Thursday 10 October 2019

The Sertraline Kid Hangs Up His Spurs

It is frightening to think that I wrote my original piece about the Sertraline Kid in 2013 [Creativity and the Sertraline Kid] and even more so to realise that most of it was nonsense, written not to inform the reader but in an effort to convince myself.

In fact, the Sertraline Kid was constantly falling off his horse and wandering around the musical prairies in a constant daze. It was only when he hung up his guns and left the mind-numbed West of mental stultification that any sort of normality of thought returned.

Sertraline is a powerful and useful drug and in certain situations is very effective. As anyone who reads my rantings will know, I have suffered from depression, my Black Dog, for decades and when I finally sought help and was put on Sertraline, I was scoring very highly on the standard test for clinical depression and anxiety and, to be frank, was in a hell of a state.

Things had deteriorated to the point where some days I would ring in sick to work simply because I couldn't face getting out of bed or had made it to the front door but couldn't bring myself to open it.

I won't dwell on this as it will make a lot of bitterness resurface but this was made ten times worse by some of my managers who, through various means, put me under increasing pressure and who at one point told me to pull myself together as my illness was putting an unfair strain on my work colleagues.

I had naively thought that being completely open about my illnesses (also asthma, diabetes and sleep apnoea - there is a theory that all these illnesses are linked to depression but no one knows which is chicken and which is egg) would be helpful but, sadly, I think I was looked upon as the weak link and I unknowingly provided them with all the right buttons to press. Without the Sertraline I would have completely broken down and the Black Dog would have won.

Taking Sertraline allowed me to function on a low level where I could leave the house, go to work, talk to people, cope with the increasing stress and put on my "happy face". The cost was a complete descent into blackness and hours sat on my own, staring into space, when I came home. All I can say is thank God for my best friend in the orchestra who spent hours talking to me on Facebook and sometimes ringing me up when he realised things were really bad - when he decided to leave I knew it would be a battle for me to carry on (I only lasted just over 12 months).

Contrary to my optimistic and self-encouraging blog post, Sertraline can have some nasty side-effects too. Creative thought was virtually non-existent - the brain fog becomes dense and while it doesn't stop the urge to compose, it cruelly stops the thought processes that enable it to happen. Also, in levelling out the highs and lows, it makes life very bland - while things don't seem to be so black, they also never seem to be bathed in sunlight either. Most worrying, were fairly oft thoughts of "it would be better if I wasn't here" or "I'd be so much happier if I didn't wake up". I've very occasionally had these thoughts pre and post Sertraline but, fortunately for me, my character would NEVER let me act upon them but for some people, Sertraline and other SSRIs can amplify and increase these thoughts.

So, in late 2016, a few months after finishing work, I made the decision to come off the medication. I stupidly did this "cold turkey" without telling my GP and it was hard - I didn't ween myself off, I simply stopped, a very stupid thing to do. That said, after about six weeks, I started to feel better and my mind started to clear. That, coupled with the relief of having left my job (which blotted out any worries about how the hell I was going to pay the bills), spurred me on. (also, when I did have a wobble and wanted to go back onto the medication, my GP refused because I had gone without it for 2 months).

I have become resigned to the fact that I will always have the Black Dog with me but am learning to live with it. I am also finally accepting that not everyone will like me and for those that don't that's their problem and not mine - I am who I am and I'm not going to change that just to fit in. I will never be corporate man, can't abide bullshit and liars, and, above all, have to speak my mind and stick to what I believe in - if that makes me unpopular then so be it.

I bitterly regret all those years when anxiety prevented me from doing things that I wanted to and from seizing opportunities. In my youth, all the girls I would have loved to ask out but the absolute fear of crushing rejection prevented me (or making very clumsy attempts to do so and coming across as creepy or pathetic), turning down lectureships in the USA and Germany because the thought of starting a new life so far away terrified me, pulling out of job interviews at the very last minute because I was being physically sick outside the building, losing friends because I constantly declined offers to meet up, go to parties or have dinner (usually as I was petrified that there would be people there that I didn't know) and ending up in an interesting but dead-end job and being told I would never get out of it.

I still have pretty black days (the last 12 months have not been a picnic by any means) and am anxious, annoyed, frustrated, lonely and bitter but who isn't to some degree. The biggest lesson I take from all this, and wholeheartedly pass on, is, no matter what, KEEP ON KEEPING ON - we are all valuable human beings, we just need to find a way to see it.

Tuesday 6 August 2019

Light from Shade - Transcript of an interview (from 1998) with AJ Heward Rees for "Welsh Music"

Light from Shade

THE COMPOSER CHRISTOPHER PAINTER TALKS TO A. J. HEWARD REES


AJHR: How did it all start for you?

CP: I was born in Port Talbot in 1962 and was encouraged from an early age to take an interest in the arts. My great-grandfather, Thomas Owen David was a member of the Gorsedd (known as Owain ap Japheth) who wrote poetry in both English and Welsh as well as composing music although, sadly, all his music was lost to war salvage. Much of his poetry still survives, indeed his poem in honour of Nurse Edith Cavell is displayed in St Martin's-in-the-Field, London. My mother, Caroline Painter, was a writer and journalist who worked for the local and national press for many years. It was in this atmosphere that I was encouraged to express myself, although my first artistic efforts were directed towards writing and for a time it seemed as if poetry would be my metier. Indeed, I still have books of poems from my early teens although I would never let anyone see them now.


Were you wholly immersed in the arts or did you take part in other childhood activities?

I had all the usual childhood pursuits such as fishing, model railways, stamp collecting etc. I was also very interested in sport and spent as much time as I could playing cricket, rugby and soccer. As well as the arts, there is a strong sporting tradition within my family. My maternal grandfather, Ivor Owen David, was a well-known rugby player who played for Aberavon, whilst my paternal grandfather, Henry Painter, and my father, Ronald Painter were both acclaimed footballers who played for and trained football teams in Caerau, near Maesteg. I was always more enthusiastic than skilful and because of my height (I was always taller than my contemporaries) was always the first to be taken out of the game by the opposition. I think I spent more time watching from the side-lines than actually playing. Despite this, and in common with most Welshmen, part of me would gladly exchange any success that I have had for the opportunity to pull on the red jersey and play just once for my country.


So what drew you to music?

A purely fortuitous set of circumstances as it happens. A close friend of my mother, whom I looked on as an aunt, gave me her old piano. I was keen to learn to play it but was unable to find a teacher - to this day I can hardly play a note - but the presence of the piano in the house stimulated an interest in me. This interest crystallised when I went to Dyffryn Comprehensive School and started to learn the trumpet. I always intended to follow an engineering career, after flirting with thoughts of becoming a barrister, and to keep music as a hobby, but shortly before going to university I attended a music course run by the composer Edward Gregson (now principal of the Royal Northern College in Manchester) and decided at this time that I could not keep music as second best. I felt, and still feel, passionate about music and wanted to spend all my time working in it. I returned to school rather than going to college (I had a place at Swansea University to study Engineering), passed my A level music and, luckily for me, was accepted for entry to University College, Cardiff.


Were you supported in this decision or did everyone think you were mad?

I have been very lucky to have been able to pursue a career in composition. My parents were extremely supportive and took me all over the country when I was younger so that I could take part in masterclasses and workshops and were similarly supportive when I decided to follow music as a career rather than my original choice of civil engineering. Sadly, my mother passed away in 1992 but my father continues to be a staunch supporter and I can never repay him for his enormous contribution to my work.

I was also very fortunate to have the encouragement of my music teacher at Dyffryn Comprehensive, Mr Walter White (who also conducted the Ystradgynlais Town Band), someone to whom I also owe an unrepayable debt. He broadened my horizons and supported me in my decision to change from science to the arts and is largely responsible for my going to Cardiff to study composition.


Engineering? - this ties up, doesn't it, with your later interest in serialism?

Yes, I suppose it does. I have always been fascinated by construction, by the very nuts and bolts of creation. It was a joke in our family for many years that it was deadly to leave anything lying around when I was in the house as it would be dismantled and never quite re-assembled correctly. In many ways, I see composition as similar to engineering. One starts with the basic materials and, hopefully, builds them into a strong, coherent, attractive whole.

I have a passion for puzzles and in some ways see composition in this light - a means of taking seemingly unrelated strands and weaving them together to form a structured, homogenous unit. It is extremely important for me to get the structure and the compositional processes right. It is not really necessary for the listener to see these: he or she must judge the music as simply that, music; but I like to know that the internal fabric is sound rather like an engineer must know that the foundations and supporting walls are sound.

Although I don't use it now, I was drawn to strict serialism by a search for coherence and a desire for every note to have its own importance within the structure. I had been moving towards serialism over several years with the use of structured cells and motifs. One can see this beginning to happen in the first symphony and become more established in the second. It was with the Sonata for Two Violins and the Elegy for Two Violins that I completely embraced strict serialism. It didn't take long for me to rebel against the constraints which this imposed upon me and over the next few years, I evolved my own system of 'free serialism' by the use of fragmented rows which were then subject to inversion and retrograde and finally to row rotation. This process gave a large set of interrelated 'note groups' which could be used to generate motivic ideas whilst leaving me free to set up my own tonal arguments to produce a hybrid of horizontal serialism and vertical tonality. This technique reached its zenith in Tapestries which is totally integrated with every note leading logically from the previous one and on to the next. The title comes from the fact that long chains of notes are interwoven to form the fabric of the work. In fact, it worked so well in Tapestries that I have never been able to use the technique on this scale again. I have since returned to freer processes of composition, although I keep some serial techniques within my armoury.


I gather that you were curiously drawn to Shostakovich's music when very young indeed. What were the other influences on you?

Yes. Whilst my mother was pregnant with me, she borrowed records of Shostakovich's symphonies and quartets from the local library and listened to them repeatedly. I am told that when I was a baby, one of the only things that would settle me in my cradle was to be played a Shostakovich symphony or quartet - it seems that I must have absorbed them by some sort of osmosis whilst in my mother's womb. I have a great feeling and respect for Shostakovich and believe him to be the greatest symphonist of the twentieth century (in a close race with Rachmaninov and Sibelius).

I find myself influenced more by individual works rather than by composers but if pressed I would say that the music of Berg, Britten, Gerhard, Henze, Lutoslawski and Tippett have had direct and indirect influences on me. Whether these influences are apparent in my music remains to be seen but they have certainly affected the process by which I write my music. Of course, the strongest influence on me and my music has been Alun Hoddinott whom I regard respectfully as my 'musical father'.


You always were, indeed still are, a brass enthusiast, of course?

Yes, most certainly. I am a great fan of brass music and had I been a better player (and had not suffered an ear injury which was caused by the internal pressure generated when playing, resulting in the total loss of hearing in my left ear) I would have hoped to have been a professional player. I played for many years with the BSC (Port Talbot) Band and it was for them that I wrote my very first, ungainly, compositions. I believe the brass band to be a greatly under-rated ensemble and they are much more open to performing new music than most other ensembles.


Are there, or have there been, any extra-musical influences on your work?

I have always been very sceptical of those creative artists who claim inspiration as their raison d'etre. I have always looked upon composition as a craft, putting together and shaping notes in the same way as a carpenter cuts and shapes wood to make furniture. However, I find that as I get a little bit older this scepticism is passing off together with the healthy arrogance of youth. I'm coming to realise more and more just how much I am affected by my surroundings and natural phenomena.

I am increasingly drawn to large bodies of water and am fascinated by the open sea in all its moods. My recent orchestral work Towards the Light was inspired by a storm on the south coast and the different ways that the sunlight played on the raging seas. I also love the way the sunlight shines through the clouds especially when the sun seems to look down through a hole in the cloud and one can see the rays coming to earth. It is almost as if God is looking directly down on us.

I find that there is an increasing spiritual dimension to my work which is not necessarily fixed to any one religion but to the feeling that there is someone or something greater than us who has created everything and watches over us.

My wife and I live in the centre of Cardiff and have a small garden which we have worked very hard to convert from a bare patch of earth into a pleasant garden and I find it a very good place to sit and recharge my batteries. Also, when I am working, I sit facing French windows which open out on to the garden and I find the myriad colours and fragrances very stimulating.

Also, we have two black Labradors (and three cats and a rabbit!) who are marvellous and take my mind off my work. I walk them at least three times a day and it must be said that there is nothing like throwing a ball for a dog to help regain one's perspective on life.


What happened after you left school?

After leaving I was very fortunate to obtain a place to study music at University College Cardiff. My music teacher had recommended Cardiff to me because Alun Hoddinott was there, and I turned down a place in one of the London colleges to go there. I owe a great deal to Alun Hoddinott; he has been a constant source of advice and strength. I admired his music before I came to college and never dreamed that I would be fortunate enough to study with him. He has taught me a tremendous amount and I will be forever in his debt.

Since coming to Cardiff l have been fortunate to receive several awards and commissions. I have been commissioned to write for several major music festivals including the Cardiff Festival (1985 and 1986); North Wales Music Festival (1987); and the Lower Machen Festival (1996). I have also received several awards for my composition work, including the Afan Thomas Memorial Award; Royal National Eisteddfod Composition Prize (Newport 1988); and was featured as part of the Welsh Arts Council's Young Composers Forum in 1987.

In 1997, I was the joint winner (with Luke Goss, also of Cardiff) of the prestigious Gregynog Composers' Award of Wales (the first Welshman to win the award in its ten-year history) and my winning work, Sonata for Harp (inspired by Lake Vyrnwy in Powys) was premiered at the Gregynog Festival by Elinor Bennett.


Ever since I heard your Tapestries for clarinet, violin and piano played at the Young Composers' Forum at St. Asaph in 1987, I have felt that there is essentially a kind of broad expansiveness of idiom wholly native to your music, even if written for small forces. Is this a fair remark?

I have never really thought about it before. I certainly do not believe in constraining the musical ideas merely because small forces are involved. I feel a natural affinity to orchestral writing and love having the big canvas to work with (not that many opportunities arise for this) and bring this approach to smaller, essentially chamber, works. I would like, and strive to achieve, the balance of the broad-brush strokes of the large canvas coupled with the meticulous detail of the watercolour within my music. I admire the orchestral music of Mahler for the way in which he can make the orchestra sound like a chamber ensemble (even if each symphony is rather like going to a fantastic restaurant and eating everything on the menu) and also, as I have already mentioned, the string quartets of Shostakovich for their impression of total control of material whilst hiding a larger composition in the background - the quartets of Bartok hold a similar feeling for me.


Having to earn your living, naturally enough, but specifically by computer originating other people's music (even that of Lord Lloyd Webber), do you find this frustrating, or more particularly detrimental to your own output in any way?

It certainly can be very frustrating to be preparing other people's music, but one has to compartmentalise the different areas of one's work in order to complete it successfully. It is all too easy to fall into the "Why is this being done and not mine?" trap and to become very bitter. Also, some of the music which I prepare is in a completely different idiom to mine and thus it is easy to detach myself from.

Furthermore, the sheer technicality of producing the finished music tends to remove one from the musical side of it. When I was preparing the scores of Phantom of the Opera, Cats and Sunset Boulevard there simply wasn’t any time to be frustrated. I recently completed editing the new score of Jesus Christ Superstar and managed to write three works of my own in my spare time whilst doing it. I would be lying if I were to say that I prefer copying other people's music rather than writing my own, but unless and until I am able to earn a living from writing then I shall have to continue preparing other people's music.


How do you now see the future ahead, from your present standpoint as a struggling young Welsh composer?

I try to be positive although it is not always easy. I have gone through a barren period of over ten years when no-one wanted to perform my music and consequently, I couldn't write anything (I started many pieces but lacked the will to finish them). Things are improving now with several performances coming up and more interest in my music, but I know just how difficult the future may be. I have four major commissions in the next twelve months, and I am looking forward to them immensely.


How do you feel generally about the future of contemporary music in Wales?

There is a perceived crisis in classical music which, I believe, is more imagined than real. Our concert promoters seem to have been seized by the Classic FM mentality and are scared to present audiences with anything new or challenging. I find this attitude very patronising, I'm sure that concertgoers are much more discerning and intelligent than programme planners give them credit for.

The marketing of contemporary music needs to be completely re-thought. Contemporary music is presented in an apologetic way - 'let's get this over with and get on to the Mozart!' - instead of being projected as vibrant and exciting. Who would reject the opportunity of attending the first performance of Mozart's Requiem or Rachmaninov's Second Symphony? Yet these were startling works in their day.

We appear to suffer from an inferiority complex and don't value home-grown talent. It seems that many of our performing bodies are happy to call themselves Welsh but that is as far as their Welshness goes. When they do commission or perform new music they choose works by non-Welsh composers; no other country does this. I have found that the response from overseas tends to be "If your performers won't perform your music then why should we, we've got our own composers to look after".

Examples of this approach are the Contemporary Music Centre in Eire and the Iceland Music Information Centre. Irish composers have their works performed by the RTE orchestra on a regular basis whilst the Icelandic composers are in an even stronger position. The Iceland Music Information Centre administers the funding for the Iceland Symphony Orchestra and a condition of their funding is that they must perform a certain number of Icelandic works per year. Contrary to the cliched argument that this produces mediocrity it has produced a varied and energetic group of composers.

I fear for the future of new music in Wales where financial considerations over-rule artistic ones. I understand that audience figures are important, but we appear to have accepted defeat. We should have more confidence in our own ability and take our music out of Wales to the rest of the world. When, for instance, was the last time our national opera company performed a Welsh opera let alone commissioned one by a Welsh composer with a libretto in Welsh? Furthermore, how about the National Eisteddfod, our celebration of Welsh culture, performing or commissioning a Welsh choral work rather than bludgeoning existing works by non-Welsh composers into Welsh?

If Welsh performing bodies don't support Welsh composers, then no-one else will. With the disgraceful closure of the Welsh Music Information Centre, Welsh composers are even more isolated than ever, and it is an indictment of the attitude towards Welsh music that it has been allowed to remain closed for so long. Again, one only has to look at overseas information centres to see what a properly funded centre can achieve. I am not advocating unrestricted handouts but an investment in the future of contemporary music in Wales which can go forth and represent the soul of our nation to the rest of the world.



Transcript of an interview from Welsh Music magazine