Name: Erik Hall
Occupation: Composer, multi-instrumentalist
Current release: Erik Hall's new album Solo Three is out via Western Vinyl.  

If you enjoyed this Erik Hall interview and would like to stay up to date with his music, visit his official homepage. He is also on Instagram, and bandcamp.



When did you first start getting interested in musical interpretation?

I’m realizing in real time that in a sense I’ve always been drawn to it.

In music school I recall arranging pop songs for my jazz combo. A little later, living in Chicago in my 20s, I put together an all-Neil Young cover band.

But I didn’t consciously take it more seriously until I decided to embark on recording Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians, which was sometime in 2018, after I’d been mostly focused on making records and touring in bands for many years.



Which artists, approaches, albums or performances captured your imagination in the beginning when it comes to the art of interpretation?

In my case the interest occurred in somewhat of a vacuum and was purely based on my love for, and deep familiarity with 18 Musicians.

At that point I had spent a decade establishing the little musical world and sonic identity of my studio and work, so it was a simple matter of applying that personal approach and palette to Reich’s score.

Looking back, that project was a revelation, and it opened a real door to the entire practice.

Are there examples for interpretations that were entirely surprising to you personally and yet completely convincing?

There is one recording that had a profound impact on me in my teens and that may have been an early harbinger of my interest in interpretation, and that was Herbie Hancock’s recording of Ravel’s piano concerto, from the 1998 album Gershwin’s World.



It’s the slow movement, which is already one of the most beautiful pieces imaginable. But in the studio, alongside an orchestra, Herbie chooses to eschew the score and improvise over it instead. Sounds like a recipe for gimmickry, but in his hands it is masterful and sublime.

And it made me realize you can really do something audacious if you commit to doing it well. 

What do you personally enjoy about the act of interpretation? Are you finding that this sense of enjoyment is changing over time?

Each time it is like a puzzle to solve, the end result of which is not merely that the pieces fit together but that the work also retain its behavioural and emotional spirit and identity.

It absolutely does not always work, so there is an element of chance and discovery, and this process is endlessly engaging for me.

How much creativity is there in the act of interpretation? How much of your own personality enters the process?

The capacity for individuality is surprisingly deep. It might not be the initial motivation for the work, but it’s inherent to the act.

And this touches on one of the pillars of the overall mission, which is to offer something new and personal to the conversation while always embodying reverence for the existing canon.

Could you describe your approach to interpretation on the basis of a piece, live performance or album that's particularly dear to you, please?

In every case I first take my time preparing for the recording, sometimes several days’ work. During this time I’m determining the best instrumentation (often through trial and error) and then setting up for how I want to capture each instrument (choosing and moving microphones, etc). At this point I’ve also obtained the score and confirmed that I’ll be able to execute everything I need to.

As an example, for Music for 18 Musicians this initial period was about two weeks long. Then, when it was time to hit record, I worked relatively quickly and didn’t overthink. The idea was to re-create the piece one part at a time using the instruments in my studio, so at that point it was purely a matter of executing the performances and then mixing the record.

What was your own learning curve/creative development like when it comes to interpretation - what were challenges and breakthroughs?

The primary mission is to ensure that whatever shape the interpretation takes, it maintains the piece’s inherent musical sentiment and behavior.

I’m interested in creating a new sonic outfit, as well as a new path towards the finished piece, but I’m never trying to make such a statement that it distracts from the inherent nature of the work. So the challenge is sometimes being honest with myself about when I haven’t gotten the recipe right, especially when I’ve already put hours into a performance and recording.

As a result, for my new album Solo Three for example, there are probably twice as many pieces that I recorded in part or in full that did not end up on the album for one reason or another. I needed each piece to stand alone, as well as coexist within the album’s full program.

Meanwhile, one of the cool outcomes that’s left somewhat to chance is how each instrument’s part will evolve throughout the course of a longer piece. I choose what’s going to do what, but I don’t necessarily ‘demo’ the entire piece.



In “Music for a Large Ensemble,” for instance, I used felted pianos to play the marimba parts, and this all seemed familiar and predictable at the outset.

But by the time I reached the final section of the piece, I discovered those pianos had taken on a whole new layer of character that was dance-like, almost approaching some abstract variant of Salsa music! 

In many cases, the score will be the first and foremost resource for an interpretation. Can you explain about how “reading” a score works for you?

Thus far, in most cases I am simply playing one part at a time by literally reading the score. Thankfully both Steve Reich’s and Simeon ten Holt’s catalogs are readily available for purchase.

In the case of Glenn Branca’s “The Temple of Venus Pt. 1,” which is from his orchestral ballet score The World Upside Down, I had to hunt down his handwritten score from Northwestern University’s library.

And for Laurie Spiegel’s “A Folk Study” as well as Charlemagne Palestine’s “Strumming Music,” I began by transcribing the piece by ear.



One of the key phrases often used with regards to interpretation are the “composer's intentions”. What is your own perspective on this topic and its relevance for your own interpretations?

This varies from piece to piece. But I think it’s safe to say the composers whose works I’m re-creating probably never intended or even imagined the treatment I’m applying. So I recognize there’s an inherent risk to what I’m doing, at least if I were aiming to please the composers themselves.

And to be completely honest, I’ve had mixed results in this regard. It’s wonderful of course to get a message of ‘thanks’ and ‘congratulations’ and ‘great work’. I’ve also received the message of ‘I don’t love this particular decision, but I’m okay with it’. It’s a tricky line to toe, since my motivation for any of these recordings stems from my love for the existing music.

But in the end, I have to assess my work on its own, and if I’ve taken the piece to a place that I think is interesting and valuable, all while not getting into any actual trouble in the process, that’s something I choose to honor.

I am infinitely fascinated by radically different or even “wrong” interpretations – the tempi of Toscanini, Kempff's Goldberg Variations. Are there extreme interpretations that you enjoy as well? Do you personally draw a line – and if so, what happens when we cross it?

I go back to Herbie playing Ravel. It’s at once radical, completely wrong, and completely brilliant and beautiful. If this can be true, then our concept of ‘rules’ can also be fluid.

And ultimately, if what’s on offer is compelling, then it is an actual matter of acting with informed reverence, good taste, and conviction.



Also, I hadn’t heard Kempff’s Goldberg Variations and am listening now. I can’t believe I didn’t know this existed, and I love it.

When you have the score in front of you, what's your take on taking things literally, correcting possible mistakes, taking into account historical aspects etc?

In the case of Music for 18 Musicians or Music for a Large Ensemble, I’m playing every note exactly as it appears on the page, just on a different instrument.

On the contrary, with Glenn Branca’s “The Temple of Venus Pt. 1,” I was reading what appeared to be a draft, so I had to weigh that against the existing recording and find my own way.

With regards to the live situation, what role do the audience and the performance space play for your interpretation?

I’ve been extremely fortunate to adapt these works for performance alongside New York’s Metropolis Ensemble and Sandbox Percussion outside at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

The space itself has played a fundamental role in the presentation, and the audiences have been a sort of self-selecting crowd of curious, patient, and generous listeners.

In other cases, a smaller room will inform instrumentation and/or duration of a performance. I enjoy this relationship between the performance space and the decisions that will determine the music itself.

[Read our Sandbox Percussion interview]

Some works seem to attract more artists to add their interpretation to it than others; some seem to even encourage wildly different interpretations. From your experience, what is it about these works that gives them this magnetic pull?

My own interest in these works seems to lie in a particular amalgam of harmony, repetition, and a certain compositional and emotional arc. Each of these pieces establishes a decidedly-minimal paradigm, but then absolutely goes somewhere unexpected.



Canto Ostinato makes you think you basically know everything that’s going to happen … and you’re completely content with that expectation.

Then, 35 minutes into the piece, you realize you never would have imagined what’s unfolding, but instead of a jarring twist it arrives as a welcome reward.

Artists can return to a work several times throughout the course of their career, with different results. Tell me about a work where this has been the case for you, please.

I first recorded Canto Ostinato alone in my studio using a piano, a Rhodes electric piano, and a Hammond organ, and I assumed this would be the extent of my working relationship with the piece.

Now we are finishing up work on a brand new arrangement with Metropolis Ensemble and Sandbox Percussion, complete with mallet percussion, woodwinds, strings, and grand piano. It’s a major departure from my usual solo, multi-tracked studio creations and is instead much more of a traditionally ‘classical’ sounding record.

It is essentially a new orchestral version of the piece, and it’s an utter dream to be a part of it.

Part of the intrigue of interpretations is that the process is usually endless. Are there, vice versa, interpretations that feel definitive to you?

We all have our own definitive performances, which is a funny condition of classical music.

I grew up with a CD of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue that was very formative. And that’s a piece with a wide accepted range of expression, both from the pianist and the conductor. The particular recording I had was Michael Tilson Thomas conducting the Columbia Jazz Band, which was simply the version my mom saw and picked up at the record store for me.



But as a result the performance is etched in my mind as the ‘correct’ way to play the piece, and this is one in which I truly do have a hard time accepting any other recording!