The Revenant Composer

One of the struggles I face as an unpublished, unperformed composer is that my body of work is somewhat nebulous; without anything to “fix” the music in time, it’s hard to determine (for myself, anyway) what constitutes a finished work, and therefore when it’s time to move on to a new one.

For example, there are a lot of pieces I’ve written as a youth that I would shudder to show anyone today; uninspired pastiches of classical composers written when I had no sense of style or notion of acceptable contemporary ideas. I wrote an entire symphony (less a slow movement) that sounds essentially like Dvorak; a piano piece that is a clear rip-off of Claire de Lune; even a cello sonata that was inspired somewhere along the line by Liszt, but sounds childish and boring to my ears today.

This constitutes a relatively large body of work, if I were to consider any of them viable compositions; but like experiments gone wrong, I would rather shelve them until the day I die. But then, where does that leave me with an actual canon of music that I would be glad to call my own?

Looking back, the only composition from my earlier days was one I wrote as my final dissertation for my undergraduate, a 13-minute orchestral canonic work inspired in part by Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms (at least the opening), and ending with a large-scale four-part fugue that I’m actually still rather proud of. But that’s it; I wouldn’t want to see anything else performed for fear of dreadful embarrassment over what I used to consider “good” music.

The only other work I’m currently quite pleased with is my requiem, which I only just finished last year. It stands out to me as something that could be accepted by today’s classical community as a unique and valid work of art, and not a dull homage to someone else’s music. It’s a full-scale composition for choir and orchestra, including all major sections of the requiem mass, and stands at slightly over an hour long in total. I’m honestly proud of it.

But that leaves me with a grand total of (*checks notes*) two opuses in my life. The rest is hot garbage, to be frank. And I want to have written more than this, of course. I want to leave behind (god, already thinking about when I’m dead) something meaningful, something that others could listen to and appreciate as the works of a distinct composer, identifiable by their style. Not just one piece of music.

Which is where I feel torn, because without the imprint of a premiere performance, or publication of a score, I feel like I haven’t ever really “finished” anything; there’s room to revisit, tidy, change and alter anything. And that, of course, takes away from the ability to start a new project, and create something that I’ve never heard before.

And yet, as I consider the possibility of a future career as a composer, I’m hesitant to start work on another large-scale work (I want to write a symphony, for example), because what if – providing I make it into a composition graduate program – I learn ideas and techniques that would make that next work all the better? There’s a part of me that’s desperately impatient to get more music written, and another part that’s hesitant to begin until I feel “prepared” with all the knowledge I can have to make my music the best it possibly can be.

And if I don’t write more music, then to what degree am I actually a composer? I have this same internal struggle with writing, too, of course; I don’t always write every day (or even every month) – does that make me less of a writer than someone who religiously completes ten pages a day?

I don’t have any easy answers to these dilemmas, but I wonder if, perhaps, I could pause on the music side of things for a moment, and maybe revisit my fantasy books for a little while. After all, with the deep hope that I make it into Rutgers’ music program, there will come plenty of time to learn, improve, and compose in the future. And when I do, I’ll be able to write for people who could then actually perform my music – which is, ultimately, the end goal.

So maybe I should take some time, and hit pause on this symphony, or that piano trio, or anything else for that matter, until such time as I’m better prepared to have people actually play them. And after all, it isn’t like I’m going without any creative outlet; I enjoy writing, and can publish books on my own without input from anyone else.

In any case, my interview with Rutgers is this weekend, and whilst I am definitely nervous about it, I’m also excited; this is the door to a life of creativity that I’ve been craving for decades!