Composing ‘Time Will Tell’

Developing a musical theme

I recently composed a piece for solo piano. I thought I would write about the creative process and how my ideas were shaped and developed into the finished work.

Where it all begins

There is a definite moment when I decide that I am going to start a new composition.

I set up my midi keyboard to record and start playing, having decided which key I want to use. I have to record like this because I hate forgetting phrases that I’ve improvised and really like. I may have a concept in mind, or I may just let my fingers explore different patterns and harmonies until I find something I want to work with.

When I decided to write a new piece a few weeks ago I did my usual keyboard set up and chose a key, deliberately avoiding ones I use a lot. I knew I wanted to use unorthodox harmonies and purposefully made my hands play chords in shapes that felt less automatic than usual. When I am composing for piano, it isn’t just about the sound for me. Images and shapes are important, and how it feels to play. As a song writer, I often find that the melodies seem to come with their own words and that then feeds into the development of the music and consequent themes.

This was certainly the case a few weeks ago. The very first combination of chords seemed to me to sing out the phrase “time will tell”. From then on, everything I improvised seemed to link in to this idea and fragment of melody.

I had chosen to compose during our strict period of lockdown due to Covid-19 and I had been spending more time than usual sitting in the garden, musing the situation and wondering what historians in the future would make of the decisions and actions taken during this time. I often find myself musing on the idea of hindsight and how that alters our perspective and so it wasn’t surprising in one sense that this concept had crept into my music-making.

Development

I continued to improvise and ended up with something that could be described as a basic structure to work from. I exported the midi file to the music programme, Sibelius, and then looked at the score in detail, now moving to the acoustic piano.

This is when the hard work began.

Yes, I had a theme and an idea. I wanted the music to reflect the idea of transformation and change. Musically I wanted to have a clear structure which could stand the test of analysis and show how the phrases were linked together in different ways, with the themes interweaving and changing, just as time changes how we experience things.

I worked through the initial improvisation, cutting bits out, re-working phrases, composing new bars. I used traditional structural forms and deliberately worked out a counter melody and a contrasting middle section. An over-arching form gradually emerged but I was not happy with the second main theme. It didn’t seem to fit the harmonic world of the opening and sounded as if a bit of Disney had been dropped in (I confess to having been drenched in Disney since childhood and more recently with four daughters all loving the films). I had to be critical, despite wallowing in the emotionally-charged melodic line.

And so I grafted away, feeling like I was chipping away at a sculpture, looking at each bar, each motif, checking each note was exactly as I wanted it to sound, and that it felt right under the hand.

Insecurity

And as I work, I don’t just focus on the music. Other thoughts come in. I’m sure other composers do far more reworking. I’m sure that there are rules of composition that I have broken. Will the final piece be considered too predictable, too flimsy?

But does it actually matter what other people think? Who am I writing for anyway? And doesn’t 40 years of musical study mean that I have a wealth of understanding and experience to draw on and use?

I continue to rework and shape the melodies into the sounds I hear in my head, conscious all the time that the motifs need to have come from the piece itself so that there is a progressive story throughout, not just a collection of nice phrases.

Completion

I feel myself being transformed as I work on it. The final piece is so different from the original improvisation, and yet there is the original theme embedded within it. In the past I have been content with the improvisation. Now I want to use my expertise and refine that spontaneous outpouring, crafting it into something more enduring and interesting. I want it to be more intentional and intelligently realised, not just be a stream of musical consciousness which invariably falls into my own musical clichés.

I finally come to a place where I am happy with the work and feel ready to record. It’s a relief to play through the score as a finished piece, to be able to enjoy the music for its own sake, not having to constantly check each note.

I spend a day recording. It is surprising how difficult I find it to get a take I am happy with, especially when I have written the piece myself. But I suppose it is brand new, and I should expect to have to practise it and refine my performance, just as I would any other new work. And I enjoy this process. I haven’t performed much recently and it is good to have to listen intently to what my fingers are creating and work out how each note should be placed. I’m glad that I can open the lid of the piano and really listen intently to the sound around me.

The piano is slightly out of tune. Does that matter? No. I actually think it lends itself to the historical flavour of the title and shows how even the instrument has been altered through this period when I have been unable to get the tuner to come to the house.

Final editing

Having finally made a recording that I am happy with, I then work on making it into a video so it can be uploaded to YouTube and shared.

I like to use photos that I have taken, or that mean something to me. This piece doesn’t want lots of changing images. It needs something to get lost in so the music speaks for itself. I decide to use pictures my daughter took on a recent holiday of the sunset across the sea. I make up the video and as the music closes on the setting sun image, it seems to exude a slight melancholy, or sense of resignation and acceptance, even defeat. Is this what I intended?

But it turns out that the series of pictures was in fact a sunrise.

I change the pictures round and realise that the overall perspective is very different. The music itself does finish with a clear resolution. But the journey to this point has not been one of defeat. The turbulence of the middle section finds its way into the ending but is re-shaped into the major key and merges with the opening themes in a complementary and enriching way. The brightness of the rising sun establishes hope and possibility.

I’ve written this work and have already moved on to the next project. Time doesn’t stop and life continues. But this piece is now established in reality. It is no longer a concept but can be listened to and played in the future.

I hope that I have managed to capture something of how experiences can be reshaped and used, and that in time we will be able to tell a different, more hopeful, story.