Stephen Emmer: What I learned from losing my hearing

Most people tend to think that loss of hearing strikes all at once, but it doesn’t always happen like that. In my case, losing my hearing took decades and I can trace it back to a particular period of my career. Back in the days when I was a touring musician, we once had to perform with an amplification system on stage. The owner of that system was from what is often called the loudest pop band in the world, Motörhead.

During rehearsal, my piano didn’t seem to come through in the venue – if I remember correctly, it was in Newcastle – and the technical crew insisted I try again. As soon as I played, the volume was suddenly extremely loud and the roar of laughter made it clear I was being pranked by the crew. I carried on that night as if nothing had happened.

Fast forward 10 years, and one day I couldn’t hear my partner speak; I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I went to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist, did a few tests, and it turned out my left ear had a huge frequency dip, which made hearing speech difficult. However, the listening test created another problem. On the way back from the clinic, I began to hear a nagging tone that didn’t disappear after 24 hours. I panicked. It was October, and I couldn’t see how I would make it to Christmas.

Cognitive therapy taught me to accept the condition and deal with it, and I did. Further along the timeline, I started wearing a hearing aid in my left ear. One day, though, I couldn’t hear normal speech anymore – just a distorted sound signal when someone spoke. I could still hear with what I now called my ‘good ear’ on the right, but my left ear had gone completely deaf. I had to seriously learn to cope with this, as it had significant consequences for both my life and my work.

Socially, I stopped going to noisy places like birthday parties with the shouty uncle (bless him), couldn’t deal with children crying on airplanes, and avoided dining in grand restaurants where they invested more in marketing than acoustics. Work-wise, it caused an even bigger problem, particularly because the tinnitus tone in my head was pitched in B-flat. As a professional composer, whenever I wanted to compose in the key of C, I heard a tonal clash, which put me off and drained my inspiration. Additionally, listening to a stereo system with left and right speakers was no longer enjoyable, both as a creator and listener, because I constantly missed the audio from the left side. When listening to classical music, for example, I couldn’t hear the violins. I stopped for a while and spoke to a therapist again, but she strongly advised me not to give up my work, as it was not only my passion but part of my identity.

So, I abandoned the idea of an alternative career as a forester (nature, peace, silence, fresh air) and, for better or worse, continued to my musical career. However, composing remained a challenge. So, I decided to shift from composing to arranging and orchestrating for others. This allowed me to gradually return to composing for myself again. Over time, I found a way to work in mono, my original tinnitus tone transformed into a non-tonal hiss, and I no longer heard harmonic conflicts when composing.

As my career took this unexpected extension, I felt a desire to devote my time to more meaningful music. I came up with the idea of revisiting earlier melodies I composed when I was 40 years younger and still had ‘normal’ symmetrical hearing. This turned into a musical dialogue with my younger self. Some of the melodies were so pure and untarnished that I felt they should be used in a new work, complemented by more intricate harmonisations and deeper emotional depth, which I have now but didn’t have then. The combination made sense to me, and I felt I was on an interesting path.

I ended up creating a new work: Mt. Mundane, with 15 adagios, as I feel that form best suits my personal story – it truly expresses my inner feelings. I also chose this form because I no longer enjoy bombastic, high-tempo, aggressive music, either as a creator or listener. Through research, I came to deeply appreciate French impressionist music, especially that of Ravel, Debussy, and some lesser-known composers of that era or slightly later, like André Caplet, Frank Martin, and Lili Boulanger (sister of Nadia Boulanger). In their works, I found the soothing sounds, rich colours, and refined arrangements I was seeking to incorporate into my own music.

Additionally, I loved the idea of returning to thematic, tonal music with dramatic development, as opposed to much contemporary classical music, which often draws from American minimalism and conveys a different, almost trance-like emotional state. So, I continued this journey and recorded the work this year at Abbey Road with a 50-piece chamber-plus orchestra and a 30-piece choir.

After the great performances during those recording sessions, I felt that both personally and musically, I had reached the place I had always hoped to arrive at. I hope this project and story might inspire others who have auditory problems of any kind. There is hope to be found, and when you reach out to re-achieve something, the feelings of fulfilment can be immense. At least, that’s what I feel – again.

Stephen Emmer is a composer and artist, based in Amsterdam, Holland. His new album Mt Mundane is out on all streaming networks on 11 October, 2024.