Collaborating with Performers Whose Instruments You’ve Never Played Before
We’ve all been there…
When writing for unfamiliar instruments (or ones that have not yet been played by the composer), it can be proven difficult to create a substantial piece that best utilizes the fullest potential of said instrument. Whether due to complex finger-patterns or unfamiliar tessituras, there can be many barriers preventing beginning composers from deriving artistic worlds from ‘foreign expression’ lying just out of reach of their current understanding. I have learned that much vulnerability and constant communication with musicians can lead to the desired results of your piece, much greater than that lengthy instructional video you watch in your bedroom over and over and over again (trust me, I’ve been there).
Meet with the player often
It is no secret that learning straight from the source is key; so learn straight from the source for free! Ask your clarinet friends or that school bassoon player what exactly keeps them latched onto their instrument of choice daily, and what in general do they like about playing music. The answers might surprise you, and lead you to future evaluations about the nature of your composition. Not all instruments are needed, but all instruments are uniquely profound in their own right. Find out which one makes your composition shine by speaking directly to the performers, allowing open dialogues to best diffuse ideas alongside the writing process. Expressing vulnerably the vision for your work, and why their instrument naturally fits for your project, allows them to best understand and provide valuable input for your piece. Always take their ideas into account, no matter how far it may stray from your initial ideas (you can always take the time to reconsider their suggestions later).
In my recent composition, Butterfly Chaos, I became very fortunate to have communicated my vision in a way that invited much collaboration and ownership from my performer which best captured the inspiration for my work in the end. We took many hours in a practice room to understand the fundamental workings of their instrument (for my sake), and to define the hard limitations of writing such a piece as communicated to them by myself (for their sake). Major revisions had to be made from my initial writings, as some parts needed to be simplified for the integrity of the performance. But the end result was so much so worth every hour, and I am forever grateful to have established such comradery with a player that knows much more about their instrument than I do (I’m a low brass player).
Don’t be afraid to ask dumb questions
It would be better to ask dumb questions before a single read-through than to take on the aftermath of revisions and regrets following the first review of a ‘finished piece’, whether the instrument is familiar or unfamiliar to the composer. Better now than later to fully understand the capabilities of a performer’s skill, than to completely dismantle one’s creative flow by producing an overtly ‘safe’ composition. By displaying a humble attitude for knowledge in creating an exciting and idiomatic language for the performer to explore, the composer then in turn gains buy-in from each musician involved that the very best is brought out of even the worst composition! It is an infectious work-environment that spreads to even the most accomplished musician, and there are many avenues to be taken once this amount of collaboration is achieved. Display the effort to know who you’re writing for, and the performers will love you forever.
Allow room for change
By all means, see how far your performer is willing to go before pushing their limits, but always be willing to backtrack when required by the musician for the sake of performance and rehearsal. In the composition of Butterfly Chaos, I did not know much about saxophone and just wrote exactly what I heard from my ear. I then openly took critiques as they were presented to me, and allowed for the work to naturally mature in the hands of its performer. This ultimately benefited the piece, as the requests and feedback from the performer actually lifted the piece higher than where it was in the hands of my naïve doing. There were things I wrote which were incredibly fast that actually worked better much slower, blatantly revealing that I was no master at unveiling the beauty of such a ‘foreign’ instrument through merely my own efforts.
You see; if I never cared to hear feedback from my performer, then I never would have been allowed such a spectacular premiere of Butterfly Chaos with a performer that knew much more than I did. In short; if I never listened, then I never would have found the greatest version of my piece. If you are going to dictate your work, be sure that your work enacts the betterment of everyone in the room and not just your own ego. Spectacular things will happen when collaboration of this caliber is achieved, and when much effort is taken to consider the idiomatic intricacies of a performer’s ‘foreign’ instrument.
Conclusion
Meet with your performers often, don’t be afraid to ask dumb questions, and always allow room for change. Make the musician your closest friend for the time being, since you are indeed requiring them to provide a multitude of potentially taxing energy onto your own creative efforts – never lose sight of that! It is a privilege to have a performer breathe life into your work, and that should be handled with the utmost care and respect. We want to push our performers to unlock their true musical capabilities through the performances of our music, and a touch of humility might go a long way when understanding who, or what, we are writing for.
