Composer/USA
Series IV, Vol. 4, No. 1
Summer 1997
Point of View
Al Benner
"I think someone who calls himself or herself a composer is someone who is constantly trying to learn more about his/her craft. A good composer can write in any style and make it musically sound."
How Do You Define Success?
Just as there are many different reasons why one composes, there are probably the same number or more responses to how one defines musical success. Since this is a field in which very few of us make a living solely as composers, success in this area might not even be a term we consider. Although I am making a broad generalization here, I suspect, success in its fullest term to most of us means we are making a living only as composers (meaning strictly through writing music); we are getting a sufficient amount of performances (and good worthwhile performances to boot); we are getting recognized for our talent and musical voice by our colleagues, those in the musical community, and the general public (and a little bit of adoration wouldn’t hurt); and we are being viewed as significant and important composers in the lineage of composers (Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Bartok, Benner).
There is a multitude of us out there defining ourselves as composers. A few columns back (Winter 1996-97) I expressed how most of the complaints composers have are about the lack of performances. Performances to most would signify some type of success. But how many performances? If a piece is only played once and then shelved, is that success? Is being published or having your works on CDs success? To me, that is only a significant accomplishment, providing it is a “name” publication or CD company. There is a plethora of self-publications and, providing he or she has the money, anyone now can get a CD made. That doesn’t mean that individually some of these productions aren’t good, just that as a measuring stick, it doesn’t carry the weight that it had a number of years ago. Is winning awards a measure of success? To some extent it is depending upon the award--a Pulitzer prize is pretty significant, but before all of the non-award winners start complaining about the lack of opportunities or that “tired” argument about tonal versus non-tonal music (see my column in the Summer 1996 issue), winning an award doesn’t guarantee success or make you a better composer than a non-awarded composer.
Just as we have to decide individually why we are a composer, we all must have our own reasons why we continue to compose and pursue this “frustrating” profession. Most of us will not make livings solely as composers; most of us will not get many performances; most of us will not find our colleagues enthusiastic about our work or even willing to discuss the merits of our work if it is something different than they write; most of us will not be known or even heard by the general public; and most of us will not survive the passing of time and be recognized and played in the future. Given those facts, it is a pretty depressing field. But just because we might not make it in the future, does not mean we shouldn’t continue to compose in the present. And just as we have our individual reasons why we compose, we must also have our individual definitions of success.
I think someone who calls himself or herself a composer is someone who is constantly trying to learn more about his/her craft. A good composer can write in any style and make it musically sound. I am not saying this is the reason why one should compose, but for me, I compose as a means of communication, of personal philosophy, and for the enjoyment and/or stimulation of others. I want to compose pieces that performers want to play and people want to hear--either because they enjoy it and/or because they think there is something significant about the piece.
For me, success is a series of small steps. Like so many things in life, it appears when you least expect it. Let me share a few “successes” of mine in the past few months that may either help you define your own success or, at the very least, give encouragement to some.
I was at a conference in April where the general musical direction was that of avant-garde. My flute and piano piece--To an Unborn Soul--was played. The work is based in modality and certainly was dramatically different than the majority of pieces on the program. Afterwards, a few friends came up to me and expressed pleasure in hearing the piece, but most of my colleagues said nothing. Upon leaving the building, I was confronted by a young man who certainly gave the appearance of being at that concert for the avant-garde music and asked if I was one of the composers. I said I was and he responded “oh yes, you wrote the flute piece. It was beautiful.”
I was a participant in the Louisiana Sinfonietta’s String Quartet Festival of New Works from Baton Rouge in May. On the last day of the Festival, there was a general concert for the public. Ten quartets were chosen and played anonymously. My Three Preludes for jazz string quartet was one of them. After all the quartets were played, the audience by ballot selected one of the quartets to receive the Audience Choice Award. I was the winner of that award.
In June my son Nicholas was baptized. As I had for his brother Albert, I wrote a song for Nicholas--Through a Baby’s Eyes--to be played at that service. The pastor, who is also a very fine baritone, sang the piece with me accompanying on the piano. Albert’s piece--In My Father’s Arms--was also played. It was performed by the church’s musical director and the church’s organist/pianist. After the service, many people from the congregation sought me out to tell me how much they really liked the works. A few even said the emotional contents of these songs brought tears to their eyes. A few days later, the church pianist, whom I did not get to thank on that day, wrote me expressing her enjoyment of playing In My Father’s Arms as well as hearing Through a Baby’s Eyes, and would like to order both pieces for herself.
These three separate occasions, through no direct prodding or solicitation by myself, brought comments from a listening audience that my compositions in some fashion communicated to them and through that communication they were emotionally moved and/or found enjoyment upon hearing them. A young man found beauty in a melody; an audience selected my piece for recognition; a congregation was stirred by the emotion of two songs; and a performer sought me out to tell me of her pleasure in playing my work. Not the wide encompassing range of success as defined earlier, but to me it was a series of small steps in a long journey. It is why I compose and for me, it means that in some way and in some fashion, I was successful.