Why I Write Music

When I recount to others how I have ended up studying music composition at the Hartt School after spending my undergraduate years at MIT, they often ask me "How?" or "Why?" (or in some cases, "Why!?!?!?!?!"). To be sure, these are valid questions, and I am always happy to oblige in answering them. Simple as it may seem, writing music was what made me the happiest at MIT. It certainly wasn't the only thing that made me happy there, and it would hardly be the only area I would study if I had four more years to spend there.

Still, writing music was—and continues to be—what gives me the greatest satisfaction. The gratification that comes with finishing a piece of music and—better yet—the thrill that accompanies hearing my music come to life as it is played for the first time, are feelings not quite like any others I have experienced.

But there is far more in writing music for me than the glamor that (hopefully) comes with a premiere (should I be lucky enough to get one). And while having other people perform my work is something of a power trip—especially for pieces written for larger ensembles—it's certainly not that, either. (That is a dangerous train of thought to follow too closely: while musicians are inevitably following your "orders" of what notes to play and what sounds to make, music would be appreciably more difficult to come by without them.)

Instead, the aspect of writing music that gives me the greatest sense of fulfillment is being able to communicate thoughts and emotions without using words (or in the case of works with text, without using words alone). That is not to say that each and every piece I write is making a statement or has only one "acceptable" interpretation by my standards. (On the contrary – I would rather a listener find something meaningful in the music I write than be able to understand exactly what was going through my mind as I wrote the piece.)

I am reminded of two relevant quotes about music, both of which I discovered my freshman year at MIT. The first I actually learned in a materials science class, and is from Aldous Huxley:

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”

The other quote, by E.T.A. Hoffmann, was presented in the first music course I took when we started studying Romantic music:

“Music is the most romantic of the arts because its sole subject is the infinite.”

Both of these quotes speak volumes about why I fell in love with writing music, and why the excitement is renewed each time I start a new piece. While I like to think that I write and speak well enough to communicate clearly (if that is not the case, you are very brave to be reading this blog), there is something different—more elegant, perhaps—about communicating through music. Similar to the way that a picture can be worth a thousand words, a piece of music can convey an unexpectedly strong sense of feeling.

Again, not everything I write has a particular narrative or a specific intended feeling. But even the more light-hearted music I have written (like the music I composed for Tartuffe) can be effective. Likewise, the more modern works of music that are out there—those works that do not get performed or broadcast on the radio with adequate frequency, no pun intended—even those pieces are a unique means of communication with the audience.

To be sure, each and every composer is different. We write music for a variety of reasons (though only in special cases is it to pay the bills). And the reason a particular composer writes one piece may very well differ from the motivation behind another one of his or her works.

Even now as I draw this entry to a close, I am still not one hundred percent convinced that I have communicated exactly what I want to say in the most efficient way possible. (Okay, well I know I have not optimized my efficiency. If I were being super efficient, I would not be including all these parenthesized side comments.) Part of it is typing a blog entry without going through a more extensive editing process. But I think the other part is that writing with words can only get me so far.

While the music I write is hardly at its best after the first draft, through subsequent revision it can reach an almost magical level of expression, one that I cannot hope to explain with words. And the best part is that even though music can come close to "expressing the inexpressible" as Huxley puts it, music need not be unaccessible. I can assure you that being a composer would not be nearly as enjoyable if that were the case. Rather, writing music is all the more meaningful because I can take an idea that is not easily conveyed through words and make it both clearer and more comprehensible.

Maybe I can compose a piece of music that more clearly illustrates my point.