As musicians, we’ve all heard at least a thousand times, “practice makes perfect”, or perhaps the more astute, “perfect practice makes perfect”. We all know that there is no such thing as perfection in art, both in the work itself and the creation of that work. However, the idea behind these platitudes is still valid: we must build our skills in order to become proficient. But what happens once we build that proficiency? It is at this point that I would like to define proficiency as a composer. I consider proficiency to be the culmination of having built both the appropriate technical skills and the appropriate creative clarity to function in the world as a working composer. This means having worked on your fundamentals, advanced composing techniques, and having a strong ability to generate and connect new ideas, as well as having a compositional voice that aligns with these ideas. What happens once we’ve built that proficiency?
Now, the real challenge begins. We’ve passed the technical hurdles, and connected our creativity with our compositional technique. Now, we need to write some music. It is of enormous benefit to the composer to write music consistently, even in between projects and commissions. Just like any other craft or profession, life happens, and has a habit of getting in the way, which often leads to gaps of time without composing. These gaps can be detrimental to the compositional process, and you likely won’t notice the damage for some time after returning to writing.
I can only speak to my own personal experience, but I’ve certainly noticed a significant decrease in quality, and a significant increase in the difficulty I encounter when trying to express myself musically. What I find particularly interesting about this is that it’s never my technique that get’s in the way. My technique always remains consistent. Rather, it’s the quality of my ideas, my ability to express ideas, and my ability to connect my compositional brain to my technique that falls short. The only useful thing I’ve been able to deduce from this is that consistently composing is the only way to combat this phenomenon, at least for me.
Under such strange circumstances, what kind of composing is most useful here? given that what I’ve noticed declining after taking time off is idea generation, I’ve found exercises and writing that work exclusively on idea generation are particularly useful. Generating original and compelling ideas, whether in the context of an original composition or an arrangement, is extremely useful.
In my writing, this comes in a few forms. I might write some “White Note Exercises” I’m working on a post dedicated to White Note Exercises, but in short, you line up some manuscript paper, and fill the entire page with a continuous melody that contains only diatonic pitches (the “White Notes”) between middle C and the B above it. This exercise, credited to Bob Brookmeyer aids in quality melody writing, interesting melodies within very restrictive confines, and most importantly, simply writing music. This exercise forces you to simply place notes on the page, without having to worry about their implications elsewhere in a larger composition. This has been an incredibly helpful exercise for idea generation.
Another technique that I use is writing what will one day become a part of a larger composition, but first exists without additional context, what I call a “Writer’s Section”. This is a particularly dense kind of writing, that I typically write in three part counterpoint. The melody usually started as a White Note Exercise, at least in part, and then is heavily modified. It could be entirely unique as well, but I often pull from the White Notes. This melody is then accompanied by a bass line and counterline. But what makes this process different is that the bassline and counterline are written alongside each other. I don’t write or plan the harmony ahead of the counterpoint. This allows be the freedom to prioritize the melody above all else, and focus on the contour and development of the counterlines and bassline. This usually leads to far more interesting harmony than I would generate if I was thinking up a chord progression, or thinking about larger vertical harmony at all. instead, I am thinking exclusively about the vertical interaction of all three lines, but only in color, shape, and individual intervallic relationships, rather than traditional harmonic structures. This kind of writing leads me down some really exciting paths, and paths I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise. I’m always trying to write these vignettes, and I keep a constant catalogue of them to use later. It allows me, much like the White Note Exercise, to write music and constantly connect my creativity to my technique, without having to worry about the entire emotional journey or form and arranging considerations of a larger composition. It is a great place to start a larger composition as well, because you’ve already written some part of the “middle” of a piece. I’ve found it much easier to create a compelling arc and musical journey when I know where I’m going, and these Writer’s Sections provide a climax to build to, and settle from. It’s another fantastic way to heal “Writer’s Block”, as well. If you listen to any of my Big Band/Large Ensemble music, you will likely notice where I’ve used this technique.
At their essence, both of these techniques allow you to write without implications and consequences, and without committing to any ensemble, or committing to any other variables like piece length, larger theme, arrangement, orchestration, or form. The White Note allows you to focus on writing a simple, elegant, and interesting melody that can be developed later, while the Writer’s Section allows you to develop the idea from a White Note (or any other idea) in as simple or complex a manner as you see fit, without larger commitment or planning.
I view these two exercises as training your compositional brain when you’re in the composer’s equivalent of the “off-season”. You may have finished your commissions for the year, or have just finished a big project, and don’t have the need, motivation, or perhaps even the time to write another piece. It’s still important to keep writing though, and these processes have certainly helped me maintain and build my connection to my min’s ear, even without a larger piece to work on.
With all of this being said, technique practice is incredibly important as well. The great composers of our world have always worked on refining their fundamentals, from Bach to Stravinsky. But for many young composers, including myself, technique is not our weakness, our weaknesses are usually taste and refined expression. It’s not technique that we lack as young composers, we’ve spent a majority of our time composing building our technique. It’s refined compositional taste and expression that we lack, and it’s the first thing to go when we take a break from writing.
I don’t want this to read like a criticism of anyone, aside from myself. This is something I noticed in my writing first. It was then confirmed by many of my young colleagues that they experience the same thing. Perhaps everyone experiences this, but established composers are less likely to be effected because they’re usually always writing. But either way, consistently writing is incredibly important, and these are the tools I use to achieve that, even when I’m not required or “inspired” to write.
I hope this was helpful, and if you’ve experienced this or have used these methods to maintain your chops, I’d love to here from you!
