Part 2
Could you describe your creative process on the basis of a piece or album that's particularly dear to you, please? Where did the ideas come from, how were they transformed in your mind, what did you start with and how do you refine these beginnings into the finished work of art?
My music often evolves from a story, usually about a place I’ve visited, enhanced by the help of the imagination. The story will develop while I improvise and immerse myself deeper and deeper into the piece. My piece ‘Behind the Spider Web Gates’ which is on Only Darkness Now was inspired by a house I found in rural southern France last year. An imposing, dramatic, tall dark Gothic house with mysterious, black spider web-shaped gates at the entrance to the grounds.
The piece is divided into three parts. The first part depicts the tranquil ascent up a rocky path surrounded by ancient woodland. A calm, minimal, single-noted drone on the viola is enhanced by layers of plainsong-style vocal chants. This is followed by the introduction of a melodic viola line symbolising the sound of bird song and nature which surrounds me. This phrase serves as a motif throughout the whole piece. The chime of the singing bowl represents the distant sound of church bells, being transported towards me by the wind.
The second part brings into focus the ornate, looming Gothic spires of the house. The spider web gates are soon in clear view – and a sense of fear enters my subconscious mind. This is symbolised by the repetitive, menacing, single high note on the piano. The more serene vocal chants at this stage are placed to restore a sense of calm to the piece. A local had told me that the grounds were accessible to the public. Something tells me to open the spider web gates and enter the garden…
For the third part of the piece, piercing viola harmonics denote my turning of the heavy, rusty handle of the huge, imposing gate. The single piano note is reintroduced, as the sense of fear within grows stronger. The melodic viola motif, which has been present throughout the piece, is now accompanied by a harmonium playing a haunting countermelody to further intensify this sense of foreboding. And as the large oak door to the Gothic house slowly creaks open, a new set of more chilling viola harmonics dramatically bring the piece to a close.
There are many descriptions of the ideal state of mind for being creative. What is it like for you? What supports this ideal state of mind and what are distractions? Are there strategies to enter into this state more easily?
With the band’s music, I feel that I achieve the ideal state of mind when I’m travelling, or on trips away from home. I’ve always found inspiration in visiting new places and certainly with the Left Outsides’ music, I’ve had my best ideas, and written some of my best lyrics when I’m away. I also find that on country walks, ideas start to develop very naturally. When I’m playing my solo music live, or recording, I like a calm and dark environment in order to get into the right state of mind. I record by candlelight and, I can usually see the night sky from where I sit.
Our house was previously owned by Buddhists who would hold meetings in the room in which I record and I can still feel that sense of calm in the room. When I start playing, if I am in this ideal state of mind, I am in a daze after a while and am playing instinctively, not knowing what will come next, although I’m usually visualising places I’ve visited, or would like to, or sometimes a story will come into my head. This happens in that room. To achieve this same state of mind while playing live at gigs, I often close my eyes for sections of pieces when I really need to concentrate.
How is playing live and writing music in the studio connected? What do you achieve and draw from each experience personally? How do you see the relationship between improvisation and composition in this regard?
My recorded music is mainly improvised so, to play these pieces live, I have to learn a slightly recognisable version of the recorded improvisations. I still often will start the piece completely improvising live though, and bring the more familiar parts in later in the piece. What I like about working this way is that every time another version of an originally improvised piece is played live, it is usually a variant of this original, more so for me than when I play compositions live, so every performance is slightly different. One of the things that makes playing live very exciting for me in my solo work, is that sense of really not knowing what is going to happen.
How do you see the relationship between the 'sound' aspects of music and the 'composition' aspects? How do you work with sound and timbre to meet certain production ideas and in which way can certain sounds already take on compositional qualities?
When recording songs with the band, composition would always come first to me but, with my solo instrumental work, the sound is more important. Sounds actually become the composition in some pieces. For example, recording a vocal chant of a single note. When layering this sound, and recording more vocals, or adding parts to a drone, this can then sound like something which is a composition, if that makes sense?!
Our sense of hearing shares intriguing connections to other senses. From your experience, what are some of the most inspiring overlaps between different senses - and what do they tell us about the way our senses work? What happens to sound at its outermost borders?
When I’m recording music or playing live, I am usually visualising a place as I play, usually somewhere I’ve been to or seen before. I’m always somewhere else in my mind, never in the room I’m sitting in. This overlap between hearing and sight is incredibly important for me, my music would be very different without it. People have told me that they’ve had similar experiences while listening to my music too, that they’ve visualised themselves in some other place and that makes me really happy that it can do the same for other people. When playing music, it’s become almost like a tool to me, these two senses merging, so visualising another place, often in another time, while improvising or playing a particular piece definitely assists my playing.
Art can be a purpose in its own right, but it can also directly feed back into everyday life, take on a social and political role and lead to more engagement. Can you describe your approach to art and being an artist?
I’ve always needed to be creative in some way. There have been periods of time where I couldn’t play music and, in that time, I used my creative energy on cooking. I just can’t imagine not being able to create or play music for a very long period. Being a musician is a huge part of my daily life and if my music can help or comfort anyone in any way, then I’d feel a sense of achievement.
It is remarkable, in a way, that we have arrived in the 21st century with the basic concept of music still intact. Do you have a vision of music, an idea of what music could be beyond its current form?
Agh, I’m really not sure. So, my very simple answer is, I don’t know! But, I do think, whatever music would be like beyond its current form, I hope that people will still be able to connect in the same way as they do now emotionally to music. That friendships will still form through collaborative playing and through shared interests in music. I hope all of this will still happen, but aided by the use of more technology perhaps? I love the fact (in most cases but with some exceptions!) that instruments that were more traditionally classical or orchestral and some used in the folk world are again a normal part of many bands, and even the church organ. I can only see that idea growing in the near future at least, I hope it does. Although of course music in schools has to continue for this to happen. When I was growing up, at school, it was great to learn of other string players in bands, some of my favourite bands would have a viola or violin in them, but there weren’t that many.
