On ‘What are you currently writing?’
Due to the wonders of COVID-19, it has been a long time since I have met another composer in the flesh, a long time since we welcomed another creator of original music to the university to give a talk, a seminar or to give tutorials. It has been a long time since we entertained another creative musician in the wonderful hostelries of Old Aberdeen Town, and all that entails. Now, you may be wondering why I am badgering on about this, whether I’m being nostalgic, sad or hankering for the on-campus experience denied to many academics. Well, maybe all of the above, but also that it made me realise it had been quite a while since I had undertaken any of the rituals of talking with another composer and the wider issues of mythmaking in the profession with which I am associated. Let me explain…
Firstly, a disclaimer: all professions have their own rituals, their own truths and their own unmentionables – being a composer is certainly no different, but it is all I know. However, there are certain things that seem slightly peculiar to the job and always leave me wishing I was up a mountain, in a forest or miles away from other people…especially composers. I guess the most pronounced of these rituals is the introductory conversations that unfold, especially the dreaded opening gambit: ‘what are you currently writing?’ Now, this might seem an innocuous question between members of the same guild, but the question is laced with poison and complexities. What does it mean, exactly? In all honesty, it is a scoping exercise to see who is more successful, more prominent, more in demand – it is the most difficult of openings. This is the compositional equivalent of taking ten paces, turning then firing…what happens next all hangs on this question. It is difficult to know how to answer this – truthfully, ambiguously, hyperbolically…how will the questioner respond? It is all very difficult. Particularly if you don’t happen to be writing anything, or be in demand at all…
I’ve answered it by stating a writer’s block, or that I’m too busy with university admin to compose, or sometimes I might say what I’ve recently finished and if I’m honest, sometimes I’ve lied. In fact, I’ll do anything to get out of this awkward situation. What is even worse, is that when I am busy and successful, I feel bad about it, so will often underplay what I’m doing in a diffident and British fashion to seem less boastful. It is a difficult web to escape from once you’ve wove it so often. Other variants on the question include: ‘how much are you writing?’ and ‘what’s coming up?’ – both of which plum similar depths to ascertain who is top dog.
Now, I’m sure people in other professions ask each other every day if ‘they are busy?’ or ‘do they have enough work?’ – these are totally legitimate questions that are generally asking for the wellbeing of the individual and the ability for that person to pay the mortgage or put food on the table for example. It probably isn’t too much of a soul-searching experience to answer it, but it has always caused me so much grief. It is bad when a contemporary asks you (that really is just dueling), it can be even worse when a senior composer asks you (‘no, I’m not writing for the Royal Opera House just at the moment’) – in fact it is just awful at any point. The mark of how well the evening in an Aberdeen hostelry will go, depends on how quickly we can extricate ourselves from this professional entanglement and move on to criticising other composers and laughing at their misfortunes. This strange courtship ritual continues throughout all composer relationships (even with composer-friends to a lesser extent) and in many ways never gets any easier. I would honestly rather discuss relationship problems or ongoing health issues then to discuss with another composer what I’m writing. Since you ask, I’m probably not writing anything, or something I don’t want to write - mind your own business.
There are other examples of mythmaking: don’t say how much you’ve been commissioned for a piece, don’t say your writing anything for free (unless it is for a worthwhile cause or for amazing exposure), don’t admit you use playback on Sibelius, don’t confess to having not written a piece on manuscript paper since 2000. It goes on…
Some of this is genuine, some of it is tongue-in-cheek, most of it is a manifestation of my own neuroses – maybe other composers have these same problems, maybe they don’t, it would be interesting to find out. Anyhow, not sure when I’ll meet another composer in the flesh again…at least we can talk about Coronavirus before we duel to the reputational death.
PAC