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
