This summer, Carl Vine delivers a brand new violin concerto to Australian audiences. The new work will be premiered on 20 and 21 July at the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House, in a performance given by esteemed violinist Dene Olding alongside the Australian Youth Orchestra and conductor Thomas Dausgaard.
The Violin Concerto will be performed as part of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra’s ‘Meet The Music’ series. Each concert in this series presents something new from the finest of today’s Australian composers.
Carl Vine discusses his composing with us, in the lead up to the exciting premiere of his latest work:
The Australian Youth Orchestra has gained a reputation as one of the most prestigious training organisations for young pre-professional musicians. How will the new violin concerto reflect their talents?
Although I didn’t set out with this explicit intention, the work has emerged as something of a concerto ‘for orchestra’ as well as for solo violin. It contains tricky solos for almost every instrument in the band, with the only real exceptions being trombone, tuba and contra-bassoon - though they make great contributions to sonic texture. Ironically, if I’d written the work for a professional orchestra that is likely to give a new work a couple of ‘half ’ rehearsal calls before the premiere, I would probably have reduced the technical demands on the players. But my past experience with youth orchestras suggests that the boundless energy and enthusiasm of young musicians is a formidable force, and a great ally to living composers. With the AYO, as the premiere performance training facility in this country, the benefits multiply exponentially. The standard of young performers emerging from its training programs, particularly in the last decade, has been truly exceptional.
What were the main challenges for you when writing a new violin concerto?
I have played a number of musical instruments, but never any stringed ones. I have a decent grasp of bowing, finger placement, double-stopping and other extended techniques, but without an intrinsic physical connection to the process I have always found it challenging to produce string parts that are going to feel ‘natural’ to the player. A composer’s greatest sin, in my book, is to write music that is impossible to play but sounds like it should be easy. I always aim for the obverse.
When you begin a new composition – how do you start the process?
Over the last decade I’ve evolved a method that starts with collecting small musical ideas - a simple combination of rhythm and harmony, for instance, or a germinal notion of sound texture implied by an interplay between different instruments. These can come from anywhere: a couple of chords overheard on background music in a restaurant, a moment of particular emotional effect on a film soundtrack, or a moment of genuine surprise in the concert hall. I work on these fragments independently, within the logistical confines of the current project, until each starts to develop a distinct character and their potential begins to expand. At this point they begin to borrow from each other and often develop unexpected relationships that lead towards a larger whole. But all rules are made to be broken, and the second movement of the concerto, which I’d always thought should be a ‘fast’ movement with a languid pool at its centre, was written mostly in exact consecutive order from start to finish.
What is your most important musical memory?
The important memories are marked by moments of spine-tingling musical transcendence. One day as an adolescent I was playing the pipe organ in the school chapel, and the sequence of chords wafting around the ceiling touched, just for a moment, something undefinable and sublime at my experiential core. It was sensate but not sensual, neurological but not intellectual - a vital sensation that defied analysis and that nothing other than music will ever evince. Since then I have had dozens of similar musical experiences, and they are the reason that I compose. I don’t want to sound pompous or specious, but such a powerful force linked so closely to the essence of the human experience surely demands our most devoted attention.
When you compose, what inspires you?
When I hear a piece of music is inspired by a painting or poem, I always prefer to cut out the middle-man and go to experience the original work of art. What inspires me about music is its ability to make us think and feel things that have no parallel in any other form, and can often not even be explained by a deeply affected listener immediately after the event. Why would I want to take this magical, amorphous power and straightjacket it by sensations that are better seen or read in another medium? I thought of subtitling my Violin Concerto “Algorithms of Love and Loss”. Although undefinable, magical and amorphous, the effect that music has on us is still bounded by the human condition, and nothing affects our being more than love and loss. So the subtitle would also be true of just about every piece of music I write. But, as I said just before, “I don’t want to sound pompous or specious”.