Was there a particular moment or experience that set you firmly on the path to becoming a composer?
When I was eight years old, I played the piano for my grandmother for the first time. She was thrilled that someone in the family was doing something creative, and in response, she shared her poetry with me. She asked if I might one day set her poems to music. That same day, I went home and composed my first piano pieces, though I decided to wait to set her poetry to music until I had more experience. I don’t think the idea of writing my own music would have occurred to me–at least not so soon–if my grandmother hadn’t planted the seed.
What would you be most excited to see or hear more of in the field of composition?
I would like to hear more hooks and motivic development in new concert music today. Innovation and experimentation are often overly valued in contemporary music, sometimes at the expense of memorability and clarity. While these qualities are essential for the evolution of any art form, there’s a noticeable disconnect between much of today’s concert music and the general public. In my alter ego as an arranger, I’ve come to appreciate what popular and film music do so well: they introduce memorable ideas and develop them in ways that surprise, move, and linger. Focused development–rather than a constant pursuit of novelty–can lead to deeper emotional resonance and a more lasting connection with the listener. This is no small feat in concert music, where there’s no lingua franca to rely on.
Can you share something about your creative process?
When I am writing concert music, I usually start at the piano with staff paper and a pencil. I play and sing to get a sense of the harmonic and melodic language of the piece. I love the tactile feeling of putting pencil to paper, feeling the vibrations of my instrument all around me, and seeing all of my ideas at a glance. Sometimes though, I find it helpful to step away from the piano–going for a walk and singing can be one of the best ways for me to discover my most memorable melodies. I frequently don’t start at the beginning of the piece and work my way forward. In fact, for Little Chamber Concerto, the first thing I wrote was the ending. The advantage of writing the ending first is that it gives you a clear destination–knowing where you’re going makes it much easier to figure out how to get there, compared to trying to sustain momentum from a beginning you’re still unsure about. I also throw out a lot of ideas–my trash can is probably my second favourite piece of gear. It’s all part of the process of uncovering what really works.
Can you share something about your creative process?
I frequently don’t start at the beginning of the piece and work my way forward. In fact, for Little Chamber Concerto, the first thing I wrote was the ending. The advantage of writing the ending first is that it gives you a clear destination–knowing where you’re going makes it much easier to figure out how to get there, compared to trying to sustain momentum from a beginning you’re still unsure about.
I also throw out a lot of ideas–my trash can is probably my second favourite piece of gear. It’s all part of the process of uncovering what really works.
