videos about something that people may consider “serious” art. I’m just not.

There are many choices I make because I am afraid of the judgment of others, so now what I want to understand is why I’m not afraid to do something so I can live with less fear.

Now we get to the deep water—I have to admit to myself right now that it’s not easy for me to say that I’m not afraid of something. In our modern, social media-driven world, there is certainly at the very least a perception that there is a lot to be afraid of.   I’ve recently come to realize that there are many choices I make because I am afraid of the judgment of others, so now what I want to understand is why I’m not afraid to do something so I can live with less fear. I think that making promo videos or marketing materials has something to do with the fact that I see performing on stage and interacting with our audiences online as not being so different.

If I’m doing my job well on stage and if Sybarite5 is doing its job well, we share something with the audience. And we get something back as well. There is a relationship. There is intimacy and laughter, which are related by the way.

To truly laugh with someone—not at them or near them, but with them—requires a certain amount of intimacy. Because laughter, like any emotional expression, requires the safety to express that joy. The trust that your expression won’t be dismissed. The openness and sharing of the moment. It requires an understanding of why the moment is funny, and why the shared experience is important. —ourbodiesourselves.org

I see our social media accounts, videos, albums, printed and online materials as part of a conversation happening within the context of our on-stage relationship with the audience. And so to some degree, because we are sometimes funny on stage, we can certainly make some funny videos. It’s an authentic presentation of who we are as artists and as people.

Perhaps I’m particularly mindful of this because as I began my own career, I took a few wrong turns before I found my confidence and got going down the right road for me.

When I started my professional life in music, there was no path forward to have a career as a double bassist in chamber music. It simply didn’t exist. Most of my training was focused on getting a job in an orchestra, which I eventually did. And, while performing orchestra masterworks is something that gives me great pleasure and satisfaction, I knew very early on after getting an orchestra job that I would never have a say in the artistic production in a way that was deeply meaningful to me. So a search began. The search was within myself, and outside myself. I asked lots of questions. Is this an expansion of my education? A means to an end? Do I have already the answer? Is there an answer? I didn’t know. I just knew I needed to search. This wasn’t going to be easy, simple, or quick, and I knew it. Nevertheless I went there. I played for a lot more people and sought out new teachers. I eventually came up with musical and artistic growth as a path. I founded Sybarite5 and soon that became a vehicle for my artistic and musical growth in a more profound way than the orchestra.

Discovering this path took some time. I say to a lot of friends that I probably spent about five years scared shitless to even mention out loud that I wanted to have a career in chamber music to most of my teachers. They’d laugh out loud, right? I thought these people were orchestral gods of bass, and I think they would have seen chamber work as a total cop out to getting a “real job” in an orchestra. And, if I’m being honest with myself, which I am, those choices were being made because I was afraid of the judgment of others. This was often counterproductive to my artistic and musical growth. I’m mentioning this again now because if I had known what I know now then, just maybe I could have made my decisions a little quicker or with more ease, and it’s my hope that maybe some youngster will read this and they can skip the five-year indecisive torment plan.

It’s my hope that maybe some youngster will read this and they can skip the five-year indecisive torment plan.

Actually, it probably took me eight years to really make a decision to put the majority of my energy into a career in chamber music (and therefore not into orchestra auditions). Oddly enough, the single moment that I can say I chose chamber music was when the New York Philharmonic called me to play as a substitute and I said nope, I had to study chamber music in Aspen. I wasn’t afraid, and I was too naïve to know that they’d never call me again. But in hindsight, I made the correct, if subconscious, choice by going with the thing that fed my artistic inner self. I took a path that had more potential for growth.

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about fear and judgment, and how those two things influence the majority of the decisions I make. But there is one place that they don’t get a say, and that’s when I’m on stage performing new music. Why is that?

I guess I’ve got a week to figure it out and let you know.