My training in composition

What was my training as a composer? I've tended to think that it was pretty traditional (I mean, traditional for the time). Was that true? Actually, no. Was I self taught? In some ways, yes.

The most traditional academic part of my training was as an undergraduate at Duke, where I studied theory, history, piano; but with only a semester of orchestration and two semesters of conducting. I really don't remember if I formally studied composition with Iain Hamilton. Upon reflection, I think that the answer is no. I was on my own, and completed a couple of pieces as an undergraduate, a piano solo work and a piece for brass quintet, inspired by Stockhausen's Momente.

Instead of pursuing the Ivy League (Yale, Columbia, Princeton -- post-Webern) or the Conservatory (Eastman, Juilliard -- more traditional craft-oriented) paths, I went to CalArts, then in its second year of existence. California… that was a different experience. Interestingly, my composition teacher was Mel Powell, from Yale and a member of the Ivy League school. I rarely had lessons. Mel was too involved as Dean of the School of Music in organizational issues. I have great respect for him, but remember mostly his classes in analyzing Webern works. I do remember hearing for the first time music of Steve Reich, Terry Riley and Phillip Glass at CalArts. "California" composers Harold Budd and Jim Tenney were also on the faculty, but I didn't formally work with them. In fact, I didn't formally work with anyone -- just absorbed a lot. Students were pretty much on our own. It was tough for the undergrads, but having gained the basics in theory, piano, etc. it was much easier for me as a grad student, especially as I was fairly self-directed. I have always felt that, at its heart, education is about growth, exploration and learning, not about preparation for a career.

Then SUNY at Buffalo. Mel was evidently a friend of Morton Feldman, one of the ultimate non-academic composers. Morty had just been named Edgard Varese professor at SUNY. The piece that got me into SUNY, I believe, was what one might term a "minimalist" piano piece - it was a study in changes of register and density, based on a simple scale and chord set. Morty was what I consider my only real teacher. What I learned from him:

listen, and trust your ear. (The "urgency of now." I'm not sure where that phrase comes from, but it is on my mind this morning.) One of the very profound things I remember him saying about composition: "choose your poison."

I had lessons at his apartment. My strongest memory is of him hunched over the piano (his eyesight was very poor), looking at the music paper in front of him, playing and listening intently to chords and single notes at the piano. He lived in the world of each piece as it unfolded. As he completed a page of score he would tape it to a bedroom wall, in sequence with the previously completed pages, so that he so he could stand and "walk through" the piece, looking at it closely, to see it unfolding. His trust in himself was terrific. As he completed composing a page of music he would immediately copy it (in ink and on vellum). Actually, I now do somewhat the same in many works. When I trust what I have done, which is usually pretty quickly, I begin "copying" it. Today that means putting it into my notation software. And yes, I still have my ink pens and black ink, even many pages of blank vellum that I will probably never use (never say never).

I have never belonged to any "school" of composition. There are so many these days. In our world it is almost impossible to escape the multiplicity of styles and approaches. Yes, I was influenced by Morty's style for awhile; my own style evolved, though I think that my works still reflect his intuitive approach, of using the ear. It may be hard to pin down my "style" if you listen to more than one of my works, or even more than one movement of a given work. There might appear to be different styles being used in the same work. But it is always a question of my intent, my inspiration, and using what I need in order to accomplish my intent at a given moment. The variety in my works displays different aspects of my sensibility, identity and experience.

If one asked, I would say that these are the composers who have made the greatest impression on me:

Stravinsky

Debussy

Schoenberg

Feldman

Hildegard von Bingen

Beethoven

And now Schubert

There are of course many more.

Watching the stars move

While lying on my side in bed at night I can see out of the top half of one of our bedroom windows. It faces the northeast. Last night at 2:10 am I noticed two bright stars, on above the other (not quite directly above, but a little to the right), about (what appeared to my eyes) 3/4 inch apart, if I held my fingers up to it about three inches from my eyes. A few minutes later a third fainter star appeared from the top of the left side of the window. A beautiful triangle.

I watched the star triangle move, upwards and to the right, slowly. A slow, quiet drama. I couldn't go back to sleep for watching it, visually trying to calculate the exact angle the triangle was moving. At 2:59 the upper right star of the triangle finally disappeared behind the top of the window frame. An impressive disappearance, and satisfying to observe. The triangle was gone.

Somewhat later I returned to sleep.

Prayer from Sacred Space

I highly recommend this web site: http://www.sacredspace.ie. It is run by Irish Jesuits and features prayers for every day. Here is a recent one:

O Lord, I remind myself that I am ever in your presence.

I will take refuge in your loving heart.

You are my strength in times of weakness.

You are my comforter in times of sorrow.

In the section Prayers for Peace on Earth are writings by Pope John XXIII from the encyclical Pacem in Terris. An example:

The world will never be the dwelling place of peace till peace has found a home in the heart of each and every person, till every person preserves in himself the order ordained by God to be preserved.

And on the same page I found this prayer from the Buddhist tradition:

Evoking the presence of the great compassion, let us fill our hearts with our own compassion – towards ourselves and towards all living beings.

Let us pray that all living beings realise that they are all brothers and sisters, all nourished from the same source of life.

Mindfulness

O Lord, help me to develop mindfulness. Help me to practice mindfulness.

Perhaps it is even more difficult to act with mindfulness when there is nothing that HAS to be done. It seems almost a relief, now to have tasks that have to be done at or by a certain time: mow the grass before it rains, meet the student at 2:00 pm stack the wood before tomorrow.

Our minds can so easy be like puppies: cute but distracted, chasing from one thing to another. Sit, mind, Sit!

And mindfulness is not merely about "organizing" or "managing" your time, as in the incredible number of books written, or consultants paid to consult, on the the subject. Yes, it is about determining priorities, paying attention to what is important. Ah: what is truly important? I want to go much deeper, beyond what is to be done, or what I intend to do. How do I want to be?

Some Buddhist teachers use the term "recollection" in place of "mindfulness." "Reaching samadhi, or stillness of mind, is only possible with proper recollection." This sentence is from a chapter by Bhikku Mangalo in the book Entering the Stream. The discussion that follows is about the practice of recollection, an indispensable practice; and yes, it involves breathing exercises and letting go of distractions.

And what do you think of this line, which challenges a very big assumption for many in the Christian tradition of faith and belief: "Above all the mind must be starting to turn away from the old patterns, which is the true meaning 'repentence' - metanoia." (the original Greek term).

I digress.

Sit, mind, Sit. "Bring the mind home," in the words of another teacher, Sogyal Rinpoche.

Sea gull

After working on my music I walked down to the cove near our house. The song I had been working on was still in my head. I was singing it to myself over and over. A sea gull sat nearby on a large rock. He looked at me (or so I imagined) and squawked once.

My song, his squawk. What's the difference?

Nature sings.

Where you stand

I live on Seward's Neck, a peninsula that offers views to the east and northeast from my road of a bay and several islands, among other things. One thing I quickly learned: what you see depends on where you are standing. Even a small turn in the road that I live on gives you a very different view. I can't see the "downtown" of Lubec from our windows; but walk even fifty feet from the house and it is in clear sight from the road. What changes? The angle of sight... the trees.

Then there is the question of the road. It is so common to be totally unaware of what is beyond the trees or shrubs on either side. I was amazed when we visited the house of friends, less than one-half mile away, on the same side of the road, and not far from the road at all. They have a view to the west - not the east. They look out upon a different bay, one that I had never seen before!

How's it going in Maine?

It's really good. Four months ago I left the cubicled beige desert to live in Lubec, the most down east town in Maine. Instead of fitting music into my daily and weekly routine, it is what some might call my full time job. That term "full time" is inaccurate, though; I do not have a job, and I have only gradually begun to understand what that means. Yes, music is my primary pursuit, but it is part of what I hope is a more integrated life.

There has already been much opportunity for Linda and me here, in terms of getting to know people, enjoying the surroundings and creating a place for us to live. Musical opportunities have also abounded. I have to decide which ones to pursue.

A big challenge for me has been how to go about my day. Some days I seem to "get a lot done." Other days I get a little done. The same time has passed. Each day is as precious as another. I don't always have to "get a lot done." What I do need to do is to stay awake and present. Each day is a gift.

A Composer's Journey Into Technology

This is an article I wrote in October, 2010 for The Advocate, a weekly newspaper in Berkshire County, Massachusetts. It describes briefly my experience with music technology. The original title was A Composer's Descent Into Technology. Moments of joy, moments of rage, moments of glimpsing the way into what may become a new path for me.

The Classical Beat

By JOHN NEWELL

A COMPOSER’S JOURNEY INTO TECHNOLOGY

My friend Stephen Dankner invited me to share with you the tale of my recent journey into technology, and the questions that it raises about music and our experience of it.

Last fall I presented a concert of my works, and had planned to feature a recently completed string quartet. I learned, though, that it’s tough to get four string players together to rehearse and perform a challenging piece unless they already play together as an ensemble. The concert proceeded without the quartet.

But I really wanted to hear my quartet. So I decided: I’ll perform it and record it myself – digitally. Some background: I am a 60ish composer who still uses pencil and manuscript paper. I wasn’t particularly drawn to “electronic music.” But I’m aware that technology has indeed progressed. Could I create a performance that would satisfy me and that others could appreciate?

So I went back to school, taking an online course through Berklee College of Music in digital music production. Immediately I was in another world. My teacher was a composer for TV and movies who lives in LA. Fellow students included an Italian guy with his own rock band and production studio, and one in Tokyo whose class project was a potato chip commercial.

Keep in mind that digital music production is the norm in commercial music. For example, when watching Nova or nature documentaries you’re not hearing real orchestras. You’re hearing digitally produced music. What makes the sounds realistic, at least to the casual listener is that they use libraries of “samples,” recorded snippets of real instrument sounds.

Composers who make their living creating this music invest many thousands of dollars in software and hardware to get the most realistic sounds. They don’t use pencil and paper to “write” the music, but largely play into the computer using a digital piano keyboard.

My final project wasn’t the quartet, but an arrangement of a favorite gospel tune. First I laid down the piano part; then the drum track (a first for me), and had to decide from among dozens of choices which drum sound I wanted. I chose a straightforward acoustic-sounding drum set – not the ones dubbed “Crack” or “Mongoose.” Then the electric bass track. I sang the vocals myself, and jazzed it up with an alto sax line.

Recording the parts and editing them (e.g. altering tempos, dynamics, note lengths) were easy. Next came the audio production, all the things that real recording engineers do. I was astonished at the jargon and the mind-numbing number of options available for getting the right mix, reverb and “plug-in” effects. I learned to ignore what I didn’t need. Then there was equalization, compression and mastering, to achieve the right acoustic presence. OMG! My learning curve was steep, and included the realization that I needed a more powerful computer, really.

Now I've launched into the quartet. I create the performance by playing each instrument on the keyboard and then, often with a digital pencil tool, drawing and shaping elements like volume, attack, and tempo. Various randomize functions serve to "humanize" the performance, in terms of variations in tempo, tuning, and note lengths.

I’m having fun. Why? Because my ears enjoy the workout. Since I’m also a performer I take pleasure in getting just the right attack on a note or making a diminuendo in the cello sound just how I would actually play it. Plus I have control. I get just the tempo I want (and I’ve discovered places where I wrote the wrong tempo in the score). Everyone plays in tune to the degree that I want.

But there are questions. Is the effort worth the cost? No denying, hearing a digital performance is not the same experience as sitting 25 feet away from group of accomplished musicians. But can a digital realization stand on its own? I at least have a decent representation of the work, but how satisfying might it ultimately be for the listener?

How far am I willing to go in terms of both time and money to get as close as possible to the sound of live performers? As a composer of concert music I think there is a limit, and I don’t intend to stop working with musicians. For I’m a musician myself, not just a “composer.”

How do listeners hear it? Is it worth listening to? It may depend on your ears as well as your expectations. I’ve posted sample audio clips of the string quartet movements on my web site. Click on Catalog of Works, then on Chamber Ensemble. The quartet is the first work on that page. I invite you to listen and tell me what you think.

John Newell is a composer living in Pittsfield. Send your comments to him at jnewell384@gmail.com. His web site is www.johnnewellmusic.com. Stephen Dankner will return next week.

Benjamin Bagby, Tanglewood and Beowulf

This summer Benjamin Bagby appeared at the Tanglewood Festival in Lenox, Massachusetts. He performed a sizable portion of Beowulf, the Old English epic. Bagby recited and played medieval harp. He is an incredibly gifted and powerful performer. You must check out the YouTube videos of a performance of Beowulf given in Europe. He is best known to me as one of the founders of Sequentia. I most adore their performances of the works of Hildegard von Bingen.