Name: Vivek Venugopal
Nationality: Indian
Occupation: Composer, guitarist, producer
Current release: Vivek Venugopal's String Quartets, Opp. 10, 12 is out via Visita.

If this interview with Vivek Venugopal aka Visita piqued your interest, visit his official website for further information. He is also on Instagram, Facebook, and twitter. We recommend you head over to our earlier Vivek Venugopal interview as well. 



Where does the impulse to create something come from for you? What role do often-quoted sources of inspiration like dreams, other forms of art, personal relationships, politics etc play?

My works tend to be about the ‘bigger’ questions. Music has always been my answer to these questions, and it is my purpose of being or raison d’etre. My works are mostly either spiritual or existential in nature. Music is an essential part of my life, akin to breathing; I don’t feel alive when the music is absent.

I also consider my music to be a sonic autobiography of sorts: an abstract amalgamation of all my feelings, thoughts, ideas (both conscious and subconscious). My life’s major moments find their way into the sonic fabric and soul of the music.

Apart from all this, I am greatly influenced by painting, and to a certain extent by sculpture. Being a synesthete (music-colour), I find painting to be analogous to music, and in fact, I believe a better way to describe what I do would be ‘sonic painting’, rather than ‘composing’.

Is there a preparation phase for your process? Do you require your tools to be laid out in a particular way, for example, do you need to do 'research' or create 'early versions'?

There is indeed a preparatory phase for each new piece, and this generally begins when I start to get the sense that the piece I am currently composing is at its latter stages.

From a technical standpoint, after I have established the ensemble that I will be writing for, I extensively listen to music written for that ensemble or those instruments. This need not be established repertoire; I simply go on a deep-dive into the abilities and characteristics of each instrument. Sometimes, I even try to re-orchestrate some of my older music for this current ensemble.

I also attempt to ‘compose without notes’ i.e. I imagine what each instrument’s roles could be, and how those roles can fit into a greater whole. In essence, this is a holistic approach wherein I imagine different musical scenarios and textural combinations and at this stage there are no notes or rhythms, I am simply working in the realm of ideas and hearing the music in my head.

On a more spiritual or philosophical standpoint, I think about where I am with regards to my life - the events that have transpired, what is to come, and where I am currently - and all this introspection definitely influences the music. I also contemplate the narrative behind the piece, but for me, it is very rare to have clarity with regards to this, at this nascent stage.

Do you have certain rituals to get you into the right mindset for creating? What role do certain foods or stimulants like coffee, lighting, scents, exercise or reading poetry play?

I don’t specifically have rituals, but yoga has been an important tool for me. It has helped me mentally, physically and spiritually and I have noticed a distinct improvement in productivity and concentration on the days that I practice yoga. So I make that a priority.

Stimulants like coffee, chamomile tea, and matcha tea also play a minor role. I like warm  lighting. Most importantly, I need silence. Apart from all this, I like to follow a disciplined routine and I believe creativity is a habit. The discipline, the routine, is a ritual, per se.

What do you start with? How difficult is that first line of text, the first note?

Staring at the blank canvas is always an imposing proposition, irrespective of one’s body of work and previous accomplishments.

When I’m starting a new work or movement, or when I’m in a rut, it feels like the blank canvas has taken the form of a ‘monster’, that is staring at me, judging me and terrorizing my life. It is almost as if I have to slay this ‘white beast’ with my art, and prove that I still have what it takes (every single time). Needless to say, all this is accompanied with at least some pressure and anxiety.

Nevertheless, I have found means and methods to tackle this, and I start with something that I call a ‘tone palette’, which is very similar to the painter’s palette. Once I am equipped with this, I am in a much better position, and it is only a matter of time before the art begins to flow, but patience is still key.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned in all my years of composing, is to ‘think less and act more’ during these perilous nascent stages. I believe Pablo Picasso perfectly summarized this when he said ‘to know what you’re going to draw, you have to begin drawing.’

Once you've started, how does the work gradually emerge?

I turn up for work, and at first I try to improve and check what I have already composed. This also gets me in the flow of things, and then I start to plan the sketch that follows the one I have completed, and slowly and steadily, things move forward.

Almost all my ideas are sketched on the piano, before they are committed to the sheet. Life, as it happens, and what I’m feeling and thinking, constantly affects my sonic decisions, and every other aspect from the mood and atmosphere to the dynamics.

For you to get started, do there need to be concrete ideas – or what some have called a 'visualisation' of the finished work? What does the balance between planning and chance look like for you?

More often than not, I am a servant of the music, and I simply go where it takes me. I am only aware of the narrative behind the music after I have completed the piece.

Wayne Shorter once spoke about the inability to ‘practice’ improvisational music, because, well, how can one practice something that is unknown? My compositional practice, although not improvisatory in nature, follows a similar philosophy. There is no destination, and I do not have a roadmap. I simply begin, equipped with some tools, thoughts and techniques, and I try to find a spiritual place.

If I try to control the journey with a map and a destination, I believe the music can become forced and contrived, but that is not necessarily the case all the time, especially if the goal is to express a specific mood or narrative.

For instance, for my piece ‘Moods for Violin & Piano, Op. 15’, the narrative was in place before I wrote the first note. This is because of the nature of the piece. This piece would have been impossible to compose without having clarity with regards to the narrative. This isn’t the norm, though.



Often, while writing, new ideas and alternative roads will open themselves up, pulling and pushing the creator in a different direction. Does this happen to you, too, and how do you deal with it? What do you do with these ideas?

The more I compose, the harder it becomes to impress myself. I have also noticed that I have been increasingly rejecting ideas that I would have approved of in the past. Composition is hard work, and I believe I must put my ego aside, and always be open to rejecting an idea.

In fact, I have come to think of this act of rejection as a sign of progress and improvement. The composer is the first listener, and one’s ability to self-critique has to be in tip-top shape, completely without sentiment and unapologetic. I like to pick an idea and focus on it, and the hope is that I can eventually take it to its ultimate fruition. If I feel that this idea isn’t up to the mark, and a different path presents itself, I will happily go in that direction, but not before trying everything in my power to make the existing idea blossom into a mature and complete one.

Over the years, there have been several instances wherein I have completely rejected a partially developed or even completely developed idea and the world will never listen to these sketches.

There are many descriptions of the creative state. How would you describe it for you personally? Is there an element of spirituality to what you do?

Music has always been a spiritual endeavour for me. The state of creative flow cannot be forced or conjured out of thin air, but one attempts to do everything in one's power to attain that state as often as possible. When it graces me with its presence, I literally feel like the muses (or more accurately, some kind of non-Theistic higher power/energy) are ‘shining their light’ through me and the experience is nothing short of 'divine', even for an atheist like me.

This state is generally a whirlwind of ideas that leaves me overwhelmed and yet elated. I am often scrambling to get the notes on paper, because of the speed with which these ideas present themselves. These moments keep me going, and I feel like I’m fulfilling my life’s purpose, and it gives meaning to my existence.

Of course, as an artist, it is also important to figure out what to do when this state doesn't present itself; for me, there are generally several things that need to be worked upon, such as the post-production of a recorded album or some press work, or something along those lines. Sometimes, just taking a break or an extended nap, or trying something new, really helps me get back in the groove.

What's your take on the role and importance of production, including mixing and mastering for you personally? How involved do you get in this?  

I compulsively nit pick and obsess over the tiniest aspects of my compositions and productions.

With regards to the post-production process, I believe it can literally make or break an album in the current era. There is no shortcut, or easy way out, and it is a necessary and integral part of any high quality release. I personally supervise everything and I occasionally even mix my own pieces.

Considering the extent of technological development, there is almost no aspect that can’t be improved or enhanced. However, I try to stay true to my goal of acoustic authenticity and in my most recent release, String Quartets, Opp. 10 & 12, there is actually very minimal post-processing. I simply try to enhance and refine the existing texture, and these are mostly very fine adjustments. It is never an easy process, and it most certainly tests my patience. However, there is no choice but to stay true to the course, and I've found that the wait is always worth it.

With regards to composition, what tends to happen with most of my pieces is that I simply stumble upon a natural culmination to the sonic story, and this is rarely planned. When this happens, it is very satisfying, and I simply end the piece even if I could write more. Alternately, creative fatigue kicks in sometimes, and I come to the realization that the piece has run its course, and I concentrate my efforts into conjuring a beautiful ending, with the hope of beginning a new journey for a different ensemble, with a fresh mind.

Once a piece is finished, how important is it for you to let it lie and evaluate it later on? How much improvement and refinement do you personally allow until you're satisfied with a piece? What does this process look like in practice?

Self-critique and evaluation is a tricky process. The composer is the first listener and for me, self-critique is really just a matter of understanding the psychology of listening.

Anyone who is confronted with music that is too formally or texturally altered from what they are used to, will feel alienated. Anything too kitschy or cliched, and the listener is bored. The 'sweet spot' is near the border of these two regions on an imaginary continuum of the listener's preferences and history: it is something that just about tingles the senses and the expectations of the listener, in a manner that does not alienate.

Based on this, it is natural to assume that any music when heard enough number of times, would most probably get more relatable and acceptable. With respect to my own compositional practice, if this relatability and acceptance is not attained even after several days have passed, and after several revisions, I reject the idea.

However, I am now of the opinion that the greatest music that I make must be relatable and acceptable to me, at the very moment that I compose it or by the day after that, and revisions must be few and far between. Nevertheless, I never waste an idea and I'm often revising and reworking newly composed pieces.

On several occasions, I have dealt with ideas that feel absolutely alien at the nascent stages of listening, only to realize that they become palatable and digestible within the course of a few listens. The goal of the art music composer is to play with the listening preferences of his / her own continuum, with the hope that other listeners can also find excitement, meaning, emotion and atmosphere from this music.

After finishing a piece or album and releasing something into the world, there can be a sense of emptiness. Can you relate to this – and how do you return to the state of creativity after experiencing it?

I can most certainly relate to this. With regards to composition, I have nullified this sense of emptiness to an extent, as I start planning and dabbling with the new piece before completing the current one. However, there is still a period of time that I need to get into the flow of the new ensemble and piece.

The sense of emptiness for me is a little more evident with regards to album releases, because it is a colossal endeavour and Herculean task to execute and release an album, and while there is a sense of joy and accomplishment it is accompanied by the prospect of having to do it all over again, and that can be a bit overwhelming and even demoralizing because of the uncertainty involved in the new journey that lies ahead.

However, this emptiness is a fleeting moment for me, and the next releases are generally already recorded, and the post production beckons.