On ‘Not Being a Conductor, or Organist, or Singer…’

I had a very nice online conversation with a senior composer recently which helped me feel better about myself and my work and it was all very jolly – its always nice to get some form of validation, whatever stage you are in your career, particularly from someone you admire. However, during the conversation a rather innocuous question arose – ‘do you conduct as well as compose?’. Nothing unusual about that, many composers are also conductors even if they mainly conduct their own music. I of course answered, ‘no’. But I guess what was a little more surprising was the silence that greeted my answer to the follow up question – ‘but you are a singer?’ – to which I again answered negatively. I had come clean, I was neither a conductor nor a singer, just a common or garden composer, with no pretentions of being a performer in any fashion. After this slight hiccough the conversation carried on with no further admissions, but it got me thinking – is it so unusual to be a composer who doesn’t conduct, or sing, or play an instrument in public? Surely not?

These questions have followed me throughout my professional composing career, and I’ll give you a few more anecdotes to illustrate my point and why I’m asking this strange question. A few years ago, I was milling around following a concert where a work of mine had been performed, if I’m honest I was just biding my time before I could leave and meet some friends for a drink. I got talking to a rather distinguished chap who had enjoyed my piece, so we had a brief conversation. After some pleasantries he asked the question ‘are you a conductor?’, to which I answered ‘no’. Then a more highbrow follow up ‘were you a choral scholar?’, ‘no’. Then followed ‘are you a conductor?’, ‘are you an organist?’ and ‘are you a communist?’. Of course, I made the last one up, but the baffled look on his face when I answered ‘no’ to all his questions told its own story – as a composer of mainly choral music, he just couldn’t place where I fitted in his understanding of the genre. I just didn’t fit. This has happened many times before.

Around the same time, I was speaking to a singer after another concert and we got chatting (after a few glasses of wine if I’m honest) and the same realisation occurred – ‘so you’re not a singer, not a conductor and you aren’t an organist?’ – ‘yes, that’s right’, I replied – ‘then why are you in our world?’ came the rather unexpected answer. Now, this response threw me and still sticks in my memory today – why was I in her world? The response is challenging in many ways, but perhaps the suggestion that the world of choirs and choral music is a gated community, a closed sect, not for just anyone is the part that challenges me most – was there an entrance exam, or a dress code I forgot to fulfil? Does 15 years of writing for and working with choirs not give me entrance to the hallowed halls of choral music. There is also the inference that my wares should be peddled in other areas of music, perhaps the more illustrious genres of orchestral or operatic music where perhaps I might feel more at home. It was an odd conversation. And the wine was organic and from a vineyard in Gloucestershire, not a great evening.

I do understand that different groups have different needs, and that self-preservation is the order of the day, but the idea that someone from a different musical upbringing or training precludes them from joining another one is just odd. I’ve written about the choral/instrumental divide before, so it may just be that I’m a little touchy when it comes to this topic, but it is still a thing – of course, these were fairly benign conversations that were peppered with positive things about me and my work, but I’ve always been good at finding a strand of hay in a stack of needles. Maybe it isn’t unusual? Many composers write for those instruments they are familiar with, work with those performers they trained with, use those networks they formed at college or university to their professional benefit. Maybe it’s just me.

The irony is, I do sing, conduct, and play the organ, but not very well (though I have done all three in public) and I have no intention of trying to pursue them as a professional career. I hate being on stage and my natural place is at the back of the concert hall or cathedral, occasionally appearing with insightful comments and mainly complaining to myself under my breath. Life would be much easier if I did one or more of those things, there would be many more opportunities to promote my work, people to meet, networks to form – but I just don’t have those skills. Of course, much of this is a hangover from the Classical/Romantic periods (and even earlier) with composer-performers the dish of the day, but surely we have reached a place where there are specialist composers who just don’t have the tools for those other professions? And surely not following a traditional route into a genre shouldn’t preclude that composer from being part of the gang and making a worthwhile contribution?       

Anyhow, I’m going to presume that not being a singer, conductor or performer means that I bring something different to the genre and that this is a positive thing. After all, an organist once said to me after a performance, ‘I can tell you aren’t an organist, you write for the instrument…differently’, which I’m going to take as a good thing. I think.

PAC