“Collaboration” is bandied about quite a bit these days. From the world of business and academia to the world of art, we are encouraged to collaborate, and are told that solutions to our problems are best found in the collaborative process.
As a composer, opportunities for collaboration abound. Certainly, working with choreographers, poets, lyricists, artists, filmmakers, and even (albeit more rarely) other composers can be a most interesting and gratifying type of creative activity. The inspiration and energy one derives from other people’s creative output is immeasurable, and often eases the creative burden. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that a number of creative choices are determined by one’s collaborator(s). [Indeed, one of the most frightening moments any artist faces is the blank page/canvas---the choices are infinite, and infinity is a scary place. Buzz Lightyear’s catch phrase, “to infinity and beyond” I think speaks to his tremendous bravery---and perhaps to his naiveté.]
But what of those artistic works that are seemingly solo endeavors? (From a composer’s perspective, I am speaking here mostly about instrumental compositions.) I spend large chunks of time by myself, either in front of a sheet of blank staff paper on the piano, or staring at the same on my computer. I jot down ideas. Form plans. Revise plans. Expand ideas. Eliminate others. And start putting things together to create a piece of music. None of this, as viewed from the outside, would appear to be a collaborative experience. No one else is in my room sharing their ideas; no one else challenging my choices or suggesting alternatives. Although society has by and large rejected the notion of the romanticized “lone genius” composer/artist, there is still much about a composer’s craft that is completed in solitude. So, is this a collaborative effort?
No….and yes. Strictly speaking there is no one else physically present informing and influencing my decisions. Yet, neither am I making these decisions in a vacuum. If I am writing a piece (or a moment within a piece) for trombone, for example, I am collaborating with the invisible trombonist. First, I am not going to write something that lies outside the physical possibilities of the trombonist’s instrument (which includes the trombonist him- or herself). Secondly, I will embody the trombonist as best I can (within my own limited understanding of the instrument) and ask the invisible trombonist, “what is going to put you in the best light here?” I must have had some reason for choosing to use the trombone in the first place (a certain color, or dynamic/color combination that I found appealing). In choosing the trombone over, say, the bassoon or the cello, I entered into an agreement with the invisible trombonist. The agreement: I am choosing to collaborate with you for this musical moment in this composition because the musical attributes of the trombone are those that will work best here. In making this choice, I agree that it should be as trombone-like as possible given the musical/compositional requirements of the passage. I am not saying it should necessarily be easy (although that is not a bad thing). But I firmly believe the more we collaborate with the invisible player, and write music that takes into account the physicality of playing the instrument (whether that is moving a bow or a slide, pressing a valve or a key, breathing, vocalizing, etc.) the better the composition will be.
What do you think? I welcome shared, thoughtful opinions. Thanks!
As a composer, opportunities for collaboration abound. Certainly, working with choreographers, poets, lyricists, artists, filmmakers, and even (albeit more rarely) other composers can be a most interesting and gratifying type of creative activity. The inspiration and energy one derives from other people’s creative output is immeasurable, and often eases the creative burden. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that a number of creative choices are determined by one’s collaborator(s). [Indeed, one of the most frightening moments any artist faces is the blank page/canvas---the choices are infinite, and infinity is a scary place. Buzz Lightyear’s catch phrase, “to infinity and beyond” I think speaks to his tremendous bravery---and perhaps to his naiveté.]
But what of those artistic works that are seemingly solo endeavors? (From a composer’s perspective, I am speaking here mostly about instrumental compositions.) I spend large chunks of time by myself, either in front of a sheet of blank staff paper on the piano, or staring at the same on my computer. I jot down ideas. Form plans. Revise plans. Expand ideas. Eliminate others. And start putting things together to create a piece of music. None of this, as viewed from the outside, would appear to be a collaborative experience. No one else is in my room sharing their ideas; no one else challenging my choices or suggesting alternatives. Although society has by and large rejected the notion of the romanticized “lone genius” composer/artist, there is still much about a composer’s craft that is completed in solitude. So, is this a collaborative effort?
No….and yes. Strictly speaking there is no one else physically present informing and influencing my decisions. Yet, neither am I making these decisions in a vacuum. If I am writing a piece (or a moment within a piece) for trombone, for example, I am collaborating with the invisible trombonist. First, I am not going to write something that lies outside the physical possibilities of the trombonist’s instrument (which includes the trombonist him- or herself). Secondly, I will embody the trombonist as best I can (within my own limited understanding of the instrument) and ask the invisible trombonist, “what is going to put you in the best light here?” I must have had some reason for choosing to use the trombone in the first place (a certain color, or dynamic/color combination that I found appealing). In choosing the trombone over, say, the bassoon or the cello, I entered into an agreement with the invisible trombonist. The agreement: I am choosing to collaborate with you for this musical moment in this composition because the musical attributes of the trombone are those that will work best here. In making this choice, I agree that it should be as trombone-like as possible given the musical/compositional requirements of the passage. I am not saying it should necessarily be easy (although that is not a bad thing). But I firmly believe the more we collaborate with the invisible player, and write music that takes into account the physicality of playing the instrument (whether that is moving a bow or a slide, pressing a valve or a key, breathing, vocalizing, etc.) the better the composition will be.
What do you think? I welcome shared, thoughtful opinions. Thanks!