Questions to John Rutter: Advice for young composers

This blog post is part a series, in which John answers the questions he is most frequently asked.

What advice would you give to a young composer?

Today’s young composers could probably give me advice: they are adept at using all the electronic tools to aid composition to the point where a written score may be unnecessary (I lack that skill, though I have used Sibelius ever since it was invented to put my music on paper). They understand how to promote their work through social media, websites and soundbites (I haven’t a clue about all that, the highly expert Hannah does that for me). But as to the process of composition and the way of life it leads into . . .

Remember that composition is a highly technical process, like aircraft design or software writing. Acquire the best technique you can by careful study and analysis of the great masters. A single score by Bach, Mozart, Ravel, Stravinsky or any reputable composer is worth a hundred ‘how to compose’ textbooks. Compose in many different genres; if you think of yourself as a choral composer, write for orchestra, or chamber groups, or instrumental soloists. Broaden your horizons and skills.
When you have finished a composition, apply quality control. Go through it and ask yourself if every part, vocal and instrumental, is well-written in itself. Ask yourself if you could usefully cut anything out – less may be better. Ask yourself if the structure holds up, because if it doesn’t the audience will switch off. Be sure your performance intentions are crystal-clear: you can’t expect the performers to guess the dynamics, metronome marks, phrasing, accents, ritards and so on if they are not there in the score.
Take every opportunity to get your music performed, even if it is a local amateur performance. You’ll learn more from that than from any amount of armchair advice. Issues of acoustic balance and general practicality can’t be predicted from an electronic ‘performance’ on your computer. If a musician in rehearsal points out a problem, perhaps something impractical in their part like an awkward string-crossing, a difficult trill, an impossible vocal leap, that sort of thing – listen and learn. In my experience professional musicians are uncommonly helpful to apprentice composers; their advice is generally golden.
Make sure that your scores and the parts generated from them are 100% accurate – correcting wrong notes in rehearsal wastes everyone’s time – and that instrumental parts have good page turns and helpful cues.
Deliver on time and in accordance with the brief you have been given: an organisation asking for a fifteen-minute piece using ten instruments won’t thank you if you deliver a forty-minute one for twenty instruments. Be easy to work with: in rehearsal speak only when you are spoken to if someone else is conducting. If you get a reputation for being difficult, you won’t get asked again unless your music is of such stellar genius or your name carries such commercial weight that your patrons would walk over broken glass to get to your door.
Never write down to your performers or to your audience, it always shows. Whether it’s a symphony for a great orchestra or a children’s choir piece for your local church, give it your very best shot and put your heart into it. If you don’t believe in what you’ve written, you can’t expect anyone else to.
Setbacks, disappointments, rejections, hurtful criticisms, indifference, possibly economic hardship only a step away from starvation, inevitable self-doubt . . . all these go with the job. Develop a thick skin if you don’t already have one and enough self-belief to carry on. If you aspire to being a full-time professional composer, be willing to work very, very hard. Long hours are inevitable. Don’t expect days off or holidays when you feel like having one.
Don’t expect composition to make you happy, or rich, or loved and admired by all. If it’s a compulsion, you’ll do it anyway, and if any of the above good results do follow, that’s a bonus.
Accept that, however talented and diligent you are, luck plays a huge role in success. If luck isn’t on your side and you don’t achieve the recognition you hoped for, it may not be your fault. You could be lucky in other spheres of endeavour; composition isn’t the only way of life, so don’t be downhearted.

. . . Sorry if all this sounds depressing. So, what are the compensations of life as a composer? The thrill of a performance when it goes just right. The appreciation of one’s peers. The knowledge that you have touched people’s hearts – for me that’s the best of all.

Coming up next in the series: How do I get established as a composer?