Seizing the day

How does your symphonic writing contrast with your scoring for stage works?

Music for theatre or film is a cog in a larger machine that’s telling someone else’s story. It’s there to illuminate the (possibly unspoken) thoughts and emotions of a character on the stage or screen, or subtly amplify the emotions the audience might themselves be feeling about the scene. My concert music, however, is an expression of myself and my own story. You might say the ‘characters’ are the elements of the raw musical material that I choose; the melodies, motifs, rhythms, timbres, the harmonic language. And just as a good story needs rounded development of its characters, a concert piece is founded on the strength and convincing development of its musical material, even if – as with some pieces (Strauss’s Don Juan, say) – there’s a background narrative giving context to the musical journey. Development of such material is typically more complex in a concert piece, and takes place over longer periods than in theatre or film cues.

When alternating between writing for theatre and the concert hall, aside from following the narrative, how do your creative processes differ?

A good theatre rehearsal room is an exhilarating place to work. There are discussions among the creative team; actors trying things out; round-table reading and analysis of the text; sketches, designs and storyboards pinned up on the surrounding walls. All of that feeds a strong sense of collective purpose and imagined outcome for the project, so as a composer in the creative team you have (hopefully) a lot of clarity and support about what you need to do. But as the composer of an abstract concert work such as a violin concerto, you are alone and much more vulnerable. With no script, external story or other creative team members to lean on, you’re confronting the terrifying fragility of your own ideas – which are the entirety of the work you are trying to make. The task itself is the same: gather materials, play around with combinations of them, see how they behave and interact with each other – and inch your way forward in the hope you’re heading in the right direction. With concert music, that’s all down to you.

In a recent piece for The Guardian you describe the process of putting together a concert, which included organising performers and venue at short notice, as well as writing some of the programme – all while undergoing chemotherapy. What did this process teach you?

That there really is no time like the present. Do it now. I urge everybody to repeat that mantra to themselves, whether you’re ill or healthy. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved in my career, but looking back over it now, I’d say my procrastination habit has probably robbed my catalogue somewhat. If I’d been as focused before my diagnosis as afterwards, I’d have so much more to show for it. The past year has shown me what’s possible when you really set your mind to things. And I’ve also learnt what an extraordinary level of goodwill there has been on the part of so many people to help me do that. 

You've spoken about the ‘psychological cliff-edge’ awaiting you after that concert – how did you cope with that period?

After eight months of intense effort directed at the June concert, I was always trepidatious about that cliff-edge and how it might feel. But I needn’t have worried, because it was obvious from the concert’s success what needed to happen next: a proper commercial recording. One doesn’t spend seven months writing a concerto and various other new orchestral pieces, only for them to be performed once! Those pieces needed to be heard as widely as possible, both on a recording and in other live performances. So any sense of anti-climax after the concert was quickly dispelled by picking up that challenge straightaway, starting with the hunt for a top orchestra and recording venue. But we encountered – all over again – the same problems of securing these large resources at short notice, this time with the added complication of getting a record label interested too. Thankfully – by the extraordinary goodwill on the part of key people, especially at the BBC Philharmonic – and a dose of good fortune, we managed to pull it off against the odds.

Triumphant trio: (L-R) violinist Fenella Humphreys, conductor Michael Seal and composer Adrian Sutton © Robin Clewley

On your website you talk about advocating for live music as ‘a unique moment to be shared and remembered’ by both performer and audience – could you expand on this philosophy? 

I’ve spent my whole career as a studio animal, so recording and recording technology is in my blood, and I know how to make something sound like diamonds in a studio. But my priorities have changed now. My diagnosis brings a renewed focus and awareness: that it takes the crackling charge of a live performance, arcing between performer and audience member, really to appreciate music’s power, because it’s only then that the other senses are drawn into play.  

Crucially though, as composers I feel we have a responsibility to the performers in this equation, not just the audience, because we must write material that the players want to play – in other words, that is sympathetic to their instruments and exciting and engaging to perform.Otherwise, one doesn’t get the best out of them, and the magic doesn’t happen.

You've been very candid about your cancer diagnosis and how it has focused your attention – do you have any advice for others seeking this sort of clarity?

'None of us gets out of here alive', as an actor friend said to me. In fact, we are all unbelievably lucky to be here at all, and so the pressing question is: what to do with the profoundly precious time we have. Especially if – as in my case – what my body will let me do will become more and more limited. Literally the worst – the worst – use of that time is to spend it ruminating on the future or the past. You won’t turn back the clock, and the future will not obey your will. So my daily task is to make the most of being alive, trying to discover beautiful musical things, and if I find them, share them with people who hopefully want to play them and listen to them. It’s nothing more than that.

What can listeners expect from your new works, which include a violin concerto?

The real me. My love of long melodic line, rich harmony, joyous energy – all the things that were part of my musical makeup from the beginning, but which a professional career focussed on applied music can sometimes leave neglected. With the works on the new Chandos disc, I’ve begun to redress that balance.

Adrian Sutton’s Orchestra Works, performed by the BBC Philharmonic, Michael Seal and violinist Fenella Humphreys, is out on 4 October via Chandos.