February 1, 2025 • 28 mins
Composer Kevin Lau talks his composition ideation and sketching process in comparison with an author’s, conveying the universality of hardship and healing through music, how music moves through time, consideration of the collaborator, the idea of “deep connection amidst surface diversity,” responding to your authentic intuition, and so much more!
Featured music:
Under a Veil of Stars
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Hello and welcome to Notes of the North Talks, a series where we get to know our local Canadian
(00:09):
municipal talent. Today I'm here with composer Kevin Lau. Thank you so much, Kevin, for joining
me today. Thanks for having me. First things first, where are you joining us from today?
Where in Canada do you call home? So my wife and I moved to Ottawa about a year and a half
ago. So I would technically, I am living in Ottawa. I have been stationed in Toronto for
(00:35):
a couple months now, just because my son is at SickKids Hospital. And so the place that
you're seeing in my background is the lovely Ronald McDonald House, which is a beautiful,
beautiful place that is very home-like and has a lot of amenities. Yeah, makes us just
feel very, very comfortable as we go through this experience. Awesome. Tell us about how
(00:59):
your love for music began. At what moment did you realize you wanted to become a composer?
I studied piano when I was younger. And like a lot of kids who started on the piano, I
think, you know, you start young and you don't really know why you're doing it. And then
one day you start developing memories and you're like, oh, I've been doing this for a long
(01:21):
time. And I always enjoyed playing piano. It was something that was very close to my
heart. But, you know, I think my love of music really kicked into high gear when I was in
high school around the age of 15 or 16, which is when I, when I, there wasn't really like
a, like a sharp transition, but I remember trying to move away from the conservatory
(01:49):
curriculum stuff that I was practicing on the piano and just playing things that I was
listening to and imitating the music that I was hearing. And then out of the transcribing
to imitation to kind of like making things up, it gradually became composing. Right.
(02:12):
And so the moment I started to do that, it sounds cliche, but it really was sort of a
light switch going on where I started to realize that I could compose for hours and hours on
end in a single day and feel like no time had passed. You know, I'd often look at the
clock and be like, how is it, you know, 10 o'clock at night now? And I'm still doing
(02:34):
this. So yeah, it was just something I loved doing and it compelled me to pursue a degree
in music composition. And so I went to the university of Toronto for music. That's amazing.
Could you walk us through your process when you start a new composition? Do you have any
rituals that help you get into the flow? Yeah. I mean, like the process is honestly, it's
(03:00):
one of my favourite parts about composing. It's something that I really hold very dearly
to me because I think that partaking in the creative process is part of the joy of making
music. It's not necessarily only about the outcome or the effect that it has, but it
(03:21):
is about that creation. And so I've put a lot of thought into how I do it. But to be
honest, it's also kind of evolved a lot over time. So when I was younger, I would, like
when I'm composing, I would work out ideas on the piano and just do fragments and I would
sketch them and I would eventually put them on the computer and start to assemble these
(03:44):
ideas into a score to Sibelius, which is the program I'm still using now. And as I compose
more and more and I started to develop my professional practice, it solidified a little
bit into kind of like a two-part process where the first part I call sort of like the daydreaming
sketching phase, which is awesome. And I hope that never goes away because it's my favourite
(04:08):
part. And this is the phase where no matter what project I'm working on, I will spend
hours and a day just with a blank sheet of paper. It could be staff papers, but sometimes
it's not even staff paper because I don't always have staff paper on me. It might be
a notebook, it might be a blank piece of paper and I'll have a pencil and I'll have a book
and preferably some coffee. And often I won't be in my house because I do find that, especially
(04:34):
now the house offers maybe a few too many distractions. If I'm on the computer, I'm
online, you know. So I'll try to go into like just a coffee place that has no music or the
library or something and just enter into that state of sort of open, relaxed openness and
think about the project and maybe sketch a little bit and just work from that angle.
(05:00):
And if nothing, if by the end of the day I end up with music that I don't end up using,
that's totally fine. Sometimes I'll go with the purpose of sketching and I'll read a book
instead because I'm just not in the mood. And all of that is fine. If I can build in
the time to do that, then I'm very happy. Once I've gotten to a certain point or realistically
(05:22):
when the deadline starts to get really close and I'm like, no, you know what, you need
to stop playing around. Then I will go into Sibelius, which is kind of like my version
of a music word processor and write the same. And then it's a little, that's, you know,
it's a little bit like an author going from their sketch phase into putting out the paragraphs
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and that can be a little bit more of a tricky process sometimes because it's refinement,
you're pushing against things that you're doing that you may not be entirely satisfied
with. There's a lot of editing, composing, but eventually the piece does come out and
then yeah, and then we start the whole thing again.
Wow, that's so cool. Can you share with us one of your compositions that you're super
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proud of at the moment?
I would say from a first instinct standpoint, I'm going to name Under A Veil of Stars, which
is a piece for violin, cello, piano, piano trio. And it's on an album that was released
last year called Under A Veil of Stars that features my chamber music played by the Scott
(06:39):
St. John, Rachel Mercer and Angela Park. So it's the Mercer Park St. John Trio. And it's
a piece that's very dear to my heart for many reasons. I mean, both of my pieces are dear
to my heart, but this one in particular, I think in some ways represents and embodies
(06:59):
what I love most about music and what I think it can also do for people. It was written
in part in response to the unexpected passing of Rachel Mercer's spouse, Yehonatan Berick,
who is a towering figure in the violin community. And I wanted to write a piece that would honor
(07:23):
his memory. I also wanted to write a piece that was about the journey of life and death
and seeing the world through a childlike lens and just all of the things that are just so
important to me. It's kind of like a kitchen sink of a piece in some ways, but one which
(07:44):
was designed really to provide a sense of solace and a sense of healing for this particular
individual but also just anyone who is going through some kind of hardship, some kind of
difficult time, which we all kind of are in different ways. So I would say Under Rail
of Stars, it's a big piece as well. It's three movements, it's almost half an hour long.
(08:06):
So it was an opportunity to kind of explore those themes on a really epic scale, I think.
That's so beautiful. And music really does have that touching element. And that's one
of the reasons why I love it so much. Having worked in so many different musical genres,
orchestral music, ballet, opera film, do you find your approach to composition changes
(08:28):
depending on the medium? Or is it a consistent process?
Yeah, I mean, there's some commonalities across all of those genres in terms of the
process, which I had talked about a little bit. But different genres of music also have
– they demand different rigors, different disciplines. So for example, if you're working
(08:53):
in ballet, there's a little bit more consideration paid to musical elements of rhythm and tempo,
just because – not only because rhythm and tempo are kind of at the foundation, at the
core of a dancer's body movement. And we're talking about the pairing of sound and movement,
(09:13):
obviously. But also because over the course of a ballet, which can be quite – in my case,
all the projects I've worked on were over half an hour long. So they happen to be really,
really big pieces. And when you're working on a really big time campus like that, how
the music moves through time becomes really, really important. So if you are doing all
(09:37):
of this wonderful stuff, but then you're not paying attention to, say, something like tempo,
then on some level, 15 minutes will go by and you're going to be like, this feels kind of
not this way. And so just realizing that there's an axis of variation there that needs to be
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really paid attention to, I think that's important. The other big thing I wanted to mention was
switching mediums is the level of collaboration that's involved. And so if you're working solo,
like an orchestral piece, it's kind of like having an artist being commissioned to create
(10:20):
their painting. Their voice is expressed entirely through the painting. The commissioner is likely
asking for the artist to be themselves. And that's the whole point of it. Whereas if it's on the
other end of things, if you're doing film and you're writing music for film, it's a little bit more
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like musical graphic design, where the person who is making the film or the studio or the director,
they're there, it's their baby, it's their vision. And so your job as a composer is to tell that
story musically, but not exactly according to your own terms, it's going to be according to their
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terms. And you're doing the best job that you can to fulfill someone's vision. And so that demands a
very, very different lens, I think, a very different sensibility, because then you're working with
your own instincts, but also like, how can I tell this story in the best way I can, while also
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honoring the vision of other people. And in the case of film, I mean, yeah, you don't even think
about the structure, because it's given to you. The film is there, you're working on a scene to
scene basis. So yeah, very different sometimes from medium to medium. Going off of collaboration
now, if you could collaborate with any artist from any time in history on any project, no
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restrictions, who would they be and why? Probably John Williams. I'm trying not to think too hard
about that and just kind of let my instinct go. And I realize he's still alive. Yeah, I mean,
John Williams, a 92 years old, still writing music, represents so much of what I admire about
(12:13):
both music and the people doing it. He has kind of a humility and a generosity of spirit that I
really admire. And that's nothing to say about just the music itself, which is so great. But
yeah, I don't know if I really want to collaborate with him so much as just watch him work
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and maybe just be a fly on the wall and maybe orchestrate one of his things. I don't know.
I wholeheartedly agree. Wholeheartedly. Your music explores this idea of deep connections
and surface diversity. Can you talk a little bit about this idea and how it's translated into sound?
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So this idea of surface diversity for me came when I was a student. And I had this thing that I
discovered was odd, but I didn't think it was odd at the time when I was writing.
When I would write music, a lot of my influences, I would sort of wear them on my sleeve quite
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explicitly. And so when you're a teenager, you have a lot of musical influences. And for me,
I was drawn to classical music. I was drawn to contemporary music, but also jazz and
minimalism and progressive rock and progressive metal and some music. Like there's so many things
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that I love doing. And you try to create your own music and invariably these influences kind
of trickle into your music. And I noticed in my early years that my mentors would kind of look
at that and say, well, you know, these things don't really go together because there's like
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a coherence that you have to adhere to. The premise in a lot of my pedagogy was on
belonging and coherence. But practically that ended up seeming to me as if I had to pick one
of those things and stick with it. And somehow my whole body kind of rebelled at doing that.
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For me, it was important actually that I write the kind of music that I wanted to write, which
had these sort of contradictory, diverse inspiration behind it. And so a lot of my
practice has been trying to figure out a way of doing that in a way that would create a kind of
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sense that these very disparate styles could not only belong in the same space, but would
seem inevitable almost. Like, you know, you'd get into this really, really tense kind of contemporary
texture that would all of a sudden explode into like a Baroque fugue or something like that.
But if you did it properly and with the right intention and craft, it would feel like it could
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go no other way. And that was really, really exciting to me. Rather than trying to say, okay,
I have to stick to one or the other or just make my own path. I was like, well,
they exist in my imagination. So they must be able to exist on the page somehow. Like,
if I can hear it in my head, there must be a way of making a compelling musical argument for this.
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I just have to try really hard. I think so much of particularly modern music in the 20th century,
because of this explosion of just what we now know, there's so many kinds of music out there,
and it's just so great. But for the creator that's kind of coming in into their own at this time,
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it can be confusing. And it's like, how do I make sense of all this? How am I inspired and influenced
by all these things, and then trying to chart my own path? And one of the ways I discovered was
that there is a way of linking these two things. So there's kind of a deeper layer, where if you
can slow from one thing to another, then they belong. And so a huge part of my creativity
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is about flow and trying to find means of moving from one place to another that you wouldn't
normally put together. And ultimately, the reason why I like this idea of finding deeper connections
amidst this sort of surface diversity is because I think it's a metaphor as well for other kinds
of diversity. When you put things that are unlike one another on the surface, it can be a challenge
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for them to belong. And so you have to find ways of connecting those things, and not simply rest
at the fact that these are just different. So yeah. That's an absolutely wonderfully beautiful
explanation. In any of your current projects, are there themes that are really significant
that are showing up? Yeah, I mean, I think the theme of healing is probably, you know,
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forefront in my mind right now. And it's an unusual, I guess it's an unusual perspective
to come from, because the idea of music healing is anachronistic in a way, but it's also been
with us for a long time. And it's also very hard to explain. And I think that we often like to,
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you know, if we can't explain it, then in some ways it's maybe if there's something a little bit
mysterious about it, and we don't like to talk about it. But I do think that my experience,
at least with music, and I suspect yours as well, and many people's is that there's something very
cathartic about a deep experience in music. And no matter what that music is, it is sort of different
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for each person. So I think that for me, that's been kind of the guiding principle for me,
whether it's super on the conscious level, or a little bit less conscious, where, you know, I'm
not necessarily directing my goal towards healing, but as I'm writing this piece, I'm thinking about
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all the ways in which this can have a sort of effect. And it can allow us to make sense of
a journey that would otherwise be very difficult to make sense of. And music being something that
has a coherence to it, even though it's just sound waves, really, right? Like it's just frequencies,
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they're put together in a certain way. The fact that you can have a particular order of things
that allows you to see the world in an entirely different way, or to move you to tears beyond
what language can even provide. I think that's miraculous. And I think that's something that
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is exciting and moving and meaningful for me. And so that's a very lofty way of saying, like,
that kind of healing is something that I'm interested in.
That's so moving. That's beautiful. Transitioning over to Canada a little bit. So
if you could describe the Canadian composition style in, say, three words, what would they be?
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That's a very hard question. Three words, oh gosh. First three words that come to mind. Open,
attentive, and meaningful. Could you talk a little bit more about these choices?
Well, I think open is a really interesting word because it works on a few levels. It describes
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the Canadian experience on multiple levels. There's certainly a geographical and geological
and just if you think of the open expanse of the country, how much of it is uninhabited,
how much of it is wild. And that word as well is interesting. I might, in fact, substitute the...
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I mean, it is meaningful, but there's something exclusive about meaningful. I like the word wild.
I like the word wild to describe it. Open and wild. And so I think because that relates to
my sense of what Canada is, I think it can't help but be part of the makeup of
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the people here. And so it might translate into their creativity as well. And there's
many kinds of openness. There is this sort of psychological openness of being open to
new experience and open to transformation. And I think that characterizes Canada as well. I mean,
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maybe a particularly ideal version of it. But you were asking me a broad question.
So I think I'm ascribing something that is both real and ideal at the same time. So I would say
that's sort of open. And wild goes along with that a little bit. Wild. I had a colleague of mine
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who is embarking on a project called the Wild Places. And it was particularly interesting
because we discovered that the word has a lot of places to... A lot of associations that are kind
of very interesting. And just even deconstructing the idea of what that means in relation to human
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society, for example. Very interesting words to attribute. But I would say that there is a kind
of wildness and a kind of risk as well to creativity in Canada. It's hard to speak of it.
But to kind of circle back to my thoughts on the question of Canadian music, I've always found this
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question really tricky because it's not as though that there isn't an answer, but it's hard to
make that leap because for me, I've always thought of the human condition as a kind of
universal experience. And one where it's very hard for me to impose a kind of nationalist
or nationalistic set of parameters around it. And so I'm very, very reluctant, as you can probably
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tell, to say what this is what Canadian music is. Even to say that Canadian music is diverse,
I think it sort of maybe scratches the surface a little bit, but it doesn't go very far. But I do
think that there are some specific things and some of them come out of the fact that, well,
Canada, like every country, has its own very particular history. And those historical events
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do percolate into the consciousness of those of us who have lived here and who
have absorbed the experience of being here. So, you know, the Japanese-Canadian experience,
just to name one example, in World War II, I wrote a ballet called Kimiko's Pearl that was
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representative of one of the storylines of a family going through that. And that to me was a very
Canadian work, specifically because it had to do with an experience of community that was that
happened, was in Canada that happened really nowhere else. Even in the States, it was quite
different. So, yeah, it's a little bit of a roundabout response. No, but it is a unique
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experience and it's so different for everybody. So it's difficult, like you said, to have a fully
well-rounded way of describing it. How do you hope to see the evolution of, I guess, Canadian
contemporary music in the future? Well, I mean, I think for me, it's again, I would say the best
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that we can do as composers is to not limit ourselves to the question of what it means
to write music as a Canadian and rather to write music that is as true to your own
kind of idiosyncratic makeup as possible and trust that whatever comes out of that experience,
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if it's authentic, that is Canadian music. Because implicit within the idea of writing music within
Canada is the idea that we can actually express ourselves as authentic individuals. It's a little
bit ironic, but I think we have the privilege of being people who can draw from our own voices,
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and that is not a given in every place. So I think that part of the response as Canadian composers
is to look at what is meaningful for that person as an individual. Because invariably, what's
meaningful to that composer as it is to me includes the experience of being a Canadian,
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but it's not limited to that experience. And so there are other things as well. And so I think
responding to your own authentic intuition would be my response to where we can go.
That's amazing. And I guess to wrap things up, do you have any final words of wisdom that you would
like to share? Words of wisdom. Oh dear. Well, you know, I think I will go back to the creative
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process because that is sort of the part of the compositional arc that I find very sacred almost.
And I think that for composers and for artists, for people in general,
having a part of the creative experience that is joyful, because there's a lot of aspects of
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creating arts that are difficult and challenging, but there's probably some joy there. Otherwise,
we wouldn't be doing it. And I think focusing on all we can do to cultivate that element of the
creative experience is beyond significance. I think it's maybe the most important thing that
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we can do. It's more important than even writing a good piece of music, because ultimately the
things that you do in order to make the journey to writing a piece of music that has the effects
that you want, that makes your mark as an artist, all of that comes down to process. And if there is
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joy in the process, then everything else sort of takes care of itself. That's kind of been my
philosophy for it. And in times of difficulty, which again, I think it's a universal experience,
that's the part that is worth having as a compass, the joy that is inherent in creating,
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wherever it comes from. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it's important to find ways of
cultivating it and protecting it.
Fantastic. Well, that is it for today's episode. Thanks so much, Kevin, for sharing such beautiful
pieces of your art and heart. Thank you, Brianna. It was a pleasure to speak with you and thanks
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for inviting me. Until next time, folks, keep listening for the notes of the North.
Hello and welcome to Notes of the North Talks, a series where we get to know our local Canadian
(00:09):
municipal talent. Today I'm here with composer Kevin Lau. Thank you so much, Kevin, for joining
me today. Thanks for having me. First things first, where are you joining us from today?
Where in Canada do you call home? So my wife and I moved to Ottawa about a year and a half
ago. So I would technically, I am living in Ottawa. I have been stationed in Toronto for
(00:35):
a couple months now, just because my son is at SickKids Hospital. And so the place that
you're seeing in my background is the lovely Ronald McDonald House, which is a beautiful,
beautiful place that is very home-like and has a lot of amenities. Yeah, makes us just
feel very, very comfortable as we go through this experience. Awesome. Tell us about how
(00:59):
your love for music began. At what moment did you realize you wanted to become a composer?
I studied piano when I was younger. And like a lot of kids who started on the piano, I
think, you know, you start young and you don't really know why you're doing it. And then
one day you start developing memories and you're like, oh, I've been doing this for a long
(01:21):
time. And I always enjoyed playing piano. It was something that was very close to my
heart. But, you know, I think my love of music really kicked into high gear when I was in
high school around the age of 15 or 16, which is when I, when I, there wasn't really like
a, like a sharp transition, but I remember trying to move away from the conservatory
(01:49):
curriculum stuff that I was practicing on the piano and just playing things that I was
listening to and imitating the music that I was hearing. And then out of the transcribing
to imitation to kind of like making things up, it gradually became composing. Right.
(02:12):
And so the moment I started to do that, it sounds cliche, but it really was sort of a
light switch going on where I started to realize that I could compose for hours and hours on
end in a single day and feel like no time had passed. You know, I'd often look at the
clock and be like, how is it, you know, 10 o'clock at night now? And I'm still doing
(02:34):
this. So yeah, it was just something I loved doing and it compelled me to pursue a degree
in music composition. And so I went to the university of Toronto for music. That's amazing.
Could you walk us through your process when you start a new composition? Do you have any
rituals that help you get into the flow? Yeah. I mean, like the process is honestly, it's
(03:00):
one of my favourite parts about composing. It's something that I really hold very dearly
to me because I think that partaking in the creative process is part of the joy of making
music. It's not necessarily only about the outcome or the effect that it has, but it
(03:21):
is about that creation. And so I've put a lot of thought into how I do it. But to be
honest, it's also kind of evolved a lot over time. So when I was younger, I would, like
when I'm composing, I would work out ideas on the piano and just do fragments and I would
sketch them and I would eventually put them on the computer and start to assemble these
(03:44):
ideas into a score to Sibelius, which is the program I'm still using now. And as I compose
more and more and I started to develop my professional practice, it solidified a little
bit into kind of like a two-part process where the first part I call sort of like the daydreaming
sketching phase, which is awesome. And I hope that never goes away because it's my favourite
(04:08):
part. And this is the phase where no matter what project I'm working on, I will spend
hours and a day just with a blank sheet of paper. It could be staff papers, but sometimes
it's not even staff paper because I don't always have staff paper on me. It might be
a notebook, it might be a blank piece of paper and I'll have a pencil and I'll have a book
and preferably some coffee. And often I won't be in my house because I do find that, especially
(04:34):
now the house offers maybe a few too many distractions. If I'm on the computer, I'm
online, you know. So I'll try to go into like just a coffee place that has no music or the
library or something and just enter into that state of sort of open, relaxed openness and
think about the project and maybe sketch a little bit and just work from that angle.
(05:00):
And if nothing, if by the end of the day I end up with music that I don't end up using,
that's totally fine. Sometimes I'll go with the purpose of sketching and I'll read a book
instead because I'm just not in the mood. And all of that is fine. If I can build in
the time to do that, then I'm very happy. Once I've gotten to a certain point or realistically
(05:22):
when the deadline starts to get really close and I'm like, no, you know what, you need
to stop playing around. Then I will go into Sibelius, which is kind of like my version
of a music word processor and write the same. And then it's a little, that's, you know,
it's a little bit like an author going from their sketch phase into putting out the paragraphs
(05:47):
and that can be a little bit more of a tricky process sometimes because it's refinement,
you're pushing against things that you're doing that you may not be entirely satisfied
with. There's a lot of editing, composing, but eventually the piece does come out and
then yeah, and then we start the whole thing again.
Wow, that's so cool. Can you share with us one of your compositions that you're super
(06:11):
proud of at the moment?
I would say from a first instinct standpoint, I'm going to name Under A Veil of Stars, which
is a piece for violin, cello, piano, piano trio. And it's on an album that was released
last year called Under A Veil of Stars that features my chamber music played by the Scott
(06:39):
St. John, Rachel Mercer and Angela Park. So it's the Mercer Park St. John Trio. And it's
a piece that's very dear to my heart for many reasons. I mean, both of my pieces are dear
to my heart, but this one in particular, I think in some ways represents and embodies
(06:59):
what I love most about music and what I think it can also do for people. It was written
in part in response to the unexpected passing of Rachel Mercer's spouse, Yehonatan Berick,
who is a towering figure in the violin community. And I wanted to write a piece that would honor
(07:23):
his memory. I also wanted to write a piece that was about the journey of life and death
and seeing the world through a childlike lens and just all of the things that are just so
important to me. It's kind of like a kitchen sink of a piece in some ways, but one which
(07:44):
was designed really to provide a sense of solace and a sense of healing for this particular
individual but also just anyone who is going through some kind of hardship, some kind of
difficult time, which we all kind of are in different ways. So I would say Under Rail
of Stars, it's a big piece as well. It's three movements, it's almost half an hour long.
(08:06):
So it was an opportunity to kind of explore those themes on a really epic scale, I think.
That's so beautiful. And music really does have that touching element. And that's one
of the reasons why I love it so much. Having worked in so many different musical genres,
orchestral music, ballet, opera film, do you find your approach to composition changes
(08:28):
depending on the medium? Or is it a consistent process?
Yeah, I mean, there's some commonalities across all of those genres in terms of the
process, which I had talked about a little bit. But different genres of music also have
– they demand different rigors, different disciplines. So for example, if you're working
(08:53):
in ballet, there's a little bit more consideration paid to musical elements of rhythm and tempo,
just because – not only because rhythm and tempo are kind of at the foundation, at the
core of a dancer's body movement. And we're talking about the pairing of sound and movement,
(09:13):
obviously. But also because over the course of a ballet, which can be quite – in my case,
all the projects I've worked on were over half an hour long. So they happen to be really,
really big pieces. And when you're working on a really big time campus like that, how
the music moves through time becomes really, really important. So if you are doing all
(09:37):
of this wonderful stuff, but then you're not paying attention to, say, something like tempo,
then on some level, 15 minutes will go by and you're going to be like, this feels kind of
not this way. And so just realizing that there's an axis of variation there that needs to be
(09:59):
really paid attention to, I think that's important. The other big thing I wanted to mention was
switching mediums is the level of collaboration that's involved. And so if you're working solo,
like an orchestral piece, it's kind of like having an artist being commissioned to create
(10:20):
their painting. Their voice is expressed entirely through the painting. The commissioner is likely
asking for the artist to be themselves. And that's the whole point of it. Whereas if it's on the
other end of things, if you're doing film and you're writing music for film, it's a little bit more
(10:41):
like musical graphic design, where the person who is making the film or the studio or the director,
they're there, it's their baby, it's their vision. And so your job as a composer is to tell that
story musically, but not exactly according to your own terms, it's going to be according to their
(11:02):
terms. And you're doing the best job that you can to fulfill someone's vision. And so that demands a
very, very different lens, I think, a very different sensibility, because then you're working with
your own instincts, but also like, how can I tell this story in the best way I can, while also
(11:23):
honoring the vision of other people. And in the case of film, I mean, yeah, you don't even think
about the structure, because it's given to you. The film is there, you're working on a scene to
scene basis. So yeah, very different sometimes from medium to medium. Going off of collaboration
now, if you could collaborate with any artist from any time in history on any project, no
(11:47):
restrictions, who would they be and why? Probably John Williams. I'm trying not to think too hard
about that and just kind of let my instinct go. And I realize he's still alive. Yeah, I mean,
John Williams, a 92 years old, still writing music, represents so much of what I admire about
(12:13):
both music and the people doing it. He has kind of a humility and a generosity of spirit that I
really admire. And that's nothing to say about just the music itself, which is so great. But
yeah, I don't know if I really want to collaborate with him so much as just watch him work
(12:34):
and maybe just be a fly on the wall and maybe orchestrate one of his things. I don't know.
I wholeheartedly agree. Wholeheartedly. Your music explores this idea of deep connections
and surface diversity. Can you talk a little bit about this idea and how it's translated into sound?
(12:55):
So this idea of surface diversity for me came when I was a student. And I had this thing that I
discovered was odd, but I didn't think it was odd at the time when I was writing.
When I would write music, a lot of my influences, I would sort of wear them on my sleeve quite
(13:16):
explicitly. And so when you're a teenager, you have a lot of musical influences. And for me,
I was drawn to classical music. I was drawn to contemporary music, but also jazz and
minimalism and progressive rock and progressive metal and some music. Like there's so many things
(13:38):
that I love doing. And you try to create your own music and invariably these influences kind
of trickle into your music. And I noticed in my early years that my mentors would kind of look
at that and say, well, you know, these things don't really go together because there's like
(14:02):
a coherence that you have to adhere to. The premise in a lot of my pedagogy was on
belonging and coherence. But practically that ended up seeming to me as if I had to pick one
of those things and stick with it. And somehow my whole body kind of rebelled at doing that.
(14:27):
For me, it was important actually that I write the kind of music that I wanted to write, which
had these sort of contradictory, diverse inspiration behind it. And so a lot of my
practice has been trying to figure out a way of doing that in a way that would create a kind of
(14:53):
sense that these very disparate styles could not only belong in the same space, but would
seem inevitable almost. Like, you know, you'd get into this really, really tense kind of contemporary
texture that would all of a sudden explode into like a Baroque fugue or something like that.
But if you did it properly and with the right intention and craft, it would feel like it could
(15:20):
go no other way. And that was really, really exciting to me. Rather than trying to say, okay,
I have to stick to one or the other or just make my own path. I was like, well,
they exist in my imagination. So they must be able to exist on the page somehow. Like,
if I can hear it in my head, there must be a way of making a compelling musical argument for this.
(15:43):
I just have to try really hard. I think so much of particularly modern music in the 20th century,
because of this explosion of just what we now know, there's so many kinds of music out there,
and it's just so great. But for the creator that's kind of coming in into their own at this time,
(16:03):
it can be confusing. And it's like, how do I make sense of all this? How am I inspired and influenced
by all these things, and then trying to chart my own path? And one of the ways I discovered was
that there is a way of linking these two things. So there's kind of a deeper layer, where if you
can slow from one thing to another, then they belong. And so a huge part of my creativity
(16:29):
is about flow and trying to find means of moving from one place to another that you wouldn't
normally put together. And ultimately, the reason why I like this idea of finding deeper connections
amidst this sort of surface diversity is because I think it's a metaphor as well for other kinds
of diversity. When you put things that are unlike one another on the surface, it can be a challenge
(16:55):
for them to belong. And so you have to find ways of connecting those things, and not simply rest
at the fact that these are just different. So yeah. That's an absolutely wonderfully beautiful
explanation. In any of your current projects, are there themes that are really significant
that are showing up? Yeah, I mean, I think the theme of healing is probably, you know,
(17:26):
forefront in my mind right now. And it's an unusual, I guess it's an unusual perspective
to come from, because the idea of music healing is anachronistic in a way, but it's also been
with us for a long time. And it's also very hard to explain. And I think that we often like to,
(17:48):
you know, if we can't explain it, then in some ways it's maybe if there's something a little bit
mysterious about it, and we don't like to talk about it. But I do think that my experience,
at least with music, and I suspect yours as well, and many people's is that there's something very
cathartic about a deep experience in music. And no matter what that music is, it is sort of different
(18:12):
for each person. So I think that for me, that's been kind of the guiding principle for me,
whether it's super on the conscious level, or a little bit less conscious, where, you know, I'm
not necessarily directing my goal towards healing, but as I'm writing this piece, I'm thinking about
(18:33):
all the ways in which this can have a sort of effect. And it can allow us to make sense of
a journey that would otherwise be very difficult to make sense of. And music being something that
has a coherence to it, even though it's just sound waves, really, right? Like it's just frequencies,
(18:57):
they're put together in a certain way. The fact that you can have a particular order of things
that allows you to see the world in an entirely different way, or to move you to tears beyond
what language can even provide. I think that's miraculous. And I think that's something that
(19:17):
is exciting and moving and meaningful for me. And so that's a very lofty way of saying, like,
that kind of healing is something that I'm interested in.
That's so moving. That's beautiful. Transitioning over to Canada a little bit. So
if you could describe the Canadian composition style in, say, three words, what would they be?
(19:40):
That's a very hard question. Three words, oh gosh. First three words that come to mind. Open,
attentive, and meaningful. Could you talk a little bit more about these choices?
Well, I think open is a really interesting word because it works on a few levels. It describes
(20:07):
the Canadian experience on multiple levels. There's certainly a geographical and geological
and just if you think of the open expanse of the country, how much of it is uninhabited,
how much of it is wild. And that word as well is interesting. I might, in fact, substitute the...
(20:36):
I mean, it is meaningful, but there's something exclusive about meaningful. I like the word wild.
I like the word wild to describe it. Open and wild. And so I think because that relates to
my sense of what Canada is, I think it can't help but be part of the makeup of
(20:59):
the people here. And so it might translate into their creativity as well. And there's
many kinds of openness. There is this sort of psychological openness of being open to
new experience and open to transformation. And I think that characterizes Canada as well. I mean,
(21:21):
maybe a particularly ideal version of it. But you were asking me a broad question.
So I think I'm ascribing something that is both real and ideal at the same time. So I would say
that's sort of open. And wild goes along with that a little bit. Wild. I had a colleague of mine
(21:41):
who is embarking on a project called the Wild Places. And it was particularly interesting
because we discovered that the word has a lot of places to... A lot of associations that are kind
of very interesting. And just even deconstructing the idea of what that means in relation to human
(22:06):
society, for example. Very interesting words to attribute. But I would say that there is a kind
of wildness and a kind of risk as well to creativity in Canada. It's hard to speak of it.
But to kind of circle back to my thoughts on the question of Canadian music, I've always found this
(22:27):
question really tricky because it's not as though that there isn't an answer, but it's hard to
make that leap because for me, I've always thought of the human condition as a kind of
universal experience. And one where it's very hard for me to impose a kind of nationalist
or nationalistic set of parameters around it. And so I'm very, very reluctant, as you can probably
(22:52):
tell, to say what this is what Canadian music is. Even to say that Canadian music is diverse,
I think it sort of maybe scratches the surface a little bit, but it doesn't go very far. But I do
think that there are some specific things and some of them come out of the fact that, well,
Canada, like every country, has its own very particular history. And those historical events
(23:18):
do percolate into the consciousness of those of us who have lived here and who
have absorbed the experience of being here. So, you know, the Japanese-Canadian experience,
just to name one example, in World War II, I wrote a ballet called Kimiko's Pearl that was
(23:44):
representative of one of the storylines of a family going through that. And that to me was a very
Canadian work, specifically because it had to do with an experience of community that was that
happened, was in Canada that happened really nowhere else. Even in the States, it was quite
different. So, yeah, it's a little bit of a roundabout response. No, but it is a unique
(24:10):
experience and it's so different for everybody. So it's difficult, like you said, to have a fully
well-rounded way of describing it. How do you hope to see the evolution of, I guess, Canadian
contemporary music in the future? Well, I mean, I think for me, it's again, I would say the best
(24:32):
that we can do as composers is to not limit ourselves to the question of what it means
to write music as a Canadian and rather to write music that is as true to your own
kind of idiosyncratic makeup as possible and trust that whatever comes out of that experience,
(24:57):
if it's authentic, that is Canadian music. Because implicit within the idea of writing music within
Canada is the idea that we can actually express ourselves as authentic individuals. It's a little
bit ironic, but I think we have the privilege of being people who can draw from our own voices,
(25:21):
and that is not a given in every place. So I think that part of the response as Canadian composers
is to look at what is meaningful for that person as an individual. Because invariably, what's
meaningful to that composer as it is to me includes the experience of being a Canadian,
(25:45):
but it's not limited to that experience. And so there are other things as well. And so I think
responding to your own authentic intuition would be my response to where we can go.
That's amazing. And I guess to wrap things up, do you have any final words of wisdom that you would
like to share? Words of wisdom. Oh dear. Well, you know, I think I will go back to the creative
(26:17):
process because that is sort of the part of the compositional arc that I find very sacred almost.
And I think that for composers and for artists, for people in general,
having a part of the creative experience that is joyful, because there's a lot of aspects of
(26:46):
creating arts that are difficult and challenging, but there's probably some joy there. Otherwise,
we wouldn't be doing it. And I think focusing on all we can do to cultivate that element of the
creative experience is beyond significance. I think it's maybe the most important thing that
(27:11):
we can do. It's more important than even writing a good piece of music, because ultimately the
things that you do in order to make the journey to writing a piece of music that has the effects
that you want, that makes your mark as an artist, all of that comes down to process. And if there is
(27:33):
joy in the process, then everything else sort of takes care of itself. That's kind of been my
philosophy for it. And in times of difficulty, which again, I think it's a universal experience,
that's the part that is worth having as a compass, the joy that is inherent in creating,
(27:53):
wherever it comes from. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it's important to find ways of
cultivating it and protecting it.
Fantastic. Well, that is it for today's episode. Thanks so much, Kevin, for sharing such beautiful
pieces of your art and heart. Thank you, Brianna. It was a pleasure to speak with you and thanks
(28:18):
for inviting me. Until next time, folks, keep listening for the notes of the North.
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