Advice to a Young Composer
From time to time young composers ask me for career advice. Recently I received an e-mail from a young man who said he aspired to “larger things.”
It's always difficult for me to answer this kind of question without feeling like a poser, because I am less certain now than I was at your age what a “successful” career as a composer looks like. By all the standards I set for myself at the age of 21, mine has been a spectacular failure. On the other hand, I know now, 25 years later, that my work is far more fulfilling than it would be if I had followed that 21-year-old's Blueprint for Success.
We all aspire to larger things, of course, but I'm not sure if you're referring to career or artistry (or even both). I wish it were true that the former does not come without the latter, but that's a topic for another day. In any case, I'll tell you what I think it takes to create a life as a composer that works and is rewarding:
Your personal voice is a synthesis of character and craft, it's the life force that gives meaning to style.
As to artistry: Focus on nurturing a personal voice rather than a personal style. The style of your music will hopefully change many times throughout your life, but a strong, unique voice will always make the music yours.
What is a personal voice? It is manifested in music largely through technique — I mean here the way you employ your technique, not the amount of it you've acquired. But the voice itself is something larger, a synthesis of character and craft. Think of composers like Beethoven or Stravinsky, each of whose styles changed dramatically over his lifetime, yet whose voice is always present and identifiable. Voice is the élan vital — the life force — that gives meaning to style.
I believe your voice develops — indeed, needs to develop — passively. But you can still actively nurture it. Just as your style is rooted in your voice, you are the “fertile soil” in which your voice grows, and it will flourish and take on its unique character as you mature: musically and technically, yes, but more importantly through the ways you participate in and experience the world.
Therefore, expand your participation and experience by seeking out the unfamiliar. There are many ways in life to do this, but personally I recommend travel. Travel as much as you can. Live overseas somewhere, for an extended period. Apply for grants, if you're concerned about validating expatriate activities on your resume, or, if not, make your own arrangements and go. (Grants or no, I promise that your participation in a foreign new music scene for six months will not make you less interesting.) Learn a foreign language, not by studying in a classroom, but by going to the place and living there, drinking the local beer and making friends you don't understand much of the time. The experience will transform and expand your view of yourself, of your own language, of the world, and therefore of music, of the purpose of music. Making music, after all, is a creative, expressive process, and we create and express in direct proportion to the scale of our vision, to the scale of our voice.
Building a musical life is more important and more rewarding than building a career.
As to career: The “limelight” is not a natural phenomenon in our business, it must be coerced into existence. To this end there is always some school of musical thought pushed into vogue, usually in the form of a reaction to the one that came before it, and usually championed by a small, energetic cadre. Some young composers are understandably quick to join the ranks of such movements, in the belief that doing so will be good for their careers. And perhaps it will be, but only for a while. For example, over the last twenty years or so, the world of American art music has gone through a grueling Rococo, a vogue of flamboyance and bombast. Most composers have not participated in the spectacle, of course, but as a vogue, it held what passes for the limelight in our world, and there's the problem: those who allow the fashion of the moment to dictate their aesthetics find that their work is necessarily soon out of fashion.
So, just as voice is more important — more permanent — than style, building a musical life is more important and ultimately more rewarding than building a career. When you're squarely focused on your career, that mediocre symphony orchestra performance played to a full house will seem more important than the heartfelt parlor concert for an audience of ten. When you're focused on building a musical life, you know otherwise. And keep in mind that this is an artist's career we're talking about, not a stock analyst's: the rewards come in entirely different ways. Unlike a stock analyst, you shouldn't plan too far ahead. An artist's career is constantly in flux, moving in fits and starts, and long-term plans made at an early age will almost certainly end up confounded. You can benefit later on from learning now to “live in the moment” a little more than most career-oriented people do.
In that spirit, create opportunities for yourself, and do it now, don't wait for them to find you. Build a musical life by seeking out relationships with those musicians — composers, performers, conductors — who you feel are better equipped and more knowledgeable than you are. You'll learn a lot from them in the short term, and these people will be the friends and colleagues you'll need down the road — and so will you be, for them. Build a musical life, and the career will take care of itself.
As much as composing often feels like a Hero's Journey, in the end making music requires collaboration.
There is a way in which you must think and act long-term, however: treating your colleagues at all levels, and in all positions, with respect. In my experience, it is either in one's nature to interact with people respectfully or it isn't, and so I'll skip right to the cynical perspective on this one: It's a simple truth that the world of music we occupy is small, memories are long, and your reputation will precede you. However justified you feel about being “difficult” at some point or other, you must understand that such behavior is expensive.
About ten years ago we saw the collapse of a major operatic career because the diva in question would not treat those around her with respect. As someone who has worked closely with the administrative staff of various ensembles, I have also witnessed composers being disrespectful to staff and musicians, and afterward heard them all saying “Never again with that one.” It saddens me when such things happen, and is always an uncomfortable reminder of some of my own bad moments in the past, and of how vulnerable our careers are to the consequences of arrogance.
As much as composing often feels like a hero's journey, in the end making music requires collaboration, and you need to be as supportive and respectful of your colleagues, both performers and administrators, as you would have them be of you. When negotiating a contract for a commission or other type of relationship, you can and should be clear about your needs, but once you have come to an agreement, leave your sense of entitlement behind and participate whole-heartedly. Your life as a composer will be richer in every sense if the reputation that precedes you is one of professionalism, gratitude and graciousness.