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The characters in English National Opera’s new production of Philip Glass’s opera Akhnaten might have stepped down from an ancient Egyptian tomb painting as they glide across the stage in extreme slow-motion, arms outstretched or palms turned upwards. Restaged by Phelim McDermitt of Improbable peeformance company, the inspiration for this new production is Egyptian bas reliefs reflecting life in Akhnaten’s court, the stylised rays of the sun represented on stage by neon light sticks and the unfurling of golden ribbons, together with some gorgeous lighting effects by Bruno Poet. There are jugglers too, in this production, also inspired by ancient Egyptian art, and their activities enhance both narrative and music.

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Akhnaten, his wife Nefertiti and their children, with rays of the sun disc, c1340 BC (Wikimedia Commons)

I saw the very first ENO production of Akhnaten, back in 1985. Then, the setting was spare, ultra-minimalist, with just a pyramid and a sun disc (as I recall). This new production is sumptuous, with opulent, richly-decorated costumes designed by Kevin Pollard, and fine singing from both soloists and ENO chorus.

We know that the ancient Egyptians were a ritualistic people, and this aspect is given full rein in this new production. The opera opens with a long orchestral sequence, during which hieroglyphs are projected onto a painted screen. As the stage is illuminated, the screen takes on the gauzy, grainy appearance of ancient papyrus, and through it we see seated figures with the heads of Egyptian gods – Osiris, Horus, Anubis. In the bottom segment of the set, which takes its inspiration from Egyptian wall-paintings, another ritual is taking place, as the dead Pharaoh Amenhotep III is prepared for burial. Meanwhile, his son appears, naked and vulnerable. Another ritual then ensues as Akhnaten, sung by American counter-tenor Anthony Roth Costanzo, is carefully, passively attired by his minions (played by the juggling troupe), and transformed into the new king.

No one rushes, no one runs. Even the jugglers’ balls move with grace, always perfectly synchronised. Combined with Glass’s pulsating, hypnotic score, with its luminous harmonic shifts, the overall effect is of a bas-relief or wall-painting miraculously brought to life and viewed in exquisite slow-motion. More art installation than opera, the narrative moves with an intense concentration which is both absorbing and thrilling, and this slowness, rather than creating longeurs, amplifies the epic scale. Add to this Anthony Roth Costanzo’s extraordinary other-wordly voice – made even more extraordinary when combined with Emma Carrington’s beautiful, statuesque Nefertiti and Rebecca Bottone’s Queen Tye, who haunts the stage like the old Queen Mary of Tek – plus the ENO chorus’s powerful and elegaic contributions.

rsz_eno1516_akhnaten_-_zachary_james_rebecca_bottone_c_richard_hubert_smith
Scribe (Zachary James) and Queen Tye (Rebecca Bottone) (photo: Richard Hubert Smith)

The non-naturalistic direction never appears contrived and the slow-motion narrative builds in intensity like a solemn meditation. Even the destruction of Akhnaten’s city and his own death are told with the same glacial control, the jugglers tossing their balls into the air and simply letting them drop to the floor to illustrate the fall of Akhnaten’s empire and his belief system.

In a way, the narrative – the story of Akhnaten the Pharaoh who exchanged a polytheistic (many gods) belief system for a monotheistic system (worship of the sun disc) – is irrelevant, and the programme contains a detailed synopsis, libretto and copious accompanying notes. Simply allow yourself to be bathed in Glass’s rapturous music and feast your eyes on this captivating and evocative production.

‘Akhnaten’ continues in repertory at English National Opera until 18th March 2016

(Header image: Clive Bayley, Anthony Roth Costanzo, James Cleverton and Colin Judson, photo Richard Hubert Smith)

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Last year I wrote about strategies to cope with feelings of inadequacy as a musician and the oft-posed question, Am I Good Enough? In this article I will examine how social media can help and hinder those same feelings of inadequacy.

Social media (Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, Google+ and many, many more platforms…..) is very hard to ignore these days and unless one takes very deliberate steps not to engage with it at all, one has to accept it as a fact of modern life. It has its uses: on a most basic level, it’s a means for people to stay in touch. It can connect like-minded people and offers opportunities to forge new partnerships, collaborations and communities, both professionally and socially. For a musician, used well it can be an incredibly powerful tool (see my article on Classical musicians and social media). On social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter, one can connect easily and simply with many other musicians, music teachers and others in the music profession, and the accessibility and immediacy of these platforms allow ideas to be bounced around and shared very quickly, creating interesting and stimulating discussions. Social media can also offer useful support for one’s practising – read more here

One of the criticisms which is often leveled at social media platforms such as Facebook in particular is that some people use them as a way of parading their seemingly perfect or highly successful lives before others. Alongside one’s personal profile, there are groups which one can join for shared interests – and there is a plethora of piano-related groups. Such groups can be a great way of connecting with like-minded people and offer many benefits such as support for technical issues within specific repertoire, advice on setting up a piano teaching practice, musicians’ health or venue hire, to name but a few. But sometimes observing what others are doing, or constantly comparing oneself to others is not the best way to assess one’s abilities, progress and development. There may be a tendency too for certain individuals to criticise others, or be overly didactic in their posts or comments, and in the curious artificial world of the Internet, comments that might be shrugged off or refuted face to face, can seem negative or hurtful online.

Then there are the people who endlessly advertise students’ exam successes or seek endorsement from group members for their own achievements. Such parading of egos or desire for mutual appreciation or praise can make others feel inadequate. Sometimes it feels as if people are all over the networks are shouting “look at me!” and “look at my brilliant career, isn’t it wonderful?”

Social media puts us in touch with many other very competent people and it is all too easy to become intimidated or feel pressurised or depressed by what others are doing. A positive way of dealing with this is to accept that there are many talented people within our profession and to be happy to be amongst such a pool of musically accomplished individuals.

Many however cite the benefits of social media in relieving the feelings of isolation that often accompany the musician’s life:

I have found social media to be extremely beneficial as someone who has returned to the piano recently after illness. I have connected with many extremely stimulating and experienced musicians and reconnected with old friends as a result. Practising the piano can be a somewhat solitary affair so it has been a great blessing to find like-minded people to chat with during a practise session. There is always someone to turn to who can advise on fingering or other questions of technique…. (FW)

 

I feel encouraged when I read about or correspond with other amateur pianists who are serious about the piano while having non-piano day jobs. (PC)

 

If you find the “noise” of social media too distracting or detrimental, turn it off. Make a conscious decision to limit your engagement with it or allot a time slot during the day when you check in and then go back to work. Sometimes someone will post a link or start a discussion thread which is helpful or stimulating: take from it what you think will be useful to you, otherwise step back from all the chatter. Be confident in your own abilities and accept that there is no “right way”, that there may be many different approaches to the same issue. Ultimately, we have to get our vanities, anxieties and preconceptions out of the way and just get on with our work.

(This article was first published on the Piano Dao blog)

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RA Moulds 2015Who or what inspired you to take up composing, and pursue a career in music?

I cannot actually be said to have pursued a career in music since, although I did take an undergraduate degree in music history and composition, I did not then follow it by working professionally in those areas, except in the most tangential and part-time ways. However, my musical interests developed early on in strangely broad directions, and I always had the impulse to create music of my own, hoping to be able to produce the same beauty, emotion, intelligence, and amusement that I found in the compositions that I love. The forty years subsequent to my first attempts at composition have been an intense period of education, which continues even now, but in some strange way I think that the freedom of not doing music for a living has been of some benefit, because I never—or only briefly—felt compelled to conform to what the larger musical world often seems to dictate—frequently in opposite directions at the same time.

Who or what were the most significant influences on your musical life and career as a composer?

Not unlike many budding composers, I first began experimenting on my own, based on what I was learning in my piano lessons, but that sort of thing is not usually very productive, particularly when one’s understanding of how harmony and form work is as imperfect as mine was. My first clue that there was something more “out there” than ersatz Clementi and Mozart came from my lessons with the piano instructor at my junior college, who regularly introduced her students to brand new and experimental music as well as that of the greats of the 20th century. Once I moved on to university, the exploration continued, with a great deal of experimentation with early music as well as intense study of contemporary music. Unfortunately, my lessons with my composition tutor seemed to comprise mainly notational corrections and general comments, the most frequent being, “Your music is so dissonant,” so, sadly, I cannot really say that anything other than self-directed study influenced my compositional style to any great degree, and I am certain that only the scope of my interests is reflected in the changing styles of my work over forty years.

What have been the greatest challenges of your career so far?

I quickly discovered that I am more or less allergic to self-promotion and advertisement as well as competition, so I have never really pursued obtaining performances or publication to any degree, and although I am sure it sounds snobbish, I decided some time ago to avoid entering competitions of any sort. Since most competitions these days seem to be oriented toward the young and the “emerging” composer, this may sound peculiarly convenient, but the truth is that I do not believe that the creation of art should be competitive. In spite of all of this, I have been fortunate in many small ways in having many  friends who have shown an interest in what I do, and so I can truly say that my music “has been played around the world,” if not, perhaps to the degree that this standard PR claim is meant to express. Another minor difficulty I have is the writing of programme notes, since in the words of the famous and widely attributed quote, “writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” and I have a sneaking suspicion that my music is not so complex that it requires any ham-fisted analysis or illustration I may give. However, I understand that today’s audiences enjoy “getting to know” composers, so I soldier on and try to provide some information when it is requested. It is worth noting, however, that it is best to be careful about how much one writes. I once provided quite a lengthy discussion in an email to a music director, thinking that it was understood that he or she should glean any little thing thought worthy of conveying to the audience. To my horror, my email was used in its entirety in the programme, making me feel just as long-winded as I had always feared.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working on a commissioned piece?

I cannot say that I have received actual commissions, but I have been requested to write pieces or arrangements. The most difficult aspect of that sort of thing is when I have been asked to write for instruments with which I am not familiar, but the pleasure in such a scenario often comes from the opportunity to work with the “experts” who made the request. When I was asked to do some pieces for saxophone quartet I was terrified at first, but working with the requester to create something playable was a tremendous pleasure.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working with particular musicians, singers, ensembles and orchestras?

One of the greatest pleasures in working toward an actual performance is hearing what one has only imagined being given life by an artist. Unlike some composers, I have never been the sort of creator who insists on only one mode of interpretation, and it is often a wonderful thing to hear what other musicians find in one’s work. I do try to make my intentions as clear as possible in scores, but there is always room for adjustment or reinterpretation, so I am not particularly bothered by such changes. I sometimes find that not everyone devotes as much time to learning contemporary music as might be given to pieces in the standard repertoire, and that can be a bit of a worry. There are also variations in how much some artists or ensembles actually want to work with the composer, and that’s all right, too; sometimes it’s enough to just hand over the score and let the interpreter get to work, but it can be wonderful if collaboration is truly valued.

Which works are you most proud of? 

Honestly, I would not say that I am truly proud of any of my compositions. Pride doesn’t seem to enter into it somehow. I am definitely fond of certain works—but then it is a commonplace that artists are always most fond of their current works. There is a handful of pieces that I most value, and that I still listen to with great enjoyment, but again, as many composers say, it often happens that in re-listening to old works one has the sense of them being written by someone else.

Among my current favourites are the four pieces for varying orchestral groups composing the series Leyendas Místicas (‘Mystic Legends’), which overtly and subtly make reference to Hispanic and Latin American music, locations, and culture. The first of the series, Égloga: el Sauce que se enamoró de la Caricia del Viento (Eclogue: the Willow that fell in love with the Wind’s Caress) was the first piece for orchestral forces that I considered truly successful, in spite of its conservative style, and it has been performed both in its original instrumentation and in a version for saxophone choir. The second piece, Danza: El que bailó con el Diablo (Dance: He who danced with the Devil) was another minor success, and still works quite well. It was originally written for saxophone quartet but has also been arranged for string orchestra and string quartet.

For the past few years I have been concentrating on writing piano music, and have been very pleased with the results. One of my favourites is Offrande, written for the London-based pianist/composer Phil Best, and aimed at exploiting his superbly lyrical and emotional style of playing. An ongoing series of Aquarelles presents multiple exercises in musical imagery, drawing on several different styles as well as the musical monuments of the past.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

If this question concerns concerts including my own work, I would say that my most memorable experience was working with the Lavenham Sinfonia on the first performance of Der Singende Wald (The Singing Forest), which was written in memory of the gay victims of the Holocaust and inspired by the testimonies in the documentary film “Paragraph 175” (2000). I originally wrote the piece as a a purely personal expression, since I honestly did not think the subject matter and the somewhat expressionistic style would be of much interest to many small orchestras, but I was surprised and thrilled when I was contacted by Jeremy Hughes, the music director of the Lavenham Sinfonia, with a request for the score.  Der Singende Wald received its first performance on July 4, 2010 in Lavenham, Suffolk, and the whole experience was a joy. Working with the music director and the musicians was nothing short of a revelation. It is one thing to find ways to scribble down the guide to the sounds in one’s head; it is quite another to learn from and be guided by the people who have the job of interpreting those scribblings.

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

First, don’t fence yourself in. There is a very wide world of music out there to be explored, and it’s not wise to tie yourself down to a credo early on—or ever, really! Second, don’t fret too much about all the naysayers. There will always be more negative comments than positive ones; humans seem to get more joy out of tearing down than building up, and the criticism will always be louder than the compliments.

What is your present state of mind?

I find it miraculous to be retired from full-time work after thirty-one years, and actually to have the time to be a bit more relaxed about schedules and things. This doesn’t mean that writing is any easier than it was before, though; it’s still more like pulling teeth than anything else.

(interview date: June 2015)

Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, Rod Moulds studied composition with William Presser at the University of Southern Mississippi. His early music exhibited an idiosyncratic, non-dogmatic post-tonal style, which was soon abandoned in favour of a more eclectic manner. Around 1992, his music made increasing use of tonal materials, not as pastiche or post-modern irony, but rather as acknowledgement of the continuing power of such music to have a complex, expressive effect on performers and audiences. These later works draw on a wide variety of other works—both from the history of music and Moulds’s own—but are integrated within his own graceful, sophisticated sensibility. 

https://soundcloud.com/r-a-moulds

By |

RA Moulds 2015Who or what inspired you to take up composing, and pursue a career in music?

I cannot actually be said to have pursued a career in music since, although I did take an undergraduate degree in music history and composition, I did not then follow it by working professionally in those areas, except in the most tangential and part-time ways. However, my musical interests developed early on in strangely broad directions, and I always had the impulse to create music of my own, hoping to be able to produce the same beauty, emotion, intelligence, and amusement that I found in the compositions that I love. The forty years subsequent to my first attempts at composition have been an intense period of education, which continues even now, but in some strange way I think that the freedom of not doing music for a living has been of some benefit, because I never—or only briefly—felt compelled to conform to what the larger musical world often seems to dictate—frequently in opposite directions at the same time.

Who or what were the most significant influences on your musical life and career as a composer?

Not unlike many budding composers, I first began experimenting on my own, based on what I was learning in my piano lessons, but that sort of thing is not usually very productive, particularly when one’s understanding of how harmony and form work is as imperfect as mine was. My first clue that there was something more “out there” than ersatz Clementi and Mozart came from my lessons with the piano instructor at my junior college, who regularly introduced her students to brand new and experimental music as well as that of the greats of the 20th century. Once I moved on to university, the exploration continued, with a great deal of experimentation with early music as well as intense study of contemporary music. Unfortunately, my lessons with my composition tutor seemed to comprise mainly notational corrections and general comments, the most frequent being, “Your music is so dissonant,” so, sadly, I cannot really say that anything other than self-directed study influenced my compositional style to any great degree, and I am certain that only the scope of my interests is reflected in the changing styles of my work over forty years.

What have been the greatest challenges of your career so far?

I quickly discovered that I am more or less allergic to self-promotion and advertisement as well as competition, so I have never really pursued obtaining performances or publication to any degree, and although I am sure it sounds snobbish, I decided some time ago to avoid entering competitions of any sort. Since most competitions these days seem to be oriented toward the young and the “emerging” composer, this may sound peculiarly convenient, but the truth is that I do not believe that the creation of art should be competitive. In spite of all of this, I have been fortunate in many small ways in having many  friends who have shown an interest in what I do, and so I can truly say that my music “has been played around the world,” if not, perhaps to the degree that this standard PR claim is meant to express. Another minor difficulty I have is the writing of programme notes, since in the words of the famous and widely attributed quote, “writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” and I have a sneaking suspicion that my music is not so complex that it requires any ham-fisted analysis or illustration I may give. However, I understand that today’s audiences enjoy “getting to know” composers, so I soldier on and try to provide some information when it is requested. It is worth noting, however, that it is best to be careful about how much one writes. I once provided quite a lengthy discussion in an email to a music director, thinking that it was understood that he or she should glean any little thing thought worthy of conveying to the audience. To my horror, my email was used in its entirety in the programme, making me feel just as long-winded as I had always feared.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working on a commissioned piece?

I cannot say that I have received actual commissions, but I have been requested to write pieces or arrangements. The most difficult aspect of that sort of thing is when I have been asked to write for instruments with which I am not familiar, but the pleasure in such a scenario often comes from the opportunity to work with the “experts” who made the request. When I was asked to do some pieces for saxophone quartet I was terrified at first, but working with the requester to create something playable was a tremendous pleasure.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working with particular musicians, singers, ensembles and orchestras?

One of the greatest pleasures in working toward an actual performance is hearing what one has only imagined being given life by an artist. Unlike some composers, I have never been the sort of creator who insists on only one mode of interpretation, and it is often a wonderful thing to hear what other musicians find in one’s work. I do try to make my intentions as clear as possible in scores, but there is always room for adjustment or reinterpretation, so I am not particularly bothered by such changes. I sometimes find that not everyone devotes as much time to learning contemporary music as might be given to pieces in the standard repertoire, and that can be a bit of a worry. There are also variations in how much some artists or ensembles actually want to work with the composer, and that’s all right, too; sometimes it’s enough to just hand over the score and let the interpreter get to work, but it can be wonderful if collaboration is truly valued.

Which works are you most proud of? 

Honestly, I would not say that I am truly proud of any of my compositions. Pride doesn’t seem to enter into it somehow. I am definitely fond of certain works—but then it is a commonplace that artists are always most fond of their current works. There is a handful of pieces that I most value, and that I still listen to with great enjoyment, but again, as many composers say, it often happens that in re-listening to old works one has the sense of them being written by someone else.

Among my current favourites are the four pieces for varying orchestral groups composing the series Leyendas Místicas (‘Mystic Legends’), which overtly and subtly make reference to Hispanic and Latin American music, locations, and culture. The first of the series, Égloga: el Sauce que se enamoró de la Caricia del Viento (Eclogue: the Willow that fell in love with the Wind’s Caress) was the first piece for orchestral forces that I considered truly successful, in spite of its conservative style, and it has been performed both in its original instrumentation and in a version for saxophone choir. The second piece, Danza: El que bailó con el Diablo (Dance: He who danced with the Devil) was another minor success, and still works quite well. It was originally written for saxophone quartet but has also been arranged for string orchestra and string quartet.

For the past few years I have been concentrating on writing piano music, and have been very pleased with the results. One of my favourites is Offrande, written for the London-based pianist/composer Phil Best, and aimed at exploiting his superbly lyrical and emotional style of playing. An ongoing series of Aquarelles presents multiple exercises in musical imagery, drawing on several different styles as well as the musical monuments of the past.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

If this question concerns concerts including my own work, I would say that my most memorable experience was working with the Lavenham Sinfonia on the first performance of Der Singende Wald (The Singing Forest), which was written in memory of the gay victims of the Holocaust and inspired by the testimonies in the documentary film “Paragraph 175” (2000). I originally wrote the piece as a a purely personal expression, since I honestly did not think the subject matter and the somewhat expressionistic style would be of much interest to many small orchestras, but I was surprised and thrilled when I was contacted by Jeremy Hughes, the music director of the Lavenham Sinfonia, with a request for the score.  Der Singende Wald received its first performance on July 4, 2010 in Lavenham, Suffolk, and the whole experience was a joy. Working with the music director and the musicians was nothing short of a revelation. It is one thing to find ways to scribble down the guide to the sounds in one’s head; it is quite another to learn from and be guided by the people who have the job of interpreting those scribblings.

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

First, don’t fence yourself in. There is a very wide world of music out there to be explored, and it’s not wise to tie yourself down to a credo early on—or ever, really! Second, don’t fret too much about all the naysayers. There will always be more negative comments than positive ones; humans seem to get more joy out of tearing down than building up, and the criticism will always be louder than the compliments.

What is your present state of mind?

I find it miraculous to be retired from full-time work after thirty-one years, and actually to have the time to be a bit more relaxed about schedules and things. This doesn’t mean that writing is any easier than it was before, though; it’s still more like pulling teeth than anything else.

(interview date: June 2015)

Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, Rod Moulds studied composition with William Presser at the University of Southern Mississippi. His early music exhibited an idiosyncratic, non-dogmatic post-tonal style, which was soon abandoned in favour of a more eclectic manner. Around 1992, his music made increasing use of tonal materials, not as pastiche or post-modern irony, but rather as acknowledgement of the continuing power of such music to have a complex, expressive effect on performers and audiences. These later works draw on a wide variety of other works—both from the history of music and Moulds’s own—but are integrated within his own graceful, sophisticated sensibility. 

http://ramoulds.com/

https://soundcloud.com/r-a-moulds