The Process of Composition

My choice of title for this essay was arrived at only after some deliberation. I wanted to emphasise that in the act of composition there is a processing of the raw material of music, i.e. sound, expressed as  pitch, rhythm and timbre, analogous to that which takes place in the manufacture of foodstuffs- as for example the processing of  flour, water, salt and yeast into bread.  Let me make clear at the outset that this activity has nothing to do with inspiration- that mysterious quality of freshness or vitality that may or may not be present in a given work of art. Whether the work is inspired or not, the process involved in its making is much the same. The composer’s work is to put the raw material of music- which today includes all sounds, not just those obviously musical ones- into intelligible organisations- what may be termed the forms of music, whether they be composed, semi-improvised (as in jazz) or on disc (as in sonic art).

Starting points

There is always an initial spur to actually starting any work. This can simply be an obligation to fulfil some external need such as a commission for music for a film, a television or radio programme, an advertisement, or a request by a performer or organisation.  Or the spur may be an internal compulsion to express one’s awareness, feelings, emotions etc. Hearing music by another composer can be a powerful stimulus to composition, as Michael Tippett has acknowledged in reference to his 2^nd Symphony, the opening of which was directly inspired by hearing a Vivaldi concerto. I can say that, from my own experience, just reading about a work without actually hearing it can start bringing ideas into that part of my brain that is concerned with musical composition. The young composer is usually stimulated to copy, develop or surpass what he or she is listening to- what is termed “being influenced by”. This stage is normally superseded by saying things of one’s own, although it is doubtful if one can ever entirely escape from being affected by other music, nor is it particularly important that one should. Music, if it is to be an effective means of communication, must be to some extent a collective art form, and the desire to be totally different from other composers is one that we do not find in any of the masters of the past or present.   

The spur to start work may then suggest appropriate motives as a beginning for the piece. It is unusual- I speak for myself here though- for a complete melody to come as it were miraculously, and out of nowhere, all at once, although I believe some composers can experience this. Possibly Schubert or Mozart- who is said to have seen a complete movement “in a flash”- composed this way. For most of us, starting points are fragments- a few notes- or possibly just the awareness that we need  certain sounds, rhythms, levels of activity and dynamics without the pitches being present at all at this early stage. Motives sometimes come fully formed, suggested by the particular expressive demands of the music.   At other times they are consciously sought for as for example by saying “what can I do with the intervals x and y and the rhythms a and b”.  In western classical music there are numerous clichés which have proved useful thematic “openers” for centuries such as the well-known motive of three repeated notes, many examples of which can be found in music of all periods from the 16^th century onwards.[1]

Continuity

The next stage is to make motives coalesce into longer units or themes which may consist of any number of motives but usually between two and five. Themes with just one motive are not common because the fewer the motives the harder it is to continue in an interesting way without becoming tediously repetitive. A fine example of a one motive melody is the first section of Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, 1^st movement, in which that famous opening four- note figure is artfully spun out for a significant proportion of the movement.

By contrast certain composers work naturally in multi-motive themes. Thus a typical theme by Mozart may contain numerous motives, which looked at separately seem not to have much to do with each other, but when heard in the melodic discourse, make supreme sense and musical logic. A characteristic example is to be heard at the start of the piano sonata K.280.

Once the initial motives and themes are there the problem facing the composer is how to keep going for the required duration- and in addition, how to hold the attention of the listener and performer(s) while all the time successfully expressing what the music is about. How does the composer work a way through the infinite number of choices available from any starting point? The solution is to somehow limit the number of possibilities of continuation in a piece, and the real labour of composition is not so much the  getting of  ideas, but knowing how to make  use of a few ideas in a piece in ways that are logical and that hold the attention of the listener.

The most obvious method of limiting the number of decisions that have to be made in the act of composition is the use of some kind of scale or mode of notes with a fixed tonic or key-note which the music may return to or work away from. So common is this procedure- so much a part of the sound of Western music as a whole -that we do not even recognise it as a means of restricting the decisions made by the composer. With the rise of the major and minor key system from the latter part of the 17^th century we find that composers begin to consciously link the choice of key with the expression of a certain mood. Such an association is, of course, peculiar to each composer- for example Beethoven’s use of C minor to express the tragic and pathetic moods and Chopin’s tranquil F sharp major music.

From the early part of the 20^th century the role of the scale or mode has largely been replaced (in much “serious” music at any rate) by other ways of selecting notes such as the series- in which notes in a fixed order are used as the basis for a composition, and the composer’s freedom of action is controlled by mathematical processes rather than the patterns of scales and modes. Other more idiosyncratic, self- imposed limitations are the employment of random numbers to dictate the notes[2], or chance operations such as throwing dice[3] .

But even with such possible limitations as outlined above, there is still the problem of ordering the musical material in such a way that it is comprehensible to the listener. The two basic elements which elucidate musical discourse are repetition and contrast.  Repetition may be of motives, themes or whole sections, and it may be inexact, such as restating motives at a different pitch level or with changes of rhythm or timbre, or it may be exact, a procedure which must be used with care to avoid boring or annoying the listener. Even the greatest composers are not exempt from the habit of redundant repetition on occasion- or even frequently. Debussy, for all his achievements in the field of harmony and fluid form (in the later works), quite often falls into the trap of saying things twice. (See the piano piece L’isle Joyeuse for a typical example of this).

An important part of the compositional process is the channelling of the music into forms- giving what could be a series of random utterances a coherent shape. Musical forms occur from a very early date, and some have proved to be long-lasting, as witness the prevalence in all periods of binary, ternary, rondo and sonata forms. The pre-ordained structure of these forms acts as another restriction on the number of choices to be made in the composition of a work. The setting of structural or expressive goals, which are usually points of change, within these forms, will prompt the composer to think in a certain direction, as for example when there is a need to move to a different key, to state a contrasting subject or to return to a previous subject. Other goals are changes of mood, pace, dynamics and pitch area (low, medium and high).  It is quite possible for a composer to outline the form and the various details of tempo, pitch, timbre and expression without any actual notes in mind; these could come last.

Voices, instruments & performers

The compositional process needs to adapt to what particular instruments or voices are being used and what level of expertise the composer expects from the player(s) or vocalist(s). The mechanism of the instrument and the physical limitations of performers need to be always kept in mind for a successful work to emerge. There is such a thing as writing against an instrument or voice- and this does not necessarily mean that the composer is unaware of mechanical or human limitations. Sometimes a certain amount of tension in realising the composer’s demands adds to the interest and stimulates performers to greater technical feats. But the dividing line between “difficult” and “impossible” must not be crossed- the piano writing of Stravinsky may be awkward but it is always playable; writing low Bs for viola is merely a sign of ignorance of the instrument’s normal tuning

Finishing touches

As well as thinking about what happens next in a work in progress, composers must keep looking back and checking on the quality of what is already written.  When the work is nearing completion there is a final inspection of it to ensure that it says everything the composer intended and in a way that makes the performer(s)’ work as trouble-free  as possible. Some things looked for are:

Continuity:

 Does the music move forward? Does it flow along?  Is there a disjointed effect anywhere?

Direction:

 Is there a sense of direction? Is there too much repetition? Does the music stay around the same pitch area too long? Are the harmonies interesting? Does the harmony have a sense of movement? Or is it too static?  Is the harmonic rhythm (the pace at which harmonies change) too regular and therefore boring?

 Texture:

Are there too many or not enough notes? Are accompaniment figures used for too long in one stretch?  Is there enough contrast in the texture? In an orchestral work, is the texture too thick- or too thin?

Instruments and voices:

Are there errors in range and technical possibilities? Is it all possible or are there any impossible notes, unplayable chords (on guitar for example) or multiple stops on strings?   

Discourse

Are there weaknesses in the musical discourse such as uninteresting or derivative themes? Is the piece too long, or too brief?  Does the piece say all that it needs to in the time-or does it need to be longer or shorter? Is there a satisfactory feeling of climax (if such a point is required by the style and expression of the piece)? Does it end in a satisfactory way?

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Reading through the above offering, I realise that I have probably only touched the surface of what is a very complex subject. Exactly how much composers are aware of the processes outlined here will vary from one to another and from the beginner to the experienced. In most cases more or less of them will take place in the unconscious mind. In the case of very experienced composers hardly any conscious decision making will occur, the notes seeming to come of their own accord- as if from some unseen source outside of the creator. Stravinsky, in this respect, said that he was only the vessel through which the Rite of Spring flowed. And I myself have experienced writing a piece at speed, everything seeming just to come of its own volition, and then wondering how I did it.

03/11