Published
Part 2
It is my impression that adding a conceptual, non-musical dimension to one's work is almost a prerequisite for commissions and grants. How do you view this tendency and how “conceptual” is your own approach to writing?
Something that comes up in many of the grants I write—and something I genuinely believe in—is using some of the funding to create educational opportunities for my piano students outside of their regular lessons. Because much of the funding I receive is through public grants, community engagement is often part of the requirement anyway, but I actually really appreciate that.
Tied to every project I receive funding for, I create an educational workshop that gives my one-on-one students the opportunity to participate in group musical activities and experience a different side of music-making. The students I work with all live in my neighborhood, so I like being able to bring them together and create a shared musical experience outside of their individual lessons. I host these activities in neighborhood spaces, such as the Masonic Temple, an art gallery, or a community theater.
This only further strengthens our local community bonds, which is important in a vast city like this. It also allows them to see me not just as their piano teacher, but as a professional musician, and to have that experience become part of their musical education.
I really appreciate that this kind of funding makes it possible to incorporate that into my work. It’s something I probably wouldn’t have the resources to do in the same way otherwise.
Working with long forms, complex concepts or new vocabulary is potentially more challenging today because they require us to remember things that happened perhaps minutes ago – while most of us are finding it hard to focus even on what's happening right now. Both as a composer and as a listener yourself, how do you deal with this?
It makes me so mad the way people—including myself—primarily listen to music these days: digitally and through streaming. I think we’ve gotten used to treating music as something that can be put on in the background, skipped through, or consumed in pieces. Throw on an album and listen to it the way it was intended to be heard.
Personally, I don’t feel the need to adjust the way I make music in response to how it is most commonly consumed. I’d rather make the music I want to make and trust that there are people who will want to sit with it and listen.
For many artists, life-changing musical experiences take place live. Few works these days, however, are performed beyond their premiere. What, do you feel, does this mean for composers, and the music they write, and how does this reality influence your own work?
Wow—this hits very close to home.
I have so many pieces that I spent years developing that have never been performed beyond their premiere simply because I can’t afford to make that happen. They’re often grant-funded for one performance, and I almost always try to record and release them afterward, but then they’re rarely, if ever, heard live again.
Clamor for string sextet and bassoon soloist. Lull for string octet and improvising soloists. When the World Changes Around You for chamber orchestra. When No One Around You Is There for chamber choir. Hope Dawson is Missing for string quartet, rhythm section and voice. Songs of Synastry and Solitude for string quartet…
I could keep going. How much room do you have?
In response, I’ve increasingly treated many of my composition projects as “bands.” I’ve been consistently writing for string trio for ten years, but I also perform in the group, make albums, and tour with it. I still need funding to make these things happen, but this approach gives the compositions a different kind of life.
I’m as committed to the music as a player as I am as a composer, so I want to play the music!
To some, the advent of AI and 'intelligent' composing tools offers potential for machines to contribute to the creative process. What are your hopes, fears, expectations and possible concrete plans in this regard?
Honestly, this is something I don’t think about at all.
AI doesn’t affect my creative process in any way, and it’s not something I’ve even remotely considered using. It simply isn’t part of how I think about making music.
Are there approaches, artists, festivals, labels, spaces or anyone/-thing else out there who you feel deserve a shout out for taking composition into the future?
Definitely a few label shout-outs.
Out Of Your Head Records is the kindest, most thoughtful artist-run label, based in Richmond, Virginia. They put out great work and are incredibly supportive of the artists they work with. They’re also both very funny and fun to hang out with.
Relative Pitch Records is constantly putting out a huge amount of music and is very open to lesser-known artists and younger generations, giving people a chance to be heard and develop their work.
Of course, I’m biased because I work with both of them. But really, I would shout out all of the artist-run labels out there. There are so many of them, and everyone is just doing it—making the records, creating the spaces, supporting each other, and figuring it out as they go. I think that’s pretty incredible.
And then there are all the people running monthly series and small venues—not just in NYC, but all over the country—who are keeping this music alive and keeping the touring circuit going.
In NYC, where space is literally the most complicated part of our existence, new things keep popping up in every corner of the boroughs. Running a monthly series is a ton of work. I know because I’m involved in producing one, and I have enormous respect for the people who keep doing it. They keep at it so we have a place to play.
I’m constantly encountering people doing the same thing in cities and towns across the country. They’re creating places for musicians to play, giving artists reasons to travel, and building audiences in places that might not otherwise have access to this music. I don’t even want to start naming names because I’d inevitably leave someone out. I keep hearing about new spaces, new bars, and new possibilities for performance everywhere I go.
A very unique and remarkable example in NYC is Roulette, which started as a small artist-run project in Jim Staley’s personal loft in the late ’70s and grew into the substantial and important institution it is today in Downtown Brooklyn. It’s a great example of how something can be built from the ground up by artists and grow into a place that nurtures generations of experimental artists. Its history is an important part of the city’s musical ecosystem.
But I think what’s exciting is that there isn’t just one center of activity. There are all these networks of artists, presenters, labels, venues, and audiences happening all over the place, and they’re constantly connecting with each other. That’s what keeps the music moving forward.
The Montreux Festival intends to preserve its archive of recordings for future generations. Do you personally feels it's important that everything should remain available forever - or is there something to be said for letting beautiful moments pass and linger in the memories of those that experienced them?
I have absolutely no problem with documentation and archiving. I think it’s wonderful to preserve things for future generations, and I don’t think documentation takes away from the experience of being there in the moment.
A recording is its own thing—it can preserve something, but it can never completely recreate the experience of having been there.
