Posted by Guy Shahar on January 16, 2025 at 3:19pm
What is your experience of receiving criticism as a composer and how has it changed over time.I’m still near the start of my journey, and have had some amazingly valuable pointers and advice from posting my music on forums and asking for feedback. But I’ve also had a load of abuse from a few people, who feel that if you post something you’ve created, you’re fair game for vitriol. This can have a very negative effect.How have you managed to get the feedback you need while avoiding the abuse? Or do you just choose to either keep your music to yourself or to put up with the abuse?It would be really interesting to hear your experiences for my own benefit, but also, I want to make a video about dealing with criticism as a composer soon, and this conversation could help with that too.
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probably the most pertinent comment on this area so far and I agree with most of it. It's quite correct that without structure, a piece is unlikely to fully achieve its aims. And it's certainly true that a mere study of theory will not make a good composer -- or rather a composer who anyone will want to listen to which is possibly a different thing? I've always tried to distinguish between book theory and theory in practice. There is a difference -- the latter can be absorbed by listening to great works which speak to you perhaps with some study of the score. I have a rough understanding of what's commonly known as sonata form by listening to countless works in sonata form, not by ever having read the theory. That's because, as HS, says, theory actually comes about through what great composers have actually done in practice. Anything else is as far as I'm concerned of no interest.
Of course we all have totally different aims as composers. Mine is simply to express feelings in as subtle and varied a way as possible, with the music at the same time following a certain progression which fits in with what the piece is about. Others are far more orientated towards technical innovation and experimentation for want of a better term. Stephen has outlined his own method in this direction. There are a few works in which I also focus on the more technical side of for instance motivic development or transformation -- and occasionally this approach get praise from composers who themselves work in this way although these piece (a minority) are never among my own favourites.
I assume that David was responding to HS's comment. Along the same line, it isn't the theory that drives the composition of my music. While I am always aware of the theory, the piece itself originates organically. When I start, I don't know its form, nor do I necessarily know my pitch sets yet. I tend to write a minute or two of music and then analyze what I've done. At that point, I create a row, play around with it at the piano, so I know what its potential is, then I create my sets from it, as well as its transpositions. I may create a row matrix, but I don't necessarily use it in a Schoenbergian way. Lately, I have been composing short fragments and piecing them together later. Sometimes they create a recognizable form, but often they don't. My string quartet #5 presents each of these fragments/miniatures on their own, and the order one performs the miniatures creates a form. (Although I do specify the order in that piece.) I have composed several works using that material. In Shadows of Innocence, I use the same set of 51 fragments (only 20 appear in SQ5), but I develop and connect them into a form, sometimes repeating a fragment or two. It's an organic form of working - quite the opposite of creating a form and working within it - or working in a predefined system. I define the system within certain parameters as I go.
If one looks at the history of the sonata form, you can see the progression from AB (simple key relationships) to ABa to ABA, to dividing up the A section into 2 themes, dividing B into multiple sections, until you get a Brucknerian monstrosity with 3 themes in the exposition, exotic key relationships with each section separated by codas, codettas, etc. The composers didn't just sit down and say that they were going to do that. They constantly tested the limits of prexisting forms, and tried to discover new ways of making them seem logical and fresh to the listener.
Its that logic that could make the difference as to whether your listener enjoys your piece or whether it falls flat with them - provided they are open to new experiences.
Thanks for sharing your methods. It's interesting that I also compose in a similar way: while I often have a vague idea where I plan for the music to go, there's no concrete plan in the sense that in 16 or 32 bars I must be at a certain place, or it must be a certain form, or anything like that. And often as I go along my original plan changes based on where the music "wants" to go.
Even though all my recent pieces are all fugues, almost every one of them stretches the definition of fugue in some way or another. I'm mainly using fugal texture as a way to develop and explore my themes, rather than sticking strictly to the letter of fugue. I definitely don't have a predefined, fixed plan when I start writing a fugue; usually it's just a subject, or a potential subject, and a particular mood I'm aiming for, and beyond that point, it's a matter of playing around with various ways of putting together an exposition, modifications of the subject, etc., to explore what appeals to my ears. Past the exposition, I don't really pay much attention anymore to the traditional format of fugal development (episodes culminating in subject entries), but rather write in a much freer form that just happens to have fugal texture, often with my own idea of what the over-arching form will be, which often doesn't follow what, say, a Bach fugue would conventionally do. When I do stay close to convention, I often also throw in a little sarcasm that sticks its tongue out at the spirit of tradition while following its letter. (My fugue in A flat is particularly mocking in this way, as well as my Wild Fugue, that follows the traditional fugal form but throws all harmonic considerations out the window, deliberately.)
In my working out of a piece, there's often a virtual tug-of-war between where I envision the music should go, and where the music "wants" to go. Sometimes I prevail, and nudge the music in the direction I envisioned, other times the music refuses to go that way, but ends up pulling in an altogether different direction. Sometimes I would yield, just to see what it would lead; other times I let the string out a little but tug it back later, like you'd do with a stubborn catch when you're fishing. Sometimes the music itself doesn't know what to do next, then I'd draw on various theoretical methods, like fugue devices, etc., to branch out and explore different possibilities until I find one that appeals to me. Sometimes I take the liberty to "fool around" a little and throw a monkey wrench into the music just to see what would happen. Often nothing good comes of it, but once in a while it leads to fresh inspiration, or to something funny that I can then exploit to take the music in an unexpected direction.
I would say the goal of my compositions is really mostly for my own entertainment and edification. I'm not really looking for (or looking to give) new experiences, to myself or the audience; I'm looking mainly for what pleases my ear, and what amuses me. Many of my pieces contain in-jokes that probably no one would ever get, but I hide in them veiled mockeries of tradition and convention, just because I can. Many are also my way of exploring, testing, and pushing the limits of theory. Examples: my fugue in C# minor more-or-less follows traditional fugal form, but with a subject strongly tainted with the tritone (something Bach would probably avoid). My fugue in D was written as an answer to the question, "Why does the answer to the opening subject in a fugue always appear in the dominant?". (The answer is no, it doesn't have to be. In fact, in the entire fugue the answer never appears in the "correct" dominant key, except the very last entry, upon which the music, realizing what has happened, storms off in a huff and never finishes the statement.) My fugue in E minor uses a tonally ambiguous subject and answers that come a minor 6th below (as opposed to the conventional 5th), and features a section where the subject is cut into pieces and strewn across different voices rather than one voice stating it in its entirety. My fugue in E flat is an in-joke that takes a stereotypical concluding bass line (ii-v-i) and turns it into a fugue subject, spinning a ridiculously long yarn on what ostensibly should have concluded after the 3rd note. My Wild Fugue, as I already said, follows the structure of fugue but deliberately ignores all harmonic considerations, reveling instead in minor 2nd "pepper bombs". My fugue in A flat sticks its tongue out at everything, veers into bitonality in several places, and clowns around in deliberately clumsy ways and then serendipitously lands on its feet at the end (albeit very unstably :-P). I have an unfinished fugue written in 19 EDO (a microtonal tuning), and another in phrygian dominant mode. There's also sketches of a fugue in an octatonal scale, though I haven't gotten very far with it yet.
Do they appeal to listeners? I don't know. So far I've had both likers and dislikers. I personally enjoy listening to them, and do so regularly. Maybe I'm just narcissistic. :-P But I let the listener be the judge. :-D
Fugue in A flat
I confess to being a contrarian and an iconoclast, which is reflected in this latest fugue of mine, in ways that should be readily apparent to the li…
About the closest you will hear me getting to a fugue is about 5 minutes into my 4th symphony, which hints at a (double?) fugue, but doesn't really make it to the 4th exposition, as it is interrupted. One of my early pieces (In a Dream) has a fugue in the middle of it, but now I cringe whenever I hear it. I'm not a big fan of fugues. Too predictable to me, but that is just my opinion.
As you said, it is important to listen to where a piece wants to go. That symphony seemed to be crying out for a big ending, but when I was writing it, I found myself doing just the opposite. It became more and more active, but less and less dense, then the material from the opening of the movement crept in, and brought it to a gentle close. In hindsight, I wouldn't do it any other way.
I don't consider my fugues to be that predictable. I do take a rather liberal approach to fugue; I can't stand the monotonous I-V-I-V structure of the strict interpretation of fugue, for example. So I often have strange modulations going off already in the exposition, like in my fugues in D and E minor. Or I'd add something else unusual to spice it up.
And I like to bend the rules in various ways, or outright ignore them, depending on what I feel like doing. My fugue in E for example is structured around the fugue devices of the subject and countersubject, but done in a surreptitious way that in several cases you wouldn't even notice it unless you knew what to listen for. I also liberally wrote in lots of pianisms that would probably make Bach roll in his grave. 😜 But it serves the purposes of the music, and my son loves it, so I think that's good enough. The rules ought to serve the music, not the other way round.
My personal view is that if my music draws vitriol, then it's probably because I really did screw up. :D
Having said that, though, it doesn't mean I necessarily agree with the criticism. Just that I have a ways to go in order to outdo even the critics, musically speaking.
I can't say I've had to deal with this very much myself, being mostly a victim of self-criticism far more than criticism from others. But there has been at least one instance when my music was harshly criticized, and while I felt (and still feel) some of it was unjustified, it has driven me to do much better, and as a result I've improved in ways I hadn't anticipated or planned for.
More specifically, this relates to my "fugue in 7/4", an early attempt at fugue in the early days of my current fugal obsession. It was, in many ways, a major step forward from my very first attempt at fugue, which was even worse, and which I myself regard as mostly a failure (as a fugue, that is; musically IMNSHO it still makes some sort of sense -- perhaps not my most impressive work but at least listenable without making my ears bleed). So I was hoping for a bit more praise for my efforts. Instead, what I got was very harsh critique from a Bach fan who, IMO, nitpicked at everything that didn't go exactly the way Bach would have done it. In retrospect, a lot of his criticism was spot-on; but at the time I was too attached to my own work to recognize it as such, and found it a really hard pill to swallow.
This incident drove me to dig really deep into fugue writing, studying various online resources and conducting my own analyses of Bach's WTC fugues. Ultimately, it drove me to write my fugue in C# minor, which to this day I regard as one of my better pieces, which I still regularly listen to myself. It was in part in rebellion to the "not Bach" criticism (I deliberately wrote a fugue subject heavily tainted with the tritone, something that Bach probably would never write); in part an effort to outdo myself (it has arguably one of the better structures among my fugues). I wouldn't call it the pinnacle of my work, but it represented a major step forward in my present fugal journey. And I have Mr. Critic to thank for that. Had I gotten only praise for my fugue in 7/4 instead, I probably couldn't have made such a step, or at least, couldn't have done so for a very long time.
So in short, I'd summarize my attitude toward criticism as, "my work is probably a lot worse than what the critics are saying, but that doesn't stop me; next time I'm gonna outdo myself in ways even the critics don't anticipate!".
Kudos for such a positive attitude (apart from the pre-emptive self criticism...). You seem to have turned a painful experience into something postive and constructive and acknowledged the insight in it.
Composers are very sensitive to criticism. A composition is like a child to its creator, and most parents can’t stand it when someone criticizes their child.
That’s why I rarely participate in discussions on this forum. Besides, I used to get paid for my criticism, so it goes against my moral beliefs to offer it for free :-) Still, I enjoy the entertainment, so I’ll stick around.
Criticism is arguably the most significant driving force in my personal development. I am perpetually in the process of cataloging the reservations and critiques others express about my work. With these observations, when valid, (and doing my due dillegence to address them), incorporating them into future projects I can say, "Well, at least that can't be criticised in this one."
Critique can yield insights from a wide variety of sources too. Even individuals without a theoretical or musical background often provide practical and constructive feedback that proves very useful. Almost every human being is a listener.
Unfortunately what motivates me— that is, embracing criticism with a thick skin and a focus on improvement—does not apply to all. Not everyone approaches feedback with the same mindset. Some seek affirmation or validation, and even well-considered critiques can feel offensive or unwelcome in some contexts. Sometimes I forget this when offering my thoughts, which has done me little good.
Replies
probably the most pertinent comment on this area so far and I agree with most of it. It's quite correct that without structure, a piece is unlikely to fully achieve its aims. And it's certainly true that a mere study of theory will not make a good composer -- or rather a composer who anyone will want to listen to which is possibly a different thing? I've always tried to distinguish between book theory and theory in practice. There is a difference -- the latter can be absorbed by listening to great works which speak to you perhaps with some study of the score. I have a rough understanding of what's commonly known as sonata form by listening to countless works in sonata form, not by ever having read the theory. That's because, as HS, says, theory actually comes about through what great composers have actually done in practice. Anything else is as far as I'm concerned of no interest.
Of course we all have totally different aims as composers. Mine is simply to express feelings in as subtle and varied a way as possible, with the music at the same time following a certain progression which fits in with what the piece is about. Others are far more orientated towards technical innovation and experimentation for want of a better term. Stephen has outlined his own method in this direction. There are a few works in which I also focus on the more technical side of for instance motivic development or transformation -- and occasionally this approach get praise from composers who themselves work in this way although these piece (a minority) are never among my own favourites.
I assume that David was responding to HS's comment. Along the same line, it isn't the theory that drives the composition of my music. While I am always aware of the theory, the piece itself originates organically. When I start, I don't know its form, nor do I necessarily know my pitch sets yet. I tend to write a minute or two of music and then analyze what I've done. At that point, I create a row, play around with it at the piano, so I know what its potential is, then I create my sets from it, as well as its transpositions. I may create a row matrix, but I don't necessarily use it in a Schoenbergian way. Lately, I have been composing short fragments and piecing them together later. Sometimes they create a recognizable form, but often they don't. My string quartet #5 presents each of these fragments/miniatures on their own, and the order one performs the miniatures creates a form. (Although I do specify the order in that piece.) I have composed several works using that material. In Shadows of Innocence, I use the same set of 51 fragments (only 20 appear in SQ5), but I develop and connect them into a form, sometimes repeating a fragment or two. It's an organic form of working - quite the opposite of creating a form and working within it - or working in a predefined system. I define the system within certain parameters as I go.
If one looks at the history of the sonata form, you can see the progression from AB (simple key relationships) to ABa to ABA, to dividing up the A section into 2 themes, dividing B into multiple sections, until you get a Brucknerian monstrosity with 3 themes in the exposition, exotic key relationships with each section separated by codas, codettas, etc. The composers didn't just sit down and say that they were going to do that. They constantly tested the limits of prexisting forms, and tried to discover new ways of making them seem logical and fresh to the listener.
Its that logic that could make the difference as to whether your listener enjoys your piece or whether it falls flat with them - provided they are open to new experiences.
Thanks for sharing your methods. It's interesting that I also compose in a similar way: while I often have a vague idea where I plan for the music to go, there's no concrete plan in the sense that in 16 or 32 bars I must be at a certain place, or it must be a certain form, or anything like that. And often as I go along my original plan changes based on where the music "wants" to go.
Even though all my recent pieces are all fugues, almost every one of them stretches the definition of fugue in some way or another. I'm mainly using fugal texture as a way to develop and explore my themes, rather than sticking strictly to the letter of fugue. I definitely don't have a predefined, fixed plan when I start writing a fugue; usually it's just a subject, or a potential subject, and a particular mood I'm aiming for, and beyond that point, it's a matter of playing around with various ways of putting together an exposition, modifications of the subject, etc., to explore what appeals to my ears. Past the exposition, I don't really pay much attention anymore to the traditional format of fugal development (episodes culminating in subject entries), but rather write in a much freer form that just happens to have fugal texture, often with my own idea of what the over-arching form will be, which often doesn't follow what, say, a Bach fugue would conventionally do. When I do stay close to convention, I often also throw in a little sarcasm that sticks its tongue out at the spirit of tradition while following its letter. (My fugue in A flat is particularly mocking in this way, as well as my Wild Fugue, that follows the traditional fugal form but throws all harmonic considerations out the window, deliberately.)
In my working out of a piece, there's often a virtual tug-of-war between where I envision the music should go, and where the music "wants" to go. Sometimes I prevail, and nudge the music in the direction I envisioned, other times the music refuses to go that way, but ends up pulling in an altogether different direction. Sometimes I would yield, just to see what it would lead; other times I let the string out a little but tug it back later, like you'd do with a stubborn catch when you're fishing. Sometimes the music itself doesn't know what to do next, then I'd draw on various theoretical methods, like fugue devices, etc., to branch out and explore different possibilities until I find one that appeals to me. Sometimes I take the liberty to "fool around" a little and throw a monkey wrench into the music just to see what would happen. Often nothing good comes of it, but once in a while it leads to fresh inspiration, or to something funny that I can then exploit to take the music in an unexpected direction.
I would say the goal of my compositions is really mostly for my own entertainment and edification. I'm not really looking for (or looking to give) new experiences, to myself or the audience; I'm looking mainly for what pleases my ear, and what amuses me. Many of my pieces contain in-jokes that probably no one would ever get, but I hide in them veiled mockeries of tradition and convention, just because I can. Many are also my way of exploring, testing, and pushing the limits of theory. Examples: my fugue in C# minor more-or-less follows traditional fugal form, but with a subject strongly tainted with the tritone (something Bach would probably avoid). My fugue in D was written as an answer to the question, "Why does the answer to the opening subject in a fugue always appear in the dominant?". (The answer is no, it doesn't have to be. In fact, in the entire fugue the answer never appears in the "correct" dominant key, except the very last entry, upon which the music, realizing what has happened, storms off in a huff and never finishes the statement.) My fugue in E minor uses a tonally ambiguous subject and answers that come a minor 6th below (as opposed to the conventional 5th), and features a section where the subject is cut into pieces and strewn across different voices rather than one voice stating it in its entirety. My fugue in E flat is an in-joke that takes a stereotypical concluding bass line (ii-v-i) and turns it into a fugue subject, spinning a ridiculously long yarn on what ostensibly should have concluded after the 3rd note. My Wild Fugue, as I already said, follows the structure of fugue but deliberately ignores all harmonic considerations, reveling instead in minor 2nd "pepper bombs". My fugue in A flat sticks its tongue out at everything, veers into bitonality in several places, and clowns around in deliberately clumsy ways and then serendipitously lands on its feet at the end (albeit very unstably :-P). I have an unfinished fugue written in 19 EDO (a microtonal tuning), and another in phrygian dominant mode. There's also sketches of a fugue in an octatonal scale, though I haven't gotten very far with it yet.
Do they appeal to listeners? I don't know. So far I've had both likers and dislikers. I personally enjoy listening to them, and do so regularly. Maybe I'm just narcissistic. :-P But I let the listener be the judge. :-D
About the closest you will hear me getting to a fugue is about 5 minutes into my 4th symphony, which hints at a (double?) fugue, but doesn't really make it to the 4th exposition, as it is interrupted. One of my early pieces (In a Dream) has a fugue in the middle of it, but now I cringe whenever I hear it. I'm not a big fan of fugues. Too predictable to me, but that is just my opinion.
As you said, it is important to listen to where a piece wants to go. That symphony seemed to be crying out for a big ending, but when I was writing it, I found myself doing just the opposite. It became more and more active, but less and less dense, then the material from the opening of the movement crept in, and brought it to a gentle close. In hindsight, I wouldn't do it any other way.
I don't consider my fugues to be that predictable. I do take a rather liberal approach to fugue; I can't stand the monotonous I-V-I-V structure of the strict interpretation of fugue, for example. So I often have strange modulations going off already in the exposition, like in my fugues in D and E minor. Or I'd add something else unusual to spice it up.
And I like to bend the rules in various ways, or outright ignore them, depending on what I feel like doing. My fugue in E for example is structured around the fugue devices of the subject and countersubject, but done in a surreptitious way that in several cases you wouldn't even notice it unless you knew what to listen for. I also liberally wrote in lots of pianisms that would probably make Bach roll in his grave. 😜 But it serves the purposes of the music, and my son loves it, so I think that's good enough. The rules ought to serve the music, not the other way round.
My personal view is that if my music draws vitriol, then it's probably because I really did screw up. :D
Having said that, though, it doesn't mean I necessarily agree with the criticism. Just that I have a ways to go in order to outdo even the critics, musically speaking.
I can't say I've had to deal with this very much myself, being mostly a victim of self-criticism far more than criticism from others. But there has been at least one instance when my music was harshly criticized, and while I felt (and still feel) some of it was unjustified, it has driven me to do much better, and as a result I've improved in ways I hadn't anticipated or planned for.
More specifically, this relates to my "fugue in 7/4", an early attempt at fugue in the early days of my current fugal obsession. It was, in many ways, a major step forward from my very first attempt at fugue, which was even worse, and which I myself regard as mostly a failure (as a fugue, that is; musically IMNSHO it still makes some sort of sense -- perhaps not my most impressive work but at least listenable without making my ears bleed). So I was hoping for a bit more praise for my efforts. Instead, what I got was very harsh critique from a Bach fan who, IMO, nitpicked at everything that didn't go exactly the way Bach would have done it. In retrospect, a lot of his criticism was spot-on; but at the time I was too attached to my own work to recognize it as such, and found it a really hard pill to swallow.
This incident drove me to dig really deep into fugue writing, studying various online resources and conducting my own analyses of Bach's WTC fugues. Ultimately, it drove me to write my fugue in C# minor, which to this day I regard as one of my better pieces, which I still regularly listen to myself. It was in part in rebellion to the "not Bach" criticism (I deliberately wrote a fugue subject heavily tainted with the tritone, something that Bach probably would never write); in part an effort to outdo myself (it has arguably one of the better structures among my fugues). I wouldn't call it the pinnacle of my work, but it represented a major step forward in my present fugal journey. And I have Mr. Critic to thank for that. Had I gotten only praise for my fugue in 7/4 instead, I probably couldn't have made such a step, or at least, couldn't have done so for a very long time.
So in short, I'd summarize my attitude toward criticism as, "my work is probably a lot worse than what the critics are saying, but that doesn't stop me; next time I'm gonna outdo myself in ways even the critics don't anticipate!".
Kudos for such a positive attitude (apart from the pre-emptive self criticism...). You seem to have turned a painful experience into something postive and constructive and acknowledged the insight in it.
Composers are very sensitive to criticism. A composition is like a child to its creator, and most parents can’t stand it when someone criticizes their child.
That’s why I rarely participate in discussions on this forum. Besides, I used to get paid for my criticism, so it goes against my moral beliefs to offer it for free :-) Still, I enjoy the entertainment, so I’ll stick around.
yes, especially composers who don't have any real children like me so in effect my compositions are my children. That and the dog....
Criticism is arguably the most significant driving force in my personal development. I am perpetually in the process of cataloging the reservations and critiques others express about my work. With these observations, when valid, (and doing my due dillegence to address them), incorporating them into future projects I can say, "Well, at least that can't be criticised in this one."
Critique can yield insights from a wide variety of sources too. Even individuals without a theoretical or musical background often provide practical and constructive feedback that proves very useful. Almost every human being is a listener.
Unfortunately what motivates me— that is, embracing criticism with a thick skin and a focus on improvement—does not apply to all. Not everyone approaches feedback with the same mindset. Some seek affirmation or validation, and even well-considered critiques can feel offensive or unwelcome in some contexts. Sometimes I forget this when offering my thoughts, which has done me little good.
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