What was once underground is now coming to the surface.
I remember once, when I started writing for the alto saxophone, a saxophonist told me to think of it as being like a cross between an oboe and a viola, but louder.
It's rather like attending a university seminar where you are talking to a few gifted specialists who deliver a paper to an audience of their peers. That's one way of making music.
Like an apparently strict musical form it breaks the five minute whole into its structural parts - a descriptive preamble, the action of taking the cards, the development of the cards' manipulation and the revelation of what has been achieved.
The academic area of new music or modern music festivals is not something which attracts me at all.
There's another way of making music, by touching the lives and feelings of ordinary people.
As I had collaborated with visual artists before whether on installations, on performance pieces, in the context of theatre works and as I had taught for a time in art colleges the idea of writing music in response to painting was not alien.
It makes sense to invest in new work. It's almost like having a research department in a scientific laboratory. You have to try things out. You'll make some bad mistakes. Some things will fail but at least you'll energise the organisation.
I am writing something which I find satisfying and which I am prepared to put my name to as a composer.
Music history has flowed under the bridges for many years.
I know that John Adams has had a very hard time directing French ensembles.
Writing tonal music now, you are not writing into the 19th Century.
Somehow in the 20th Century an idea has developed that music is an activity or skill which is not comprehensible to the man in the street. This is an arrogant assertion and not necessarily a true one.
Craft is part of the creative process.
I currently spend a lot of time thinking about orchestration and every detail of a piece.
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