Connections, Legacy, and Other Non-Musical Distractions

I know I’ve been spoiled by having several down-to-earth composition teachers, including my first teacher, who made a huge impression on me. This particular composer was neither interested in schmoozing nor in shamelessly promoting himself. In fact, he often saw through the schmoozers and wouldn’t take their schmoozing seriously (a truly valuable and rare trait in an authority figure!). During lessons he was relentlessly focused on the music. He never suggested to me that it would be savvy to embrace a specific style or idiom or to try to compose in a certain way in order to win the respect of persons (or groups) x, y, or z. He was only interested in helping me to write the best kind of music that I was trying to write. I left my studies with him assuming that this was how every composer was (or at least how every composer was striving to be).

More and more, as time goes on, I’ve felt somewhat disillusioned by the reality of what drives composers, how composers choose to market themselves and network, and the effect that this has on what our culture thinks of as good music (both in the larger cultural sense and within the music community culture).

For example, Sarah’s last post addressed some of the unprofessionalism of competitions, which includes the frustrating tendency of competitions to choose students as winners who have “big name” composer teachers or “impressive” bios (much of why anonymous competitions are so much more appealing!). Of course there is a tendency issue—often good students will end up studying with good teachers. On the other hand, you could also say this: often well-networked students will end up studying with well-networked teachers. Does this mean that Sally in Nevada who is studying with composer Anne Nobody doesn’t have good musical ideas? Not necessarily. But it makes it a lot harder for Sally to compete with Mary who is studying with Paula Pulitzer, who’s living in New York. What if students Sally and Mary were both writing in different, off-the-wall, totally funky, and heretofore un-established styles? Who do you think would get the benefit of the doubt?

On a somewhat related topic and assuming that you are a composer reading this, do you actively think about leaving a musical legacy? Is a legacy important to you in such a way that you’re more concerned about how each piece fits into your legacy or “style,” rather than how each piece could potentially excite and challenge you as a composer? This is a question that I wonder about a lot, mainly because the composer worship and cults of personality that develop in the music world tend to drive me bananas.

I once heard a composer say, wistfully, that he wished he had, more “wisely,” stuck with a specific style, suggesting that he would be more recognized today if he had done so. This brings me to my biggest question: Is recognition our ultimate aim, taking precedence over everything else?

I do think, unfortunately, that logical and practical arguments can be made to support his statement. If you want to compose in a specific style and to leave some kind of musical legacy, you have a greater chance of making an impact on the music world, of leaving some sort of tangible impression. It’s a tantalizing idea for a group of people who, for the most part, spend their days anonymously toiling with ideas that largely remain unappreciated. I don’t think that this just has to be a selfish thing—as Sarah and I have said in earlier posts, as composers we want our work to mean something and to serve a greater societal purpose.

That said, when focused on too greatly, I think the idea of leaving a legacy, much like spending too much time on self-promotion and marketing, can become a distraction and its own form of vanity. As I said in my post on marketing, I just really think the music and the challenge of composing something new and exciting should come first for the composer. I often find myself disappointed when big name composers get into ruts of writing the same piece over and over (and, because of our composer worship, it’s also disappointing when instead of considering the piece for itself, we often say, “Oh, his/her new piece is AMAZING,” no matter what).

So am I living in some sort of theoretical dream-land, where people compose genuinely and with the best of intentions? Are connections, legacies, and other arguably odious practicalities just realities I should accept?

Posted by Natalie