Tag: career

A Category of Our Own

Posted on August 16, 2013 by Rob Deemer - Columns

Several weeks ago, an article ran in the Washington Post’s Wonkblog entitled “Five facts about professional artists in the United States.” Among those five facts were that California ranked as the highest state and New York City as the highest city for their numbers of resident “artists” (a term which embraced everyone from performing and fine artists to writers and authors, photographers, directors and producers, architects, and designers). Other facts noted the high number of designers compared to the rest of the country’s artistic workforce and the low number of females in the architectural profession.

The article’s author, Katherine Boyle, had gleaned these facts from a recently-published study, “Equal Opportunity Data Mining: National Statistics about Working Artists” by the National Endowment for the Arts. This study, comprising data from 2006 through 2010, looks at a number of aspects around the subset of “artists” within the United States, how these numbers relate to the overall workforce, and it provides a relatively detailed view of the artistic population in this country from a national scale at the macro level to specific cities at the micro level. In its introduction, the study states:

There are 2,081,735 million artists in the United States, identified by the occupation to which they which devoted the most hours in a given week. These artists fall into one of 11 occupations, and together they compose 1.35 percent of the total workforce.

When I happened upon this study at the end of June, I flipped to the page that listed the 11 occupational categories, as I was curious to see if it made any delineations for composers, orchestrators, etc. To my amazement, composers weren’t listed at all; the definition of musicians (which I assumed would include composers) read as such:

Musicians, singers, and related workers, SOC 27-2040. Play one or more musical instruments or sing. Perform on stage, for on-air broadcasting, or for sound or video recording.

I posted the original link on Facebook and commented on this discrepancy, pointing to the fact that individuals under each category were “identified by the occupation to which they which devoted the most hours in a given week.” Ian David Moss, no stranger to NewMusicBox, also seemed surprised, since (as he put it) “it looks like there is actually a separate government code for ‘music directors and composers’ (27-2041) and for some reason they left it out of this analysis.”

Not long after that exchange, Moss posted about the discrepancy on his own blog, Createquity, and soon got some results. In a nice demonstration of his blog’s readership, Moss was contacted by Sunil Iyengar, director of the NEA’s Office of Research and Analysis. Iyengar wrote, “As it turns out, we DID include composers and music directors in our data for all musicians, but, inexplicably, we neglected to list the relevant code (27-2041) on the part of the web page that lists all the artist codes.” Moss was thanked for the heads-up and the listing for musicians now reads:

Musicians, singers, and related workers, SOC 27-2040. Includes arrangers, composers, choral directors, conductors, music directors, musicians, and singers.

While I was happy to see that this small, overlooked detail was fixed, I still wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to get a sense of who and where those people who listed themselves as “composers” were, but the governmental category – 27-2041- within which that occupation resides also includes “music directors.” The Bureau of Labor Statistics defines both sub-categories of musicians thusly:

27-2041 Music Directors and Composers
Conduct, direct, plan, and lead instrumental or vocal performances by musical groups, such as orchestras, bands, choirs, and glee clubs. Includes arrangers, composers, choral directors, and orchestrators.
Illustrative examples: Choirmaster, Jingle Writer, Orchestra Conductor, Songwriter
27-2042 Musicians and Singers
Play one or more musical instruments or sing. May perform on stage, for on-air broadcasting, or for sound or video recording.
Illustrative examples: Instrumentalist, Oboist, Rapper

I can see why the Bureau of Labor Statistics might combine music directors and composers, since neither occupation performs (at least for public consumption) on an instrument or sings in the execution of their occupation. That being said, there are many reasons why this conflation of composers and music directors is inappropriate, and I feel that our occupation deserves its own category for future studies.

First, let’s look at how our “creator” colleagues in other artistic categories fare. Fine artists (painters, sculptors, illustrators, etc.) have their own subset under a broader category of “Art and Design Workers” (27-1000), alongside art directors, craft artists, multimedia artists and animators, and the ubiquitous “others” (which include calligraphers and tattoo artists). Poets and authors fall under the heading of “Writers and Authors” (27-3043) with the description “Originate and prepare written material, such as scripts, stories, advertisements, and other material.” Playwrights and screenwriters also fall under this heading, with their performing and directing collaborators each getting their own categories of “Actors” (27-2011) and “Directors and Producers” (27-2012). Choreographers are described separately from “Dancers” under their own category (27-2032) as those that “Create new dance routines. Rehearse performance of routines. May direct and stage presentations.”

With these delineations in mind, it is troubling that our form of artistic creativity—creating musical works—is not seen as an occupation that stands on its own. There is a vast difference between being a music director or conductor and being a composer. While there are composers who conduct just as there are composers who perform, the activity and necessary training for these vocations are dissimilar in many ways. I challenge anyone to say that their definitions are close enough to be combined in such a report. By equating these two drastically different occupations within these bureaucratic categories, any research or claims made about the state of either occupation within specific cities, states, or the entire country can’t be seen as valid because of the lack of separation in the data between the two.

Last week, I made these arguments to Sunil Iyengar, director of the NEA’s Office of Research and Analysis. He was quick to respond, referring my query to Bonnie Nichols, one of the research analysts with the NEA. My questions to her were as follows:

1) Why are Composers (those who write music) and Music Directors (those who conduct and/or administrate performing musicians) conflated within the same category? I understand that in certain circumstances that some individuals may do both, but it makes sense to keep those two distinct categories separate. Any research done on the scope of either occupation in our society today is made weak, if not useless, with the combination of the other. Could these two categories be separated?
2) That being said, is it possible to acquire the specific data from that category (27-2041) from the study?

She explained that the EEO tables combined all of the music categories, so pulling out any specific information on the Composer/Music Director subset was impossible. She did, however, point me to the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ Occupational Employment Survey (OES), which provides employment, locational, and salary information on the Composer/Music Director category. The maps alone are quite telling as far as where these occupations are located and what the average salaries are in each region. (I’m not sure why, but there are no numbers for Alaska, Nevada, North and South Dakota, West Virginia, Vermont, and Maine.)

Nichols was also helpful in pointing out an important additional caveat to these numbers; not only do they combine composers and music directors, but they do not include self-employed workers. Put together, it makes the OES report practically useless for anyone trying to do research in this area.

When I pressed her on the question of separating the two categories out of 27-2041, she responded that “the number of workers in a particular occupation would have to meet a threshold before they are tallied in a specific occupation,” and then she referred me to the U.S. Census Bureau for more information. Down the rabbit hole I went…

After a bit of digging around in the Census Bureau website, I discovered a document entitled “Revising the Standard Occupational Classification system for 2010” that took me through the process by which the latest versions of the SOC occupational categories were edited. It turns out that the process started in 2005 with proposals being made and vetted over the next four years, and the final version being solidified in 2009. Only 7 percent of the previous system had been overhauled (most of it hadn’t been touched or sustained only editorial changes) and the majority of the content changes seem to have gone in the other direction, with related occupations being combined into fewer categories. If a proposal were made to split the Composer and Music Director category, now’s the time; the next SOC (Standard Occupational Classification) Manual revision will begin this year with the result coming out in 2018.

And that’s where things stand so far. I’ll continue digging to see what needs to be done to put together a proposal for this seemingly important change. I have no idea if an endeavor like this is the bureaucratic equivalent of tilting at windmills, but as we strive to educate the public about the existence of composers, and ensure that the art of composing music is not lost and forgotten, something as simple as a government classification stating for the record that this is indeed an occupation worthy of its own merits is an appropriate measure for which to hope.

Composer Operating Costs

Posted on June 6, 2013 by Alexandra Gardner - Columns

Calculator and Money, by 401(K) 2012 on Flickr

As many of you are well aware, June 1 is a pretty significant date in the composing world because lots of grant application deadlines fall on that day. Like many other composers, I spent a good chunk of May writing proposals, updating all of my resume/CV/catalog of works documents, printing, binding, and assembling packages. At this point, I’m on a first-name basis with my local post office workers. Boy howdy, I’m glad all that stuff is finished! At least for a couple of months, until the application deadlines pile up yet again.

Having blown through an impressive amount of composer-y office supplies during this process (I maintain that half the battle of being a composer is having the ability to procure oddly sized and/or obscure office supplies), I made a trip last weekend to replenish my dwindling reserves of paper, CDRs, and padded envelopes. No matter how many times I run this errand, the final price at the register never fails to take my breath away. And the same thought always comes up:
“Damn, being a composer is expensive.”

I’m not talking about just office supplies. I mean pretty much everything about having a career as a composer—with the exception of the actual composing part, that is—costs money. Perhaps super-successful composers with major publishers are in a different position, but I suspect that even they are not immune to this phenomenon.
There are numerous “composer operating costs” (most of which apply to performers as well) that kick in during and/or after the largest expense of all, education. For instance, there is travel (to concerts, auditions, and other events), professional development (workshops, festivals, conferences), concert tickets, membership fees, self-promotional stuff (website hosting, etc.), and computer hardware and software, to name just a few items. And the more advanced the career, the more expensive it can become; a copyist to help manage the composing workload, or a publicist to assist in getting the word out about a new CD release can add up to big bucks. With increasing success, it seems as if rather than the expenses decreasing, they simply transform into different expenses. All of this is obviously above and beyond the basic human need for food, shelter, and clothing.

I am continually impressed with the resourcefulness and creativity of many composer colleagues regarding the ways they combat the potential “composer money pit.” There are composers who live in extremely low- or no-cost housing situations, some have armies of student interns to help with various tasks, and one composer I know is an absolute genius at scoring complementary music gear from manufacturing companies.

Throughout history, composers (and plenty of other types of artists) have received support in many different forms. Tchaikovsky had a benefactress, Nadezhda von Meck, who sent regular infusions of cash, for example. Whether it is the generosity of a mysterious sponsor, an inheritance from a well-to-do auntie, or the help of a spouse, an institution, or an entire Kickstarter campaign, every one of us has received financial or in-kind support of one form or another (and probably in many forms) at different points in our careers. I think it’s important to remember all of the people who have played a part in helping us get to wherever we are in our creative paths, and to recognize that behind every artist who “makes it” is most likely a sea of individuals who provided support along the way.

Music Writers on Writing: Peter Margasak

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Ellen McSweeney - Field Reports, Headlines

As a performer working my first job as a music writer, I’ve asked myself a lot of questions about what it is I’m doing. What’s the role of the writer—or, more ominously, the critic—in today’s musical ecosystem? Does anyone even read concert reviews anymore? How much critical distance is too much or, in my own case, too little? In this series of interviews, I’m going straight to the source—music critics themselves—to find out why they do what they do.

My first conversation is with Peter Margasak, whose eclectic taste and thoughtful writing have been mainstays of the Chicago Reader music pages for almost twenty years. Margasak’s newest venture, as curator of the Frequency Series at Constellation, puts him in closer relationship to Chicago’s contemporary music scene than ever before. The series will place Chicago’s new music ensembles alongside improvisers, electronic musicians, instrument inventors, and world music groups drawn from the diverse musical communities that Margasak covers. Our conversation revealed Peter as a down-to-earth, curious, constantly self-educating music journalist with a growing interest in advocacy.

Ellen McSweeney: Are you a musician? How did you get started as a music writer?
Peter Margasak: I’m not a musician. My parents just always had records. Neither one was really a musician, but they’d have records and I’d always listen. I remember getting a little toy record player when I was five or six. I was getting really into Top 40 by third grade, and my dad would tell me to listen to actual albums!

The thing that really put it into overdrive was getting into punk rock. I got into it largely for superficial reasons—because it was a weird thing to do—but then I listened long enough that it stopped being a social marker for me. I started listening to jazz records—the kids didn’t think that was cool.

I started a ‘zine called Butt Rag, and I did nine issues. By the end, they were 100 pages long and I was getting printed on newsprint. And that’s how The Reader found me. They used to have a column called Spot Check, and they had seen Butt Rag, which was very snotty. And they said, you need to do that here.

EM: What do you think about this idea that the critic needs to be an expert?

PM: The older I’ve gotten, the more cautious I am. When I was younger, I had no problem writing about music I had no idea about. Now I try to be really careful when I write about stuff, because I’m admittedly kind of a novice with [contemporary classical] music. I know there’s people that read it who are probably like, “Who is this guy??”

Older jazz musicians will come to me and say, “Are you a musician? No? Well, how can you write about music then?” My response is, “If you’re not a musician, how can you listen to music?” I don’t analyze stuff musicologically for people. I don’t think people that read The Reader want that. You don’t want to alienate people when they open it up.

I think a lot of the music I’ve been taken by and written about can be appreciated on different levels. Like [Ensemble Dal Niente’s performance of Georg Friedrich] Haas—all that weird psychoacoustic stuff in there. It makes me think of La Monte Young, something about the physicality of it. I don’t have to know everything about Beethoven to appreciate Haas.

Ensemble Dal Niente performs George Friedrich Haas’s in vain

EM: What draws you to contemporary classical music?

PM: What draws me is that it’s not, unlike the rest of classical music, built around the 5,000th recording of a piece. I mean, I want to know what the best recordings are, but with newer music, sometimes only one recording exists. That’s “the record.” The composer is not this precious historic figure; he’s this person that’s in the room. That’s what I see happening here. The Marcos Balter stuff with Deerhoof—it’s really exciting to see that. Musicians have this shared sensibility where that collaboration isn’t crass or artificial. It makes sense now—they can work together. The media tries to sort musicians into neat categories. The reality has never been that simple.

EM: Is there any negative baggage for you around the term “music critic”? Is “music writer” better?

PM: Working at The Reader, one of the things I had to actually learn was how to be a journalist. “Music critic” isn’t satisfactory to me. I’ve learned to do reporting, to do research. It’s not about saying, “This music makes me feel this way!” The context and the story behind it are often just as rewarding, and are crucial to understanding the actual music.

When I wrote about Katinka Kleijn collaborating with Dan Dehaan and Ryan Ingebritsen, it took a lot of back-and-forth for me to understand what they were doing. I can’t tell you how many emails I had with Daniel, learning how the technical side works. I need to understand it if I’m going to tell someone else how it’s used. I want to not just put out my opinion, but also inform people.
When people ask what I do, I just say music journalist. Criticism is part of that. I have no problem with music criticism; I think it’s just not an adequate description of what I do.

Intelligence In The Human-Machine Photo courtesy Industry of the Ordinary

Katinka Kleijn collaborating with Dan Dehaan and Ryan Ingebritsen for Intelligence In The Human Machine
Photo courtesy Industry of the Ordinary

EM: How do you decide what to cover? What guides you internally as you decide what concerts to go to and what deserves coverage?

PM: Some weeks, when there’s been a lot of touring stuff going on, I have a list of 20 things I could cover. But maybe I can only do six. It’s a combination of writing about things that are underexposed and deserve to be heard, but also things that I feel like I have something to say about. I don’t want to just write about something where there’s no need for me to chime in. I want to choose something where I can add something to the conversation. I don’t write about stuff that I hate. At The Reader, we like to focus on things that are going to be positive. There’s already not enough space; why waste it on being negative about something?
For me, it’s tricky because i’m interested in so many different kinds of music. It’s maddening trying to keep up with all of it. My wife could tell you how maddening. She has to live with all the detritus.

EM: What do you think is the ideal role of a music journalist?

PM: I think the role is to lead to discovery, to inform, to filter. That’s one thing you hear about with the internet. We don’t need critics anymore because everyone can share their opinion. But when everyone does that, then who do you trust? You have to build a relationship with a writer. Sometimes if a certain writer likes something, I know I’m not going to like it, or vice versa.

A music writer is a storyteller. That was one thing I learned at The Reader: you tell a story. The other stuff, like educating, is happenstance. You don’t try to be a teacher, dictating what people need to know. If you tell it as a story, people absorb it in a much more natural, meaningful way.

I think because of my broad interests, I can connect things: classical music to jazz, or to noise. There are these through-lines that a lot of people don’t really think about. I just wrote about Takehisa Kosugi—kind of a relentlessly experimental musician, part of the Japanese Fluxus movement, one of the main composers for Merce Cunningham’s dance troupe. [On] one of the performances he did (when he recorded for Cunningham), Sonic Youth, and John Paul Jones from Led Zeppelin played with him. At The Reader, that might help draw people in. That’s not my main job, but when I see the opportunity to draw that kind of connection that will help people, or make them curious, I take it. I think seeking that connection is the way I’m wired.

EM: [clickety clack clickety clack type type type type type]

PM: You’re a really fast typer. I wish I could do that. I hate transcribing more than anything.

Pull Up A Chair

Posted on April 11, 2013 by Alexandra Gardner - Columns

First of all, if you haven’t yet read Ellen McSweeney’s excellent article from yesterday, take the opportunity now. Thanks to Ellen and composer Reena Esmail, I decided pick up Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In, and even though I’m just part way through chapter three, I see quite a bit in those pages not only of myself, but of so many other women around me. The information is not necessarily new, but it is presented in a clear, succinct manner that paints a remarkably accurate picture of the working world from a female perspective.

Conveniently, over the past couple of months I have also been connecting with a greater number of female composers than usual, partly by chance. Time and time again I feel both overwhelmed with pride for the amazingly talented women making music in our world today, and fantastically frustrated by the lack of recognition many of them receive. Some of that frustration, as Sandberg’s book neatly outlines, is due not only to external social structures, but also to the internal challenges that many women face on a daily basis. These matters are all so complex, and there are so many wide-ranging issues in play, that it is going to take a long time and a lot of people of both genders to continue improving the landscape for female composers and musicians.

The thought that keeps popping into my head as a crucial element in this tangled web is that women are not culturally encouraged to ask for things. In a professional setting, men, in general, tend to have little problem asking for whatever they want and/or need, while not only do women tend not to ask for things, they sometimes are not aware of all the things they could ask for, and as a result, don’t. To pile onto that, the very act of a woman asking for something is often perceived differently than the same request made by a man. This falls in line with Sandberg’s “likeability factor,” which points out that success for a woman causes her to be perceived as less likeable (the opposite is true for men). It’s perfectly natural for a man to ask for a thing, while if a woman asks for the same thing in the same way, she is more likely to be seen as self-serving, which counts as points against her. This seeps into myriad nooks and crannies of life, from negotiating salaries and composition commissions to navigating daily schedules, work habits, and personal relationships. A colleague recently told a story of a man who offered a position in his company to a woman. The man said, “I would have happily given her $X more if she had just asked for it.” It is notable that the woman did not negotiate, even when negotiation for job salaries is a cultural norm in the business world. However, had she negotiated her salary, it might have affected her employer’s opinion of her in a possibly negative way. It’s a messy, vicious cycle that needs to be broken somehow.

In the music world, I see and experience other women not asking for stuff all the time. And believe me, I get it—asking for things can be truly difficult. Often more than one try is necessary—that is true for anyone of either gender—when submitting grant applications or making proposals for creative opportunities. I have experienced situations in which asking for something for myself was almost physically painful! But the more you do it, the easier it gets. Recently I challenged myself to do some asking of a sort that I normally would not, and while it was by no means easy to do, the answers turned out to be yes! In fact there were responses like, “Oh! Sure, we can do that. Thank you for asking!” And really, even if the answers had been no, would that have been so bad? I don’t think so. Wonders can be wrought through the power of asking nicely.

Last week I attended a concert that included a work by a female composer whom I know personally, and whose music I think is exceptional. The ensemble had issued the invitation. When the composer and I spoke in person at the concert, this is how our conversation started:

Composer: “I’m so glad to see you! I was hoping you would come.”
Me: “Oh! You know you could have contacted me directly, right?”
Composer: “It’s just that I hate to impose….”

This sort of thing happens a lot. But I cannot think of even one instance in which a male composer has considered contacting me directly to attend a performance to be “imposing.” The guys are, frankly, all up in my face 24/7.

Similarly, the lack of asking here at NewMusicBox is very pronounced. Despite the fact that we are crystal clear about wanting to hear music by composers of both genders, are we flooded with CDs and emails from female composers? Quite the opposite. I would guess that over 90% of the recordings we receive contain music by male composers. In the almost three years that I have worked here, I can count with the fingers of one hand the number of female composers who have contacted me specifically asking for, well, anything that pertains to the music they are creating. And we are not the only organization for which this is the case. Several record labels have mentioned that they wish they received more CD proposals from women.

I honestly think that if every female artist—or every female of any profession—asked for one specific thing that they really wanted or needed, this could begin to shift our culture in a pronounced way. Sandberg writes in her book about the need for women to “sit at the table,” and the act of asking for something is an important way to pull up a chair and be part of the conversation.

What will you ask for?
Who will you ask?
When will you ask for it?
What are you waiting for?

Turning the Page

Posted on February 22, 2013 by Rob Deemer - Columns

I’m not sure if other composers find themselves segmenting their careers into “chapters” or other similar ideas, but I think I may be turning a page or two into a new chapter myself. As I find my own composing opportunities gently shifting from chamber works to pieces for large ensembles, I am enjoying the exploration of musical territories that I haven’t ventured into in several years. In addition, as the nature of the ensembles for which I find myself composing expands, the challenge of writing music for drastically different performers and audiences while at the same time writing music that still reflects who I am is becoming ever more apparent.

If I were to divide my career as a composer/arranger over the past 25 years or so, it would probably look something like this:

Chapter 1: Writing for Big Band (1988-2000)
Chapter 2: Scoring for Film (1995-2001)
Chapter 3: Writing for Large Ensemble (1997-2005)
Chapter 4: Writing Chamber Music (2002-Present)
——Sub-Chapter A: Strings (Begins in 2002)
——Sub-Chapter B: Brass (Begins in 2004)
——Sub-Chapter C: Voice (Begins in 2007)
——Sub-Chapter D: Woodwinds (Begins in 2009)
Chapter 5: Rediscovering Large Ensembles (2012-Present)

Not exactly the most linear of career arcs, I’d be the first to admit, but each chapter did lead into the next more-or-less organically. These new “chapters” were generated by a number of different factors, including interest, location, environment, instructors, exposure to new ideas, and opportunity. Several of these are made clear if one overlays where and what I was doing during those years:

1988-1994: Undergrad studies at Northern Illinois University, performed in jazz ensembles
1995-1998: Studied film scoring at USC and freelanced in Los Angeles in film/theatre work
1998-2001: Graduate studies at NIU, graduate conductor for wind ensemble and orchestra
2001-2005: Doctoral studies at UT-Austin, assistant director of new music ensemble
2005-2007: One-year teaching stints at University of Oklahoma and Oklahoma City U.
2007-Present: Began teaching at SUNY Fredonia (first time living near East Coast)

Those factors I listed are, of course, intertwined…I was interested in writing for big band during my time in an environment where there were lots of top-notch big bands to write for, same for film scoring, and so on. As my interests evolved, I moved to those locations and environments that allowed for the best exposure to new ideas and the greatest amount of opportunity I could find…at least until I finished my studies.

Once employment became a factor, my ability to choose where I lived was limited, but around the time that I began teaching professionally I also began to be commissioned by performers in other regions of the country, so location became less of a determining factor; this became amplified as I met more performers through social media during this same period. Most of these external commissions were for solo and chamber works, so it made sense that the past eight years or so have been primarily geared towards writing music for those ensembles and exploring musical concepts within those contexts.

I bring all of this up because this year feels really different than in years past, specifically due to the fact that I’ve already written two works for band—one for the San Diego State University Wind Symphony and one for the Williamsville East High School Wind Ensemble near Buffalo—and have a couple more wind band works and an orchestral work coming down the pike. These opportunities are exciting, of course, but musically it feels like I’m going up to the attic and pulling out some old clothes I haven’t worn in quite some time; I’ve gotten so used to working within a constrained chamber palette that getting to work with a band or orchestra is a significant mental gear shift.

That shift, however, is not as great a challenge as the fact that while I’m writing for these larger ensembles (many of which are in educational institutions and are made up of pre-college or college-age students), I’m still writing chamber works for professionals who have particular wheelhouses within which they reside. These projects are forcing me to really stretch myself artistically and conceptually as I attempt to write something significant and appropriate to the stature of the performers.
This layered environment, where I find myself writing several different works that are all “mine” but which run the gamut from a high school band to a high profile cellist with electronics is a relatively new “chapter” in my career. It’s not often that you realize you’re in a time of personal transition—often you only realize that the transition has happened after the fact—but when it does happen it allows for both self-reflection and dreaming of where that transition can take you in the future.

The Dangers of Dopamine

Posted on April 26, 2012 by Alexandra Gardner - Columns

I must admit that Colin Holter’s final post yesterday rendered me a little verklempt, and this statement really jumped out at me:

Unfortunately this need for approbation from the field is piped so subtly and deeply into one’s sense of self that one doesn’t even realize it’s activating one’s dopamine receptors.

I think it is safe to say that nearly anyone who reads and/or writes for NewMusicBox can understand this statement at some level. The force of which Colin speaks is perhaps strongest within academia, which can be a tragically bad thing for still-developing composition students. Becoming a “good composer” is not the responsibility of the institution; its job is to get you through that program and prove that you learned something, which does not necessarily assume “good composer.” If a composition student has the good fortune of a teacher who can help develop compositional skill, then that is tuition well spent, but the reality is that the attainment of “good composer” credentials are icing atop the mortarboard.

Some folks are brilliantly suited to being creative, original voices in the world of music pedagogy, and flourish within that context. For others it is not their cup of tea, and if they are lucky they figure that out and migrate to greener pastures. I have two friends who recently decided to forego doctorates in music for excellent jobs that will keep them busy, happy, and financially stable, working in musical communities that fit their aesthetic sensibilities to a tee. Another friend with a really exceptional performance and composing career (and a very serious and thoughtful musical mind) is actually returning to school, to study a field outside of music. He simply wants to pursue a different thing, and use his brain in a new way, while continuing to play the music he loves on his own terms. I’m not sure what’s been causing all this major decision-making (astrologically speaking, I think there’s something afoot with Mars right now, or maybe it could be, you know, economic collapse) but in these cases the changes seem like positive moves.

Needless to say, neither of the above scenarios meets any sort of institutional ideal of what a composer “should” be. As much as folks claim we should be open to a multiplicity of musical ideas and influences, the talk is not always being walked. It’s obvious in even simple conversation—when I meet a new person for the first time in a concert music context, the next question out of that person’s mouth nine out of every ten times is, “So you’re a composer… where do you teach?” Which can translate to “So how do you really make a living?” or possibly more often, “Should I take you seriously?” (Honey, I am serious as a heart attack. Please change the question.)

On occasions when “non-academic” composers give presentations to students at colleges and universities, it is often couched within the context of, “Look kids! A composer can have a life outside of academia!” Despite the occasional “Please do not feed the wild composer” vibe, I very much appreciate the opportunity to make these visits (and I loved meeting composers doing things I had never imagined when I was a student), not only because it’s fun, but also because students need to know that there a million different ways to be a composer in the world. It seems it can’t be stated too many times.

Whether you are situated inside or outside of academia, may you find satisfaction and a sense of achievement in your work. No one knows what that means better than you and you alone. Dopamine blasts be damned.

Alexandra Gardner

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