Fluorescence describes a process in which something absorbs light of one colour, and subsequently re-emits light of a different colour. Something new is created, but directly because of that which goes in, and the thing it goes into. It strikes me that this is an analogy for the composition process: a composer encounters existing music and ideas, and – because of the specific nature of who they are – something different emerges in their created music: not quite the same as the original influences, but only existing because of those original influences. Curiously, I suspect this means that a composer can have a very different view on what he or she thinks their music “sounds” like. An audience can only judge this on the finished work. But the composer - being in the unique position of observing the internal processes by which things are musically “fluoresced” – may often feel their music is more derivative of something rather different.
The past decade has seen a substantial flowering – a florescence – of my compositional output. Indeed, most of my chamber works have been written in the past decade. It seems an appropriate time to look back and see if I can discern the influences that might have originally struck me, or shaped the direction of some of these works, so many of which are represented on this concert programme. To use the analogy: what was the source and colour of the original light?
Sonata for Violin & Piano: 1st Movement - Inquieto [4’00”]
This three-movement work was completed in 2014. For the opening movement presented here, somewhere in my mind was the distinctive, aspen-like trembling of the piano accompaniment that launches John Ireland’s first Violin Sonata (1911). The work also inhabits a similar sounds world to that of other early 20th century British composers. The chorale motif reminds me of the moving chords in Arvo Parts Fratres (1977), and the fact that the second phrase in this motif is built out from the first by the addition of two chords also speaks to the compositional idea that lies at Fratres heart.
Piano Trio in E minor: 2nd Movement - Religioso [6’00”]
This four movement work was written for the Streeton Trio, and completed in 2013. Whilst I cannot specifically recall the impetus for this particular movement (save for the fact that the quartet needed a slow movement!), I do recall that – when I had the idea of writing another piano trio (I had written one as a teenager, and one as a student work) the idea of contacting the Streeton Trio came from Syzygy Ensemble’s Laila Engle. The parallel piano chords that open the first movement were, for me, influenced by the opening of Rachmaninov’s famous Prélude in C sharp minor (Op.3, No.2) from 1892.
Elegy for two violas & piano [10’00”]
This work started life as a work for – of all things – the viola d’amore; a baroque instrument with 6 playable strings, plus a further set of strings that vibrate sympathetically. Not surprisingly, performance opportunities for this instrument are rare, hence this more accessible arrangement for two violas. I can’t recall a specific compositional influence, although the double stopping in the original work did take into account the closer pitch spacings of the strings on the viola d’amore; a potential challenge for a single modern viola, but one neatly solved by having two!
Suite for Clarinet & Piano [12’00”]
Trio for Flute, Clarinet & Cello [16’00”]
Piano Quartet No. 2: Part II [18’00”]
This quartet was completed in 2018, and dedicated to the Australia Piano Quartet. Some of its structure was dictated by a desire to do something different from my first piano quartet: whilst the former had a prominent solo piano opening, four distinct movements in largely classical forms, and a slow second movement, this quartet therefore has a prominent solo string opening, consists of two continuous parts with less conventionally defined structure, with the second half of the first section (the equivalent of a “second movement”) being quick and lively. In Part II, performed here, we hear a wistful melody in fourths (Largo) that is gradually developed then finally bursts forth in a more sunny restatement; the use of parallel intervals is a device commonly used by Ravel (for example, Petit Poucet (Hop-o'-My-Thumb) from his Mother Goose Suite), and the sunny restatement evokes for me the spirit of his representation of a sunrise in Daphnis & Chloe: two works that, for me, fulfil Charles Headington’s (1977) appraisal of Ravel’s compositions “stirring the emotions of a sympathetic listener to an almost unbearable degree”. This is replaced by an unsettled, darker section that opens with great rhythmic drive, influenced by the opening of Ernest Bloch’s remarkable first Piano Quintet (1923).
Coda [7’00”]
I think this work is possibly the only piece I have written with almost every aspect of the performance in mind: the ensemble, the venue, the location within the concert programme, and even the time of day. Written as the concluding work, the mood seemed appropriate for night-time gathering within the intimate, sparse, almost basement-like surrounding of Tempo Rubato (the stairs to the side of the stage can give an impression of being underground). Musically, the principal theme felt like an appropriate fit for this club-like atmosphere. Structurally, I had in mind the gorgeous – and astonishing spartan - movement “Blind Musicians” from Josef Suk’s orchestral poem A Summer’s Tale – an excellent example of where an influence apparent to me would likely never be discerned in the final work by an audience. Although, if you listen closely, Coda’s middle theme introduced by the violin does bear a resemblance to the string line that accompanies the return of Suk’s opening theme…
So, there you have it. Whilst many of the sources that illuminate my work are a hundred (light) years distant, they are absorbed and re-radiated by someone who is very much part of the modern world. I know of the Second Viennese School and its influences (in no small part due to Syzygy Ensemble), even if I chose not to be one of its graduates. I’ve been exposed to almost a century of film music, whereas Ravel would have had only experienced a decade. Twenty five years of the world wide web, accompanied by an age of cheap, accessible computing, has allowed me to experience a range of music and sounds that would have simply been unthinkable for most of the 20th century. Therefore, I see my works are inexorably modern, even if they don’t conform to the conventional expectation of what this should mean. As Hugh Robertson put it (when writing about my piano quartets) my chamber music “wears its influences on its sleeve, but builds on the sum of its parts to create something new and incredibly engaging” (LoudMouth e-Zine, 30/4/2021). Except, as suggested above, what eventually appears on the sleeve can be somewhat different from what initially touched the heart.
The past decade has seen a substantial flowering – a florescence – of my compositional output. Indeed, most of my chamber works have been written in the past decade. It seems an appropriate time to look back and see if I can discern the influences that might have originally struck me, or shaped the direction of some of these works, so many of which are represented on this concert programme. To use the analogy: what was the source and colour of the original light?
Sonata for Violin & Piano: 1st Movement - Inquieto [4’00”]
This three-movement work was completed in 2014. For the opening movement presented here, somewhere in my mind was the distinctive, aspen-like trembling of the piano accompaniment that launches John Ireland’s first Violin Sonata (1911). The work also inhabits a similar sounds world to that of other early 20th century British composers. The chorale motif reminds me of the moving chords in Arvo Parts Fratres (1977), and the fact that the second phrase in this motif is built out from the first by the addition of two chords also speaks to the compositional idea that lies at Fratres heart.
Piano Trio in E minor: 2nd Movement - Religioso [6’00”]
This four movement work was written for the Streeton Trio, and completed in 2013. Whilst I cannot specifically recall the impetus for this particular movement (save for the fact that the quartet needed a slow movement!), I do recall that – when I had the idea of writing another piano trio (I had written one as a teenager, and one as a student work) the idea of contacting the Streeton Trio came from Syzygy Ensemble’s Laila Engle. The parallel piano chords that open the first movement were, for me, influenced by the opening of Rachmaninov’s famous Prélude in C sharp minor (Op.3, No.2) from 1892.
Elegy for two violas & piano [10’00”]
This work started life as a work for – of all things – the viola d’amore; a baroque instrument with 6 playable strings, plus a further set of strings that vibrate sympathetically. Not surprisingly, performance opportunities for this instrument are rare, hence this more accessible arrangement for two violas. I can’t recall a specific compositional influence, although the double stopping in the original work did take into account the closer pitch spacings of the strings on the viola d’amore; a potential challenge for a single modern viola, but one neatly solved by having two!
Suite for Clarinet & Piano [12’00”]
- Canonic Variations
- Senza Fretta
- Giocoso
- Fantasticheria
Trio for Flute, Clarinet & Cello [16’00”]
- Prelude
- Lament
- Largo
- Alla marcia
Piano Quartet No. 2: Part II [18’00”]
This quartet was completed in 2018, and dedicated to the Australia Piano Quartet. Some of its structure was dictated by a desire to do something different from my first piano quartet: whilst the former had a prominent solo piano opening, four distinct movements in largely classical forms, and a slow second movement, this quartet therefore has a prominent solo string opening, consists of two continuous parts with less conventionally defined structure, with the second half of the first section (the equivalent of a “second movement”) being quick and lively. In Part II, performed here, we hear a wistful melody in fourths (Largo) that is gradually developed then finally bursts forth in a more sunny restatement; the use of parallel intervals is a device commonly used by Ravel (for example, Petit Poucet (Hop-o'-My-Thumb) from his Mother Goose Suite), and the sunny restatement evokes for me the spirit of his representation of a sunrise in Daphnis & Chloe: two works that, for me, fulfil Charles Headington’s (1977) appraisal of Ravel’s compositions “stirring the emotions of a sympathetic listener to an almost unbearable degree”. This is replaced by an unsettled, darker section that opens with great rhythmic drive, influenced by the opening of Ernest Bloch’s remarkable first Piano Quintet (1923).
Coda [7’00”]
I think this work is possibly the only piece I have written with almost every aspect of the performance in mind: the ensemble, the venue, the location within the concert programme, and even the time of day. Written as the concluding work, the mood seemed appropriate for night-time gathering within the intimate, sparse, almost basement-like surrounding of Tempo Rubato (the stairs to the side of the stage can give an impression of being underground). Musically, the principal theme felt like an appropriate fit for this club-like atmosphere. Structurally, I had in mind the gorgeous – and astonishing spartan - movement “Blind Musicians” from Josef Suk’s orchestral poem A Summer’s Tale – an excellent example of where an influence apparent to me would likely never be discerned in the final work by an audience. Although, if you listen closely, Coda’s middle theme introduced by the violin does bear a resemblance to the string line that accompanies the return of Suk’s opening theme…
So, there you have it. Whilst many of the sources that illuminate my work are a hundred (light) years distant, they are absorbed and re-radiated by someone who is very much part of the modern world. I know of the Second Viennese School and its influences (in no small part due to Syzygy Ensemble), even if I chose not to be one of its graduates. I’ve been exposed to almost a century of film music, whereas Ravel would have had only experienced a decade. Twenty five years of the world wide web, accompanied by an age of cheap, accessible computing, has allowed me to experience a range of music and sounds that would have simply been unthinkable for most of the 20th century. Therefore, I see my works are inexorably modern, even if they don’t conform to the conventional expectation of what this should mean. As Hugh Robertson put it (when writing about my piano quartets) my chamber music “wears its influences on its sleeve, but builds on the sum of its parts to create something new and incredibly engaging” (LoudMouth e-Zine, 30/4/2021). Except, as suggested above, what eventually appears on the sleeve can be somewhat different from what initially touched the heart.