Patrick Ellis

To me, on a fundamental level, a composer writes the music and deals with anything else that is central to the creation of the piece.

It does get a bit murky when you are working closely with instrumentalists or vocalists. But in my eyes, I would see them as ‘producers’, as they are often using their expertise to improve the piece on a practical level.

When I first began to get involved in composition and the world of contemporary music that surrounded it, I don’t remember feeling as though there were high barriers in front attempting to block my curiosity or preventing me from being a composer; I know that when I was in my late teens, I was pretty headstrong in wanting to immerse myself in it as much as I could and become a composer.

Looking back now though, I was incredibly privileged and fortunate to have several brilliant mentors early on who encouraged me to begin my pursuit of this field (shoutout to Louise Yeadon, Pande Shahov and Martin Read - a big thank you to all three of them).

That being said, by the time my applications rolled over for applying to Conservatoires at an undergraduate level, I felt as though my tastes and music didn’t quite align with some of the departments that I visited at the time. Were my pieces too minimal? Was my portfolio too tonal? Should I have really told the panel that the music of Peter Maxwell Davies was a big influence rather than Philip Glass?

Glass you could say I was influenced by a bit at the time, but I would name-drop Maxwell Davies sheepishly in the hope that it would give me some brownie points from the different panels that I visited. It felt as though despite having the privilege of some additional mentoring on top of my brief checks on my GCSE and A-Levels composition modules, that I was not ‘in the know’.

Many of the composers and techniques that an ‘ideal candidate’ was meant to know were almost exclusively taught at a Junior Conservatoire or were behind a myriad of academic journals in large libraries or on niche websites, frustratingly behind paywalls. Some of my colleagues who were auditioning might have had several years of a head start to where I was at the time, or just purely had more resources and time to learn the ‘right’ things.

Fast-forward to today, I am very big on trying to make sources and documentation about being a composer and the world of contemporary music as open and free to view as possible (without compromising or ‘dumbing down’ the content). To blow my own trumpet, I have been the Creative Director of PRXLUDES for three years, and a large part of that organisation is to platform in the most accessible way possible, the ideas that emerging and early-career composers are exploring at the moment. There are no paywalls or subscriptions, it’s just out there for the whole world to view for free.

Over the past few years, I have been particularly drawn to making audiovisual work and to pairing acoustic instruments, fixed electronics, and different tunings together.

As a student composer, I actively avoided a lot of that, preferring to keep things quite straightforward with how the instruments were set up and the stage setups; for example, I generally avoided extended techniques (especially during my undergraduate degree), I usually allocated one percussion instrument to each performer and only used a limited palette of sounds when I opted to use electronics and guitar pedals.

It’s inevitable as an artist that over time, you will begin to get tired of some of your creative traits and aims, but time doesn’t permit you to pivot somewhere else. When it came to the Covid-19 lockdowns, percussionist and now friend, Gabriele Segantini contacted me to ask if I would be interested in working with his trio XTRO to create a new piece; the timing of everything being largely shut down, provided me the opportunity to ruminate on my ideas and to explore a different direction, resulting in my first audiovisual work, Objects and Portrait Projections (2021).

With regards to the pairing of acoustic instruments and fixed electronics that started a bit earlier on. I can remember tentatively dipping my toes into making electronic music in 2011 during the summer after finishing my GCSEs, effectively creating my first ‘portfolio’. I would quickly switch to mainly writing for acoustic instruments when I was preparing for my Conservatoire auditions portfolio, but for various assignments in further and higher education, I would make the occasional ‘electro-acoustic’ piece.

The first time that I tried to combine live acoustic instruments with electronics was with my 2015 piece, 20 Years and 81 Days (2015), which was workshopped and then performed by the Swedish Electric Guitar Quartet, Ensemble KROCK.

Shortly after, I met and then befriend one of my long-term collaborators, Chris Cresswell, who encouraged me to explore this approach further and gave me the opportunity to compose several works with fixed media for himself and with his chamber group, 315 Ensemble.

These pieces are Unbranded Ensemble Piece (2017), Detunes, Drones (2018), Augmensions and Extentations (2024) and Spinning Around, Slowing Down (2025). Ever since Objects and Portrait Projections (2021), most of my compositions have included electronics in some way.

When it comes to pairing different tunings together, that has perhaps been my most recent interest (even though it started several years ago!). I first dabbled with the idea whilst I was working on a soundtrack project that ended up being shelved due to time constraints. Despite the project not happening, I really liked what I had created, and so I wanted to try to bring that into my concert music.

Early experiments with this were Fractured Motion (2022) and Between Two Trios (2022), which are characterised by these swells between the live instruments and the electronics, the latter of which is what the entire piece is based around. Taking things further, I began to embody this technique amongst other ideas, with works such as Broken Superficiality (2024) and Moments of Escapist Thoughts (2024).The swelling between the tunings is no longer the main part of the piece, but it is still an important element in each of these.

Admittedly, I would say that the vast majority of my output as a composer has been largely abstract in nature, focusing on the medium that I am writing for in a particular project or concerned with what I want to explore on a musical level.

Having said that, during most of this decade so far, I have tried to push myself a little and use some of my works as a vessel to respond to the world that we find ourselves in. I started this run on an ecological level, using the rise of the average global temperature as a system to form the basis of my 2020 work, Around Clocks.

And in Objects and Portrait Projections (2021), I examined plastic pollution by repurposing drinks bottles and canisters paired with stocked visuals that featured scenes of environments that had been deeply affected by plastic waste.

Similarly, I wrote Broken Superficiality (2024) as a jab at Neo-Liberalism, which was composed during the backdrop of the lead-up to several world elections, whereby the populations felt a bit disillusioned with the options on offer and the mass layoffs that were beginning to occur in some sectors of the corporate world.

On reflection, I felt that perhaps this was far too big a theme for me to truly tackle as a composer and to transfer those ideas into an instrumental ensemble work. So, in light of that realisation, I wanted the following piece to be scaled back and to be more concerned about what brings light amongst the heaviness of the modern world, and so I composed an audiovisual work, Moments of Escapist Thoughts (2024), for the trio, Terra Invisus.

For that piece, I asked the three musicians (Alex Lyon, Rebecca Burden and Milda Vitartaitė), what things that they found escapist (answers ranged from the woods to yarn to charity shop vases), videoed these objects and scenes (with help from Alex and Milda) and then edited them into a semi-abstracted tapestry full of different colours and textures; musically, this was paired with material that weaved between different tunings, registers, textures and timbres, resulting in blurred and murky character throughout.

In terms of what I’m wishing to respond to now, I’ve turned my attention more towards the music industry / sector and musicians themselves. At the time of writing, I am developing two audiovisual works, Insights into an Industry, for the ensemble Standard Issue, which will explore burnout within the classical music industry using quotes from over 200 anonymous responses and The Relationship with…, for To Your Ear Collective, which will interview each member of the group about their relationship with their instrument. Both of these are completely new subject matter to me, but I am intrigued by how the processes will unfold and what the resulting compositions will be like.

London is a vast city with something cultural happening every night, often with clashes on the same evenings!

I’ve only been living here for around nine months, so I would say that perhaps it has been a bit too early for the city to really directly influence my own music. In the year or so leading up to my move down here, I would frequently travel here on weekends for concerts, so perhaps the city started to embed itself into my work before I even lived here.

When going through my music, you could make the case that Moments of Escapist Thoughts (2024), due to some of the locations being filmed in London, is influenced by London, but that was more of a general response to the modern world, rather than this city in particular.

My friend, Wilson Leywantono, would often quote a phrase lifted from a class with Howard Skempton, ‘Beauty is in the absolute balance’, which in Wilson’s context was a justification to use intuitive intervention when dealing with systems that derived from conceptual themes and that phrase can ring true also when juggling between the roots of one’s own practice and the unknown.

I would like to think that I am always trying to push myself into new directions, even ever so slightly, with each piece that I create, but if something feels ‘too far’ off for me at that point in time, then it will likely get discarded before the final piece is made.

When it comes to honouring composing’s roots and the unknown in a more general sense, that personally feels as though it’s far too loaded of a thing for me to really obsess over; for me, when it comes to writing I just want to move ahead with what I have done more than anything, and ideally also enjoy the process and be proud of the end result.

Certainly! Whilst there have been so many ideas, concepts, techniques, processes, and sounds explored over the history of music, there are new things being tapped into all of the time.

Personally, I try not to get hell-bent on making something “new” to contribute to the New Music world per se, but rather I am trying to make something that is “new” for me.

In terms of the wider picture, I suppose there is more to tap into with new technologies (virtual reality, particularly) and instrument building, particularly, but I honestly couldn’t really give you much of a detailed answer on those elements.

In terms of electronic tools, all of my music that has been scored and/or recorded has used notation software and/or DAWs to notate, record, and/or write the material; I do use pencil and paper too, but I have also found myself using Word documents, excel and the notes app to help aid my creative process. Going from piece to piece, I always try to change this up, even if it does slow down my creative process somewhat.

When it comes to my current creative space, I am incredibly fortunate to have a small separate room in my flat, which hosts all of my equipment to help me compose and do any other work related to my music. In the past, I’ve had quite some precarious workspaces, which have included beds, sofas, and desks with bad chairs, where I would often be hunched over like Quasimodo.

Thankfully, I am not in a situation like that with this current space. What you would find in my workroom includes a desk, a laptop stand, a heater (incredibly important in the winter, as it does get pretty cold in my workroom), my electric guitar, books, a snake plant, a Super 8 camera, a fair few guitar pedals, and an audio interface.

On the one hand, it can be frustrating trying to make your music have an objective meaning, especially when, as an artist, you are typically more drawn to the abstract and interested in exploring sound at its purest level.

However, what I have found is that when I have added non-musical dimensions to my own work, it has aided the material to take unexpected turns and pushed me outside of my usual comfort zone (even if sometimes the expected result didn’t quite match what I had planned).

Generally, I wouldn’t say that I was a ‘conceptual’ composer, but I have found that when I do deal with non-musical themes, I typically opt to choose additional elements, such as visuals, to help aid the message or response that I am trying to get across to the audience.

As a composer, I typically use repetition, slow developments in the context of simpler material, and/or juxtapositions as a way to combat this; I don’t use those tools solely as a response to our ever-decreasing attention spans, that comes more from my own musical interests and using listening as a part of the composition process.

When it comes to me being a listener and an audience member, I tend to try to ‘lock in’ with an element in the piece, concentrate on that, and then try to make sense of where that fits in. Programme notes, of course, come in handy to help contextualise the work, but sometimes I just like to go into a concert with no expectations at all, and to just go for it.

My friend, Hugo Bell, once said that going to a concert is one of the few spaces in today’s world where you can get away from the constant feed of information and distractions from our phones, and that also rings true with me.

It can certainly make you question yourself during the writing process! In the past, I have asked myself, ‘Should I really put all of these many different elements and spend all of this time only for this piece to be performed once?’

That said, I have found that when I do allow for those risks and push for those different elements, it does sometimes pay off and lead to subsequent performances. When I have caved into those inner thoughts, I think that those works are often less successful and less enjoyable for the performers to play.

When you work with orchestras, larger-sized ensembles, and generally more ‘established’ groups, then the chances of more than one performance are quite slim. However, when you seek out collaborations with newer, emerging chamber groups/soloists and encourage collaboration between yourself and the musicians, then that does sometimes lead to more performance.

Since finding this out for myself, I try to seek out more of these types of projects, as I find them more meaningful and fulfilling.

At this point in time and for the past five years, all of my music has exclusively been written for live performance. I do use electronic elements in my work, however, and the intention for that is to enhance and add another dimension to the sound that is produced by the live performers.

I did have a recording project named Vallé (between 2013 and 2021), which most of the time was in the realm of an ambient, shoegaze, and instrumental dream pop aesthetic.

Looking back, I know that as time went on, I did bring elements from my concert music into Vallé and vice versa.

Works of mine like Objects and Portrait Projections (2021) Between Two Trios (2022), Fractured Motion (2022), Passing Through (2023), Moments of Escapist Thoughts (2024) and Pathways, Passages (2025), all utilise drum machine/beat sounds and/or emulate that ‘wall of sound’ aesthetic that I used to try to attempt when I was making music under my Vallé alias.

Intelligent composing and AI certainly have the potential to speed up some of the more ‘systemic’ and laborious work that makes up part of the composition process; none of this is really new for our world, though. For several decades now, there have been random number generators, spectral analysis tools, software looping, etc.

So the recent AI boom is more of an addition to the tools that we have available rather than completely revolutionising the practice. There are some composers who actually like the slow, laborious processes, such as Matthew Lee Knowles; to them, it’s an integral part of their practice.

Of course, the advent of generative AI has enabled people to generate music by simply writing a prompt and hitting a button, which really does make me empathise with those composers who primarily operate in the commercial and recording based worlds; that could sadly put a lot of people out of work. But on the same token, wouldn't that make some people (a small community only perhaps) want to boycott companies, labels and streaming platforms that do this?

When it comes to live music and contemporary classical music, I think that generative AI will just spur us composers and performers to focus even more on the live experience and the collaborative processes between ourselves. After all, music is all about creating, sharing ideas, and connecting with each other. If we take that away from the equation, then it is merely a digital product.

There are so many names to mention here. In terms of individuals, there are folks that I have known for a long time, and it has been a pleasure to watch them grow as artists, but there are also some composers whom I have come across more recently who have blown me away.

Naming a few of my colleagues and people around my age for the most part, composers such as Robert Crehan, Lise Morrison, Christian Drew, Lara Agar, Eden Lonsdale, Hugo Bell, Cem Güvan, Celia Swart, Thanakarn Schofield, Robert Coleman, Chris Cresswell, Alex Tay, Yixie Shen, Sky Macklay, Maya Verlaak, Robert Nettleship, Matthew Lee Knowles, Luke Deane, Paolo Griffin, Wilson Leywantono, Anibal Vidal, Gloria Xia, Neo Hülcker, Christine Cornwell, Zygmund de Somogyi, Anna-Louise Walton, Andy Ingamells, Sasha Scott, Rebecca Galian Castello, Peter Bell, James McIlwrath, Matt Gilley, James Oldham and Laila Arafah, I could go on, but I feel as though I would be thinking for a very long time.

In terms of performers, I’d like to give a shoutout to the ensembles Standard Issue, Terra Invisus, collective lovemusic, Freesound, Ensemble Klang, Kirkos, 315 Ensemble, XTRO, and Kluster 5, as well as soloists Kathryn Williams, Chris Cresswell, Alfian Emir Adytia, Huw Morgan, and Dauphine Van der Velphen. I have had the privilege of either working with them or I am currently in the process of working on a piece for them at the time of writing; they have all been great and dedicated to their collaborations with me on top of their steadfast commitment to performing and developing new music.

To blow my own trumpet again, but PRXLUDES, it was formed back in 2020 as a blog by Zygmund de Somogyi and over the five years has grown into an online contemporary music magazine that actively platforms and supports our rather niche community. Today, it includes Zygmund (as the artistic director and editor), myself (as the creative director), Georgie West, Sofia Jen Ouyang, and Finn Mattingly; very soon, we will be starting our first set of events with the PRX.LIVE Launch Party taking place on the 5th of February at Folklore in Hoxton, London.

With regards to other organisations, series and venues, there is SAOM, The Hundred Years Gallery, Avalon Cafe, Cafe Oto, Spanners Club, The Horse Hospital, 840 (ran by Alex Nikiporenko and Christian Drew), Eternal Series (curated by Sasha Elina), Radio Killed the Video Star (hosted by the charismatic James Oldham and ran by Resonance FM), Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival, Wigmore Hall’s living composer days, Centrala and Artefact in Birmingham, Mainly Slow Organ Music, De Link in Tilburg, Gaudeamus Festival, Rainy Days Festival in Luxembourg and November Music.

As a person who is very big on documentation, my gut feeling is to have most things available forever.

That said, documentation never truly recreates that in-person experience you have whilst you are at a concert; it’s purely to capture what happened and then be used as evidence to show that it took place.

I think for me it has been quite a central activity [that] I’ve been doing for basically half my life now. I've just turned 31 and I started composing when I was 15. So it's always been an activity to do. But I've noticed because it's been such a central part of my life it's sort of guided me, you know. It's not just work or a creative outlet, it's also almost social to a degree now, because I'm going to these new music concerts or experimental music nights, which had I not stepped into composition, [I] wouldn't [have] been [at] that. So it's a core part of my life. It's a process of making something, but a process of uncovering something as well that's maybe already there, or a change from the previous thing that you've done in music, you know.

Yeah, that was a few bases. But yeah, I think it's just a big part of what I do and who I am. And also, it's a process of just unraveling, and this thing that I've been involved in in different capacities for 15 years or so now.

That's an interesting one. For me, that has changed over the years. I think when I was a student in Birmingham [for my undergraduate degree], it was a lot looser because [it] was quite performance art heavy, a few people were quite involved in performance art. So maybe, say, 10 or so years ago, that boundary [was] maybe a lot looser. Since my master's degree [2017-19], I have been a bit more locked into concert music. So my way is a bit more defined now.

Obviously there's boundaries where if you give a bit of flexibility to the performer, it’s composition in the sense that it was your intention to allow them freedom. But then how they respond is then not so much your work, then it becomes more of a collaborative thing. But the name's still kind of tacked onto the piece, but then there’s sort of an asterisk mark of, ‘oh yeah, this bit, they did this.’ So maybe there's a bit more interplay.

I'm also in a duo, which is worth mentioning, and that's more from, for me, like a performance and curatorial side. And that's kind of funny, because we do have quite a heavy amount of input in how the pieces turn out, as they're quite open-ended. But I still see it as, okay, yeah, maybe I contribute to this element, but it's still their piece, you know?

So maybe as a performer, the boundaries are maybe much more defined. But then as a composer, I'm like, ‘they had quite an input into this, so is it really my sole composition?’ Or is it more of a collaborative work?

Again, some pieces I've done with video, and I still see making video as composition, like filming video is part of the composition process for me. Even though that without context is not composition, but because it's an element or a component into a piece, I see it as a composition thing.

Exactly. It's almost like, if it's a project where you're doing it from the ground up, not where someone approaches you and goes, ‘oh, here's a commission.’ When it's a more of a DIY ground up project, almost the WhatsApp chats or finding the venue or finding the funding, that's almost part of the composition process in some ways. In a very loose way.

For sure. It's as though if you're trying to do something from the ground up, you have to generally take on a lot more hats than if it was say like, you're going to have this piece played at this festival [with] this ensemble, this is the instrumentation [etc]. If you do something from the ground up, even if the performer approaches you, but they're also doing it from the ground up, you will [be] wearing a lot more hats and doing a lot more legwork before the actual composition.

It's almost unfair to write that part of the process off as just logistics. In some ways [this will] influence why the writing [takes] longer or [is] quicker or whatever.

It's generally a balance since I finished or left education like six years ago, but I think this year has been a lot more ground up actually, so things have been a bit slower this year for me. But I'd say it's sort of a balance between, about 50-50 more or less. Some things just fall into me sometimes, but actually some of the self-done ones, or these ones where you're approached but they don't have the money there yet, or they're like, ‘let's do this,’ but this is going to be a slow process to actually make it happen. They often turn out to be the more rewarding ones.

Going back to the previous question, there's more of a process [where] you're not just sort of there. ‘Oh, okay, they want me to do this. I'll do this. Bish bash bosh done.’

Yeah, schoolwork… In the UK we have a thing called GCSEs [for ages 14-16], which then leads into A-levels [for ages 16-18], which is the thing before a degree. So I guess it would be like the upper end of middle school, the lower end of high school. It was just set work we did as part of the module and I just really enjoyed the process, and I can't really remember when exactly it started, but because I was writing stuff. I knew I wanted to be in music when I was performing, but then that was the lock-in of like, I want to do this actually. Then I just dived into it and from the age of 16 I was like I'm gonna be a composer.

Exactly. So I was a trumpet player. Which is so far removed from where I am now.

Yeah, that's true. I wouldn't really say I'm an experimental composer, to be honest. Just because, I do obviously see the lines being very blurred, but I kind of see there's some people who call… I kind of see people like Louis d’Heudières or the New Discipline type composers, as being much more in the experimental realm, even though some of that is quite heavily notated and whatnot.

Again, like Jennifer Walsh I see as more experimental. I do almost latch on to more of the ensemble chamber kind of tradition. I'm generally not doing too many of my own performances. It's like I'm a composer and a performer, but not like a Composer/Performer in caps kind of thing. So yeah I do see myself more I guess as contemporary or new music. But when I explain it to non-musicians, I try and describe a vague aesthetic, which is not too niche to them. And then say, ‘but I write for classical performers doing this kind of thing.’

Well, I say kind of ambienty, but then sometimes also ‘Krautrock’ for the slower things, but then also I use electronics and visuals sometimes.If I was saying [it] to a composer [that] I take elements of rock music [etc], I would prefer to not use that terminology. But to someone who's not a musician or in the art world, I might as well say that.

A lot of people say that my music is quite minimal, I do sometimes say that my music is music of minimal means maybe, but it's not minimalist. Because, especially in the last few years, it's more [like] I'm trying to just throw in all these different facets and ideas.

I see myself sort of tied to strands slightly. Because I studied in The Hague, there is inevitable going to be ‘The Hague School’ tag, so that's a big one. However, over there, it's not like it was 25 or 30 years ago, where you have to write in a way that fitted in with these set of rules or in the vein of Louis Andriessen. It's changed a lot since then. But I obviously am part of that in some way. I did really like that kind of music before I studied there, and when I was there, I kind of really latched onto that.

But then equally, in a slightly contradictory way, I am slightly tied to the English, experimental composers of the 1960s and 70s. So I’m not maybe as aesthetically linked to them, I'd say, but I do like what they do. And again, I'm definitely not a Wandelweiser composer, but I like bits of their practice, and I kind of implement some of their ideas in pieces. Equally, I've used spectralism slightly as a reference point, although I don’t think I have ever truly committed to it. So generally with my approach, I am just poaching ideas and aspects from these different lineages.

Of course, so there's one piece that I composed earlier this year, which had a very slow and [kind of] bitty process. And there's another piece I did before that, which I wrote at the end of last year, [where] the turnaround time was quite a bit quicker. So maybe I could sort of talk through both.

So the two pieces were audio visual. The newer piece, which is actually the piece that had I started much further back, began after a residency that in did in Tilburg in The Netherlands back in 2022, where I had met and collaborated with one of saxophonists there [Dauphine Van der Velphen], after that project, we were keen to work together again.

So usually with these projects, either they approach me or I meet them through something or sometimes I do actually approach people as well because I see them, either at a show of theirs or they just kind of pop up on social media [I] appreciate what they do. And these are usually more emerging ensembles or artists rather than more established names because that's obviously a bit more of a navigation to get through. While smaller or lesser known emerging groups, it's a bit easier to navigate that process sometimes.

And so it's a case of just meeting them and then talking through ideas, because I typically work very well from just getting as much info from them as possible, in terms of like, ‘okay, if you're premiering this piece, what's going to be in the programme, or what are you planning to have in the programme? Is there a theme to that? Is there this? Is there that? Do you have rep you've got from other things?’

And then in terms of generating material, there's things like,‘oh, what do you like playing? What do you hate playing? What techniques do you like playing? What techniques do you hate playing? And that influences it obviously.

Then you take the instruments, you can go through all the techniques they do, or the things they're good at and things they're not good at, then use what the performers have said and try and find the spot where they fit together, and if there's any sort of extra musical ideas based off the theme of the concert or the event, or if there's a thing maybe I've done and I want to like doit from another angle…

So two pieces last year, one was about neoliberalism, the fall of that, and the crumbling of that. And then to follow on from that, I did a piece which is more about, it was called 'Moments of Escapist Thoughts', and it was basically [about] like escaping the busyness of the modern world. I asked the three performers ‘okay, what are your escapist things? Just like mundane objects or things. And they were all these random things like, ‘oh, I like to have a coffee, or go into the woods for a walk, or eat some popcorn’ and these kinds of things.

So all these random items were then included as part of the video. And again, as I said earlier, I asked them about techniques and ideas, and also they chipped in things that they were keen to explore, so that obviously then came into the piece.

So while I'm starting a piece from the offset, I'm trying to get information from them usually, when it's a more collaborative thing. And then I start to build that in as I'm writing. Then because that piece was kind of visual elements, it was [about] finding locations. The performers all chipped in ideas [of] where they would be. So I did a half a day with one of the performers, just filming these objects in the woods, and that was really nice because it was a way for me to get to know them more as well. So again, going back to composition almost being socialist, it kind of can be in that way, part of the process.

Then it was just a case [of], after the chats, now it's my time to just lock away and lock in and build this thing from all the information I've got. Because obviously you can keep checking and asking and doing this and that, but you need at least a point where you kind of actually just step away and lock in and make it happen.

A lot, not all the time, but a lot of the time, structurally I'm quite intuitive, it's quite material led. So it's kind of based off of how things flow from one to the next. I've noticed the freer flowing pieces are definitely when I'm doing that more material led music, I guess slightly narrative driven, not like this and then this, but like this will change into this and then we'll change into this and maybe will divert slightly. But then once you’ve got used to that, it’ll become part of the whole framework.

But then, saying that, in the past I've done more choppier things, I've planned like this many bars, this will happen, then this will happen, then… So it does depend really. I think it's just, I've been, in my process, using more intuitive led [thinking], the structure or the form coming out of the material writing. But then in terms of things like pitch, that's often intuitive, but then sometimes how I extend that material, it becomes a bit more like, ‘oh, I did this, I'll do this or…’ Again, in a way the pre compositional chats or the process chats, that's a process in a way. You know, it's like, ‘oh, if they like that, I'll do that then.’ ‘They don't like this, oh, I might not.’ ‘They say they don't like doing tremolos, but these tremolos on a bass clarinet and the cello sound really good, so I'm going to do a tremolo here, sorry,’ type thing.

On the surface that was very intuitive, but then I've got smaller processes that [are] not overarching pre-planned grand things, but they almost aid quick decision making. Or when I’m stuck, they aid me to move forward. It's like, ‘oh, I'm really stuck, I don't know what to do.’ ‘Oh, just do this then. Or there's this thing I did before, this thing in the other piece someone else did, I don't know… I'll try that in here.’

I think things like visuals do help aid that actually, a lot. So there's a piece I did a few years ago called 'Objects and Portrait Projections', and that's kind of a funny one because it uses these plastic bottles and then plastic canisters, and the early version uses pots, but that got taken off, it's like an optional element. But then to aid it there's also in the visuals these stock footage videos of plastic pollution. So even though in the title and the program I don't really refer to the piece as being… So the piece is kind of a duality thing, it's sort of about COVID and sort of about plastic pollution, and then also sort of about an object piece.

So sometimes when I do things, it's a bit vague and I wouldn't say I'm a conceptual composer and fully commit to that being the highest thing. I'm much more material driven, I think. But when I do put extra musical ideas in, I usually try and put them in in the more overt ways, and then let the material be a bit more unaffected by it if I can.

That being said, again contradictory, that piece about about Neo Liberalism, Broken Superficiality, that was a lot more abstract in nature. But I do state ‘I use like these sounds and [these] kinds of pitch bends and all these things, like decaying and kind of straining,’ but these material that also [are] slightly straining for the saxophonists as being the conception of, and influencing the material, or how the material wrote the material kind of thing. It was like, ‘oh, this is the idea, and then that's going to influence all the material.’ So it’s again a precursor to that, rather than kind of going, ‘oh, it's got to be about like this, so I’ve got to like change this and change that.’ It was like, ‘oh, this is the thing, this will influence this.’

Whereas definitely in the past as a student, I think I did pieces where this is this and material must be this like, if it doesn't fit to that, then it's not... But then I got more picky and material driven I think after a while, and then it was kind of like, well, if I have a concept idea, it can't completely dictate… just because I'm more playful and exploratory with the material when I'm writing nowadays. So I don't like having too much set in stone from the beginning.

The best thing is if both can coexist, and you write great material, and it still shows the point. But whether I've done that much is a different question, I guess. I've attempted at least.

Well, when you say dies, what do you mean by that? Like, oh, I can't actually play this…

I guess with that, once you've done the writing and then they've performed it once, and then it's lucky to get a few performances more, it then takes on its own life. It's like another thing. I actually interviewed a pianist last year named Zubin Kanga and he was advocating for multiple performances of new works. And he was said that it’s only after around five performances that you start get the hang of the piece and begin to see into the world of composer.

That’s kind of interesting on that point, if it does get multiple performances, it does grow into something else. Because it goes to all these places and it's different acoustics or the performer might performer the work slightly differently, or they might even make a mistake which changes the material ever so slightly. Even after the first performance, the performers could turn around and say, ‘oh, that was great, but this could be changed,’ and that's the thing where they're still involved in this actively growing, changing thing.

If you have a new piece premiered, but the performance doesn't go out as you hoped, and then it's not played again, it's becomes locked into that. I'm sure every composer has a piece where, I certainly do, and close friends who are composers certainly do, where there's a piece [where] the performance kind of ruined how that is perceived, [and] actually, the piece is better than, or they believe the piece is better than how the performance turned out, type of thing. It's not blaming the performer or anything, but it just didn't quite work out, but then sadly it wasn't performed again, so it's just stuck as that.

In terms of earlier on in the process, as you mentioned, I'm kind of happy for them to input, especially because you're writing for live instruments, but also people really, and if you have the luxury and the time and the accommodation from them to be collaborative I try and utilize that.

It's more enjoyable for me as well, because there are more twists and turns, and you go sometimes to places which you wouldn't have done otherwise. You can obviously use systems or try and think a bit deeper to not use your default, go to things that you do in a composition, but then sometimes asking a performer it’s kind of like they take you, you're over here, and then they go, ‘oh, what about over here,’ and then you go, ‘oh, okay,’ and then that comes into here. I relish that, I enjoy that, more and more and more.

I don't really like it when it's just me in my room doing the thing alone. The more they put in, and put bollards or whatever [up] for me to swerve around, the better actually I think, in the process and the piece.It was also interesting, because I do interviewing quite a lot, but a friend I interviewed earlier this year, he said about how he was quoting his dad, and he was mentioning about a sort of what influences his composition, and he says when you hear someone's piece and [feel] like ‘oh, how did you think of that?’ And you're completely blown away by it as an audience member, but to them, they sort of [feel] like, ‘oh, it's just really obvious to me,’ kind of thing.

It's sort of like that with performers. I guess for most of Escapist Thoughts, I was sending a few ideas and sketches and techniques to the bass clarinetist [Alex Lyon], and she was like, ‘oh, that doesn’t really quite work, but [what] I guess is really obvious to me is this technique,’ and I was like, ‘I would have never considered that at all, and for you that's just like second nature type of thing.’

It's stuff she would have learned either from her performance degree, or just through her work or online, but it's just second nature to her now, and I was like, ‘oh, that's amazing,’ but obviously to her it’s just an obvious thing.

But to go back to the question, I do love when there's those sorts of changes, and again you're writing for people, not just instruments. It's different when you are working with electronics because that’s more about your own relationship and exploration with the software or the equipment. But you're still working closely with a thing, it very much just does what you say.

For a composer and their working process, the best kinds of performers are those who are active during the writing and will be opinionated with the material that you have written before it gets completed.

Definitely. I think it's kind of funny, because that's what's kept me writing for live musicians, because I just enjoy the process and then being in the room, it's very niche and to most people, almost a bit of an alien situation where, because a lot of people understand someone performing their own songs, but obviously, some people, even people who work in the arts, other art forms are still like, ‘oh, that thing still exists where people write on notation, and then they're not even conducting or performing, they're just sitting in the room, or not even in the room sometimes.’ I just really enjoyed that actually, the process and everything aside, I actually just enjoy that because in a way you wrote it for yourself, and it's like, I want to experience that myself, and then hopefully the bonus is that it works. Performers enjoy playing it, it fits with the night or it complements the program, and the audience enjoy it, they're the bonuses. I'd say it's like you, then the performers/the concert, then the audience, I think.

I think I'm always looking at it and then reflecting. How do I do this? How do I do that? And then bringing different things in sometimes, taking things out as well, that's important.

I think the taking out is a bit less conscious, you do it subconsciously, like, ‘oh, I've done this thing a lot, I need to twist it a bit.’ Because, you said what is composition to you earlier, and it’s like, that's also kind of composition, this long-term breadth of work, this kind of, ‘I'm reacting to this, and this, and this,’ and maybe a year, 10 years ago, [and] this piece was really random because it was almost out of context for everything else, but then you start doing things near to that later down the line, and it starts to make the dots connect a bit more.

So, yeah, I do see it as a long-term practice, and more and more, I do find things that are longer-term much more fulfilling, even if it's a commission piece, I don't go, ‘oh, I need to fulfil a commission,’ it's like no, it still needs to fit within this limit, because there's a reason why they’ve approached me, or they're willing to put something on the line, they're entrusting me to do something, and a lot of those folks will know they don't want a typical thing you've done already, they almost want you to do the thing that is a bit different and fits the thing, but it pushes it further. Because then they will be like, ‘well, we commissioned this piece, we were the ones who made them do this, we did this,’ kind of thing, you know.

I think it's important to continually use that as reference, and I don't always think of that really overtly and deeply when I'm writing, but it's always there in the back of my mind, I think. It's not like when, as a student, where you're like, ‘oh, I'll try this, and I'll do,’ a spectral piece, and then an electronic piece, and then.. that's very good for exploring and stuff, and in some ways you go ‘oh, I'll try this thing into what I do,’ but [I’m] always bringing elements in now, rather than ‘I'm gonna do a serial piece or something.’

That being said, I'm not like, ‘oh, I can't do this because I do this type thing as well.’ It's very fluid, and trying things is always important and good and keeps everything moving forwards.

Definitely ingratiating audiovisual practices into my work. There's a project I'm probably doing next year, [and] I was talking to the curator / ensemble leader about it, and they're like, ‘We’ve got a concert taking place in April next year that will be right up your street, it's an audiovisual and objects concert,’ he was like ‘that's king of like your thing,’ and I was thinking after the conversation, that's really funny because six years ago that was not my work at all. It’s almost like someone, not in a bad way, but like this pigeonhole of ‘this will be your thing.’ It was really interesting, actually.

So I’ve definitely been working in the audiovisual realm a lot, Objects and Portrait Projections was the first work of these, a few years prior, I did some practice things for modules with visuals, but just for a course during my master’s. But Objects and Portrait Projections was the first work with video I did, and I've done like four pieces since, and you know, I'm not writing lots and lots in a year, it's fairly steady at the moment. So four over a few years is like, that’s enough to be part of what I do now.

I mean I always dabbled with fixed electronics for fixed media for a long time, but it was always on the occasional piece, like I mentioned earlier about doing a piece that just sticks out at first, but then you do it a bit more later, and it's like, ‘oh, it's a precursor to this.’ [I’ve] done a lot of things with fixed media, but you talk about trajectory, but [the] next steps is just using live a bit more, just because I for some reason early on, I was quite terrified of it, or just what I had, I didn't… the things that I had live, I just didn't like, but my opinion on that’s completely changed, and I do want to delve into that a bit more, and things like the visuals as well, I kind of delve into using different cameras now as well, so even though that's… but again we we're talking about the what is composition thing earlier, jumping again, me going ‘instead of using my phone camera, I'm going to buy this old camera,’ that's a compositional choice, and that's an aesthetic thing, just moving into that kind of thing, and there's obviously going to be themes around that.

Musically, though, because a lot of my music early on was very contained, and I talked again about music of minimal means, and being very limited material, some development, sometimes there'll be very harsh sectional jumps, juxtapositions. So those are very minimal flowing or harsh jumps, and it's kind of moved into a hybrid, where I'll do a thing and it'll slowly change, and at some point, I'm just going that way now, just like change all of a sudden.

I think, because I've just done so much of this really contained or juxtaposy thing, but I want to just do something where it's this thing, and then just jumps somewhere else, and then maybe it goes back slightly, but with a different angle, just I'm playing with, like I said earlier, the structure is generally intuitive material that I do consciously put these interruptions or these switches in a bit more now, just because I've done so much music, which slowly diverts or jumps around, you know.

Typically not, I think. Like with fixed media I do use things to expand the sound world, but that's based off material that I either wrote or generated, and then it’s just extended the sound. It's like orchestrating the sound out, but instead of being live instruments, it's fixed electronics or doubling or doing the same pitch but tuned differently. I don't think so, no.

I’m more intuitive, typically don't use an algorithm or anything. I have dabbled with it a long time ago, but generally, no.

That's a weird one, because I've jumped location a few times over the last 10 years. I've lived in four different places in 10 years, so I haven't really seen a scene grow, because a lot of the time a scene grows out of nothing, gets to a point, and then dies off, because sometimes it's just people move away, simple as that, but sometimes it's a bit more slightly depressing, like there's a series, but then the funding stops, and then they had to stop the series, and then that lack of funding just stops the scene completely. Yeah, there was definitely like 10 years ago the composer-performer thing, but I’ve seen a lot more people adopting that in the more DIY things. Sometimes the composer-performer is actually a performer who's composing rather than a composer-performer. In the bigger ensemble-orchestral stuff I've heard people say there’s almost a generational split between, it doesn't quite split like millennial/gen Z, but it’s somewhere in between, before and after the lines. It depends on the person as well, there was a guy, and this is quite a London-centric thing, who's about five years or so older, who said that the ‘older generation’ were looking at British modernist composers, or a second wave of them, and then they would, in the post-modern way, tap into these other things, and then bring them in from research, or just it was in their background, but it was still the approach of ‘I'm doing a classical piece, but bringing this non-classical thing into classical.’ But this guy said now there's a new generation [and] they’re not bringing it into classical, it's all just free-for-all, and they're not bringing like football chants [into a] piece, it's like the football chant is the piece-type thing.

It's maybe not aesthetically different, but it's a mentality shift I think. It's not age-specific or generation-specific, but I see myself a bit more in the newer camp generally. But then I've been doing that kind of thing, thinking that way [for] a long time, but it seems more commonplace and normalized now, compared to composers who have been on the circuit [for] 15 [or] 20, 25+ years or something. That's one thing, for sure.

Also there's a lot of, because people like Matthew Shlomowtiz and Jennifer Walsh and all these New Discipline people are quite established now and big. Again, I was at a DIY thing last week and there were a few things like that, where there's these different elements. There was a guy who took these YouTube videos about London and had all these videos [with] very few views but they're just on YouTube, and he took them as source material and then wrote material to enhance or narrate around these clips.

Yeah, I don't know to be honest, I don't think there's a particular aesthetic or thing, I think the changes are more mentality and approach, generally.

I mean maybe you could say that contextually, maybe there's more composer-performer stuff because in most countries, even the countries with the bigger arts funding, the arts funding is just dwindling everywhere. Because for the last 10 years, it was always [the] UK, US, the more anglicized countries that are moaning about arts funding, and Germany, and Netherlands, and France have this and we’re so jealous, but now even they're having funding cuts, so it's dwindling all across the board.

But people are turning to wearing more hats, like they're curating as well as being composer-performers. The social media boom has led to composers becoming their own marketers as well, and there's some people who are actually really good at that, they've really utilised that, and that's quite a creative compositional outlet, like people have done things using those platforms in a really creative way as well.

Most of the significant influences on my compositional journey so far have been from my close colleagues, many of whom I studied alongside during my years at The Royal Conservatoire of The Hague (for my master’s), the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire (for my undergraduate degree) and even at Alton College (where I studied my A Levels and had my first experiences with getting my music performed). Of course, like many others, each of my composition tutors had a vital impact on the musician I am today, but I think when you are studying in tight-knit communities like a Conservatoire composition department, where you are also spending time together outside of your studies (sometimes even living with them!), you are inevitably going to become naturally bounce off each other a lot.

Since my masters’ graduation in 2019, I have also been fortunate to have met a lot of inspiring composers and performers who have also made me challenge some of my perceptions and views on music that I was quite stubborn about throughout my studies. Perhaps at my core, not much has changed, but I think I have been more receptive to ideas that I previously did not consider. This is particularly the case in recent years, as I have been fortunate enough to be the co-artistic director (alongside the wonderful Zygmund de Somogyi) of PRXLUDES, which is an online magazine that interviews and promotes emerging and underrepresented composers; in many of my conversations with the artists that I have featured, there have been many ideas that have simultaneously affirmed, but also challenged my beliefs.

After the Covid lockdowns, I began working closely with longtime friend and colleague, Peter Bell and together we formed Open Union, an experimental duo that performs and closely collaborates with different composers from around the world. To date, we have worked with Paolo Griffin, Christine Cornwell, Wilson Leywantono and May Chi, with a new piece by Seán Clancy currently under development. When you are operating under more of a performance/curatorial capacity you see a completely different side to the process of creating and platforming a new work, which I believe that I had previously overlooked; it has certainly made me more aware and appreciative of other performers and has informed me to think about other considerations during the composition process.

I think also worth mentioning that you get particularly interesting perspectives and views from audience members/listeners who are not composers or performers themselves; there have been many times when they have told me that my music reminds me of something unexpected and that has led me to discover new ideas and artists who I would not have previously considered. Those who attend contemporary and experimental music concerts who are not composers or performers themselves need to be protected at all costs!

Each project has its own challenges and pleasures that are unique, however, I think a recurring one in recent years has been trying to carve out the time to compose and then to be productive during that working session.

In recent years, my pieces have begun to incorporate more elements such as fixed electronics, different tunings and visuals, which inevitably makes the whole process of composing longer; admittedly, I have sometimes underestimated the time that it can take to bring each of these components together, but I think that now that I have begun to use these ideas more, I’ve become a bit more efficient and better at managing these slightly more complicated projects.

Another important challenge would be trying to compose something that not only satisfies your own artistic needs but is also enjoyable/stimulating for the performers to play. With the more successful pieces, I’ve often found that there was a good ‘pre-compositional’ process, where that was a back-and-forth dialogue between myself and the performers; I believe that the more there is of this for me, the better the composition.

If someone were to ask me, ‘Can I listen to some of your music?’, without hesitation I would show them Objects and Portrait Projections, which is a piece for objects, visuals and fixed electronics that I wrote for XTRO back in 2021. I think in some ways it’s a nice marker that summarises what I had been exploring in the few years prior, but it also was the start of my experimenting with visuals, objects, and alternative timbres, it was also the start of me incorporating fixed electronics as a more central element to my music.

With more recent works, I’d like to mention Moments of Escapist Thoughts, an audio-visual composition that I wrote towards the end of last year for the trio, Terra Invisus as well as Broken Superficiality (2024) which I composed for Ensemble Klang and Between Two Trios (2022) that was originally written for Kirkos and then later reperformed by the French ensemble, collective lovemusic; both of those pieces were performed at last year’s Gaudeamus Festival in Utrecht in The Netherlands.

Honourable mentions go to Fractured Motion (2022), an immersive hybrid installation/concert work for saxophone quartet (performed by the Tantrum Saxophone Quartet), electronics and visuals, which I wrote as part of a Residency for the Dutch series, De Link in Tilburg. There’s also Breath, Patterns, Bends, which I wrote in 2018 for Kathryn Williams’ Coming Up for Air Project, which she has performed many times around different parts of the world (it was more recently included as part of Larry Goves’ Coming Up for Air Concerto) and has also been performed twice by the flautist Tilly Coulton who is a member of the ensemble Standard Issue. It’s also worth mentioning Unfolding Chamber Piece, which is quite an old work by this point, but it’s a piece that I am still proud of and in some ways opened a few doors for me.

My music is often austere, and singular, with an emphasis on small developments and the blending of different familiar, yet unfamiliar timbres together. Usually, the material is centred around a few selected parameters or musical material; sometimes, these ideas are influenced by non-musical themes, but often they are inherently abstract and exist within the confines of the piece.

The methods and my routines with how I work when composing usually correlate to my artistic concerns at the time, but also how my life is at that moment. For example, during my A Levels in the early years of when I began to consider myself as a composer, I would usually go into the music department computer rooms during the lunch break and compose there; all these pieces would have been very intuitive and based around core musical parameters or non-musical ideas that informed the material.

If you were to compare that to the past few years, a lot of my work has become more collaborative, and so I tend to seek out more in-person workshops and meetings to discuss ideas and explore sounds with the musicians that I am working with. A lot of the work still remains in solitude, at home, in a library or a café, but I usually need more influence from the performers as I now prefer to compose a piece for those musicians, rather than a lineup of instruments. When I have made audio-visual works, I have sometimes invited the performers to take part too and that has also proved to be a useful way to get to know who you are working with better in a slightly more natural and spontaneous environment, rather than having a formal meeting over video call or for a coffee.

I’m going to quote an interview you did with Joe Cutler for this series back in 2018: ‘To keep going and to help others along the way.’ When you boil down what being a successful musician is, there isn’t really a better way to put it.

Always stay curious and allow for unexpected moments in your working process. When you build in flexibility when writing, you can often find surprising results that you wouldn’t have otherwise.

I think that most of the ideas/concerns have likely been mentioned by others who work in the classical music industry/community, but certainly, there should be more consistent coverage (in terms of performances, commissions, and press) of underrepresented/disadvantaged composers and performers. What I mean by that is programming a diverse range of backgrounds throughout the concert season rather than during a commemorative event.

Another one worth mentioning, which is particularly more relevant to concerts that feature living composers, is how contemporary classical music is covered; over the years I’ve noticed that a lot of reviews and articles on these events (at least in the UK) are blocked up by paywalls if documentation to these materials are made to be inaccessible, then I think that we aren’t doing ourselves much of a favour. I understand that there can be little money floating around with these sorts of things, but I believe that it is vitally important we try to document and log events/performers and composers as much as possible.

Juggling different professions at once, especially for those who have day jobs outside of the industry. I don’t think that there is zero dialogue about it, but I do believe that there’s also an unspoken rule that you’ve got to just work through it as it’s a privilege to be doing what we do. Most of my friends and colleagues who work in the industry often have other jobs in addition to their performance/composition practice but are expected to be committed and active as though they are working as a practitioner full-time.

There is a privilege with some composers who can work solely as a creative and often get fast-tracked because of the amount of time they have to spend on their practice; I am not knocking those people on a personal level nor trying to discredit their creative output, but there should be less stigma/judgement that they are less of a musician to those who have a slower output/career growth due to other responsibilities (this also includes people who have a family or caring duties).

Currently, I am working on a new audiovisual work with the London-based ensemble Standard Issue which will explore burnout within the music industry; as part of the piece, we shall be including reflections from over 200 different musicians, which will be embedded into the work in some way.

Also in the pipeline is a new long-form work for the two French-Canadian cellists, Laurence Gaudreau and Audréanne Filion (the former whom I met at last year’s Gaudeamus festival), which will utilise alternate tunings that are paired with fixed and live electronics.

I would like to think that in 10 years’ time I would still be composing, performing and curating in some way shape or form and continuing to push my artistic practice further. If I were to stop, I would like to think that it would be due to feeling completely fulfilled by what I have created and achieved, rather than having to be stopped due to circumstances outside of my control.

When working in contemporary classical music, I’ve not only enjoyed the creative side to it, but I have also found a lot of satisfaction through empowering and helping others, whether that be interviewing them for PRXLUDES magazine, workshopping and performing their piece in my duo Open Union, buying their record, attending their show, checking their scores or research papers before the deadline, etc. As the community is so small, it is a case of what you put in you get out.

I think my idea of ‘perfect’ happiness is to have a blend of contentment with their past achievements and a curiosity for the future. When it comes to composition, this blend of contentment and curiosity can lead to some special moments, as you are accepting of what you created in the past and therefore can be more open to experimenting with different procedures during the writing process.

Patrick Ellis (b. 1994, London) is a composer currently based in the UK. His works have been performed across the UK and continental Europe, as well as Malaysia, Australia, and the USA. Patrick studied at Royal Birmingham Conservatoire and Royal Conservatoire of The Hague; his work has won the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire Composition Prize and the Philip Bates Trust Audience Prize, and his pieces have been performed by ensembles such as Orkest de Ereprijs, the New European Ensemble, and the Residentie Orkest. Patrick also writes shoegaze and dream pop-inspired guitar music under the alias Vallé. Patrick spoke to PRXLUDES about his background and education in the UK and The Netherlands, his compositional process, and his records as Vallé.

Patrick Ellis: I started learning the trumpet at the age of 9, and then a bit later was playing in the secondary school jazz and wind bands. Being surrounded by an encouraging department and likeminded peers, I began considering venturing into music more seriously in some capacity in my early teens.

My first real involvement in composition began when I was around 15 years old. At the time, I had recently bought myself a Yamaha keyboard, and was beginning my studies for Grade 5 Theory and GCSE Music. As part of the latter, you had to write two compositions as part of the curriculum anyway. When we were at the stage of making some “practice” compositions, I thoroughly enjoyed the process and was encouraged further by positive feedback from my teacher, as well as peers in and outside of the music class.

At school, there was a choice between two softwares: Sibelius or Cubase. I preferred the latter at the time, as my method for writing involved drawing in the pitches on the piano roll and then adjusting the length of each of them to determine their note value – it was a very digital way of doing things.

When I finished secondary school and began my A-level studies at Alton College, I realised that my practice routine and abilities as a performing musician were not to the same level as some of my peers. In turn, I began to prefer writing my own music much more, over performing works be other people.

The music department at Alton College was really good, and the two teachers — Martin Read and Pande Shahov — were also composers. There had been generally a strong cohort of other student composers in the department. Prior to my studies, Laura Jurd, Hannah Dilkes and Richard Hames — who is now part of Ensemble x.y — were all music students, each who now have some involvement in contemporary music. During my time there (2011-13), there were several other students who were already pursuing and/or interested in composition: Lucy Hale, Alexander Ling, William KZ Hearne, Jess Holland and Dan Cippico — the latter whom is now based in Birmingham.

Having supportive tutors and a strong community made up of other composers really encouraged me to pursue composition further, and having an ad-hoc music group called the Composers Ensemble, which was made up of composers and a few instrumentalists who had been persuaded, it was very much a case of “writing for what there was”.

Definitely, it’s all intrinsically interconnected — you attend a concert, festival, course, scheme or a networking event, and you’re bound to meet someone who shares a mutual connection.

Yeah, that’s right. Funnily enough, when I was doing some interviews for my master’s research, one of the composers/interviewees, Laurie Tompkins, mentioned that his own interest and involvement in contemporary music stemmed from his fascination with left-field intros, outros and interludes that can sometimes be heard on various albums by even some of the more ‘mainstream’ rock bands.

This was also the way that I got into contemporary music, things Pink Floyd’s ‘Interstellar Overdrive’, and the second half of John Frusciante’s first solo record — ‘Niandra LaDes and Usually Just a T-Shirt’ — became the gateway to appreciating the avant-garde and experimental music.

In my first year, I primarily studied with Ed Bennett. Perhaps my most important lesson that I learnt from him was to really focus on my ideas; to be more consistent and coherent, to really narrow things down just a few fundamental things. Prior to my studies in Birmingham, a lot of my music had so many unrelated gestures stuffed in single movement pieces. At first, it was rather daunting to limit my ideas, but it has since become a core trait to my own music.

Going in to my second and third year, I began to pair down my music – writing sparser textures with a lot of sustained notes, somewhat akin to Morton Feldman and the Wandelweiser composers Michael Pisaro and Jürg Frey, but admittedly with a much more naïve execution. Seán Clancy, my main tutor at the time, had been taking found data, objects and materials from non-musical sources and translating/repurposing them into musical parameters for his own concert music (e.g. Forty-Five Minutes of Music on the Subject of Football). I found this approach really intriguing and began to experiment with these ideas in my own work, finding new ways to create different structures and materials.

For the final year of my bachelors’ degree, I switched my composition tutor to Andrew Hamilton, who from the get-go encouraged me to loosen up the way that I wrote music. Over the course of the year, his teaching helped me to put more work into the musical material and its surrounding parameters, as well as making me more aware of how to pace material – i.e. when to repeat, alter/develop or move on to another gesture. Maybe to some that might seem rather fundamental, but at the time I felt that my music had been bogged down by a lot of systems that the listener could not really perceive without a score and a lengthy, tangential explanation.

I took on the attitude that I wasn’t going to be super strict about my ideas; using it as a means to develop something. Rather than “the system is the piece”, the system is creating something which then I may or may not feel free to change and adjust. It became more of a balance between the abstract and the process, using the two together. Basically, I became less picky about things with Andrew. That was really important.

Exactly! From my fourth year in Birmingham, I began to tell myself “I don’t have to have my music completely chained to the system or the process”.

During my studies in The Hague, my writing became increasingly more about using the material as objects and the medium/occasion/ensemble to influence the piece, rather than imposing a removed idea on it. In general, I took the shackles off, but if I did use a process, then I would try to relate it to musical-based parameters; the instrumentation, the duration, the pitches, etc. It stopped being, “I’m going to use the date of birth of the performer to decide the number of notes in this piece”, and instead became “What are the ranges of this instrument? Can I build and develop a progressive underpinning from this?”.

There are still many fantastic composers who use processes as an integral part of their work – Tom Johnson, for example – but they are still informed by the context and medium that they are working with. I wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s [a] maturity thing, but you do begin to realise or learn from issues that were in previous pieces.

At the time, both of the Composition Departments had really strong communities, with many inspiring student composers.

During the early years of my studies at Birmingham, there was Maya Verlaak, Luke Deane, Andy Ingamells, Ryan Probert, Richard Stenton, Paul Zaba, and Fang Fang who were in the more senior years of the department at the time and actively involved in putting on events and encouraging the younger students to get involved.

In my year for undergraduate there were only two other composers (Robert Crehan and Wilson Leywantono). We were a tight knit group and over the four years we sort of grew together as composers and individuals. Comparing this to The Hague, my year group was full of eight composers who each had different compositional backgrounds. Some had studied their bachelors in The Hague before, but the majority hadn’t – there was someone from Brazil, someone from Ireland… everyone was coming from different angles and we each had different research projects. I think each of us respected each others’ work, but the influence on each other was much more passive.

From my own experience in The Hague, even first year bachelors’ instrumental and voice students had an appreciation for performing contemporary music. There were a lot more students from around the continent, compared to Birmingham, where the majority of the students were from the UK. Perhaps music education in a lot of mainland Europe has more of an infrastructure to teach younger students about contemporary and experimental music, but it could also be because it was The Hague.

Martijn Padding once said at a talk he did when he visited Birmingham, that in a lot of composition departments at conservatoires or university are like mini-cults in the corner of the building, while in The Hague, contemporary music and composition are integral parts to the whole institution. It’s interesting [to look at] the cultural differences. The infrastructure in The Netherlands supports contemporary music a lot more, there are so many ensembles. Comparing the UK and The Netherlands, there is a difference in how they perceive “the arts”, or value [in] the arts.

Yes, and I think that largely came from elements of popular music. When I was younger, a lot of the classical and modernist music that I was listening to at the time, had slow and subtle development, which then I didn’t appreciate or resonate with.

The fragmentation in my music also comes from an obsession with details; I’ll write some initial material, and then make various permutations of it… I’ll take a fine thing and expand it [in a certain way]. That was very much the thinking of ‘Unfolding Chamber Piece’ – working stage by stage, block by block, getting each element right to how I thought it should be at the time. I think that’s a good example of [my] fragmentation.

There’s pieces like ‘Ruin’ for large ensemble and ‘Components’ for orchestra that are generally a bit more flowing with the material. Both do have elements of fragmentation, but I changed my method slightly for those pieces. ‘Unfolding Chamber Piece’ was much more [to do with] event by event material and interlocking parts, with all of the instruments working as a unit and changing their material together.

My orchestral piece, ‘Components’, had a different method. It was about making a lateral foundation, and then building more flowing gestures and textures over the top of it. For the project, I was assigned a large array of instruments that was based off of [Sofia] Gubaidulina’s ‘Offertorium’, which included five percussionists, two harps and a celeste, alongside large brass, string and woodwind sections. The former selection were used mostly as the lateral foundation for the piece, while the rest of the orchestra acted as an overlay.

The foundation of the piece consisted of combinations of two progressions – each were five chords – and I used every permutation of those twice. There was also cyclical time signature progression [as well]. Part A would be [written] on the time signature I wrote it as, but Part B would be bumped to the bar before. They matched up every so often, but for the majority of the progression they were playing against each other. That was the foundation, and over the top [I was] occasionally pairing the strings, the brass and the winds with the underpinning, but deviating from it be transforming those into short gestures that resembled swells and quick ascending/descending passages. Sometimes, the percussion or core would leap out of the flowing and free parts, and vice versa. That piece was less [to do with] prominent fragmentation, but it’s still definitely there.

Yeah. I think ‘Unfolding Chamber Piece’ was very much [overt] in terms of its fragmentation, but ‘Components’ and ‘Ruin’ were much more of a hybrid between the prominent fragmentation and the use of a more systemised underpinning, with the former being the flowing textures over the top of the foundation.

The piece ‘Shrouded: Together and Against’ — which I composed for Psappha Ensemble’s Composing for… scheme last year — was taking that idea of that foundation, but building a slowly changing, cyclical [motif], and used that to [show] the way the material develops and changes. For example, you would have four [or] five bars of material, [which] would repeat, but for each repetition the first bar of the previous cell would be omitted and a new bar would replace it at the end— this recurred over the course of the whole piece.

Yes, it was, although I think in a lot of my music I focus on a select number of parameters. As you said, when you have more focused parameters, then it is easier to perceive changes in the material, which ‘Shrouded’ was done by using cyclical structures and slowly shifting repetitive material.

The use of the lower register actually came from an earlier solo piano piece that I wrote for Fumiko Miyachi that was part of a project during my final year in Birmingham. It too used the lower register exclusively, but it instead focused on two contrasting materials that were juxtaposed and developed throughout the piece for around fifteen minutes.

With ‘Ruin’ [for Orkest de Ereprijs], I was inspired by two different non-musical sources. The first of which came about during a lesson with Martijn Padding where he mentioned that the sketch material I had written had a melancholic quality to it and reminded him of a ruin. I took this idea further by ‘disintegrating’ elements of the musical material (i.e. detuning the bass guitar string after it had been struck).

The second non-musical source came from an elegy titled, ‘The Ruin’, which is an 8th or 9th century text that depicts a ruined city in England (disputed to be Bath). Being written prior to the great vowel shift and [the] Norman invasion, the poem was written in Old English (Anglo-Saxon English).

Definitely! I liked the idea of using a language that is the ancestor to our own, but is no longer commonly spoken. Rather strangely the surviving manuscript of the elegy was partially burnt in a fire several centuries ago, so even the text itself has been fragmented.

However, I wouldn’t say that ‘Ruin’ is a work that is solely about fragmentation, but inevitably that will be perceived due the nature of the material and the choice of text. I myself have always seen the piece as an exploration with different timbres through the disintegration of material, and the relationship between the foundation in the electric piano and vibraphone, with the short gestures and swells in the rest of the ensemble.

A friend of mine from my studies in The Hague — Robert Coleman — is the artistic advisor for Kirkos, a contemporary music ensemble based in Dublin, Ireland. Last September, they put on a festival named Biosphere, that showcased different artistic responses to climate change and the negative effects of global warming. Robert had approached me a few months prior to the performances, and intrigued by the idea behind the festival, I sent over a proposal.

Each piece that took place for Biosphere had to adhere to a set rules: outdoors, have no printed scores, and relate to climate change in some way. I had this idea of having the ensemble travelling around the city and performing in front of different public clocks over the space of 24 hours.

To relate it to global warming, I took the average global temperature from the past 24 years, tying each year to a clock [in Dublin]. For each movement/clock, the average temperature [of each corresponding year] determined the number of seconds subtracted from five minutes — so over time, the movements in general get shorter, with the record year for the highest global temperature being the shortest movement, and the year with the lowest being the longest in the piece.

As there we were prohibited from having printed scores, I opted for one chord and gave a suggested starting orchestration. The idea was that the musicians would deviate from the starting orchestration as the temperature increases and when the length of each movement got shorter. Aesthetically, it was quite a drone-based piece. It was something that I wouldn’t do regularly, but it came about from the brief and the limitations that were set out for me.

When I write more process-driven or conceptual pieces, I tend to have preference for working with data, stats, numbers, and/or found structures, rather than [looking at] a performance art, stage, or theatrical realisation of the idea. Apart from the performers — and the person filming —people didn’t really perceive [the full picture]. Passers-by would have most likely only caught one of the movements, and they would have never bumped into another one. So only the musicians were the only ones who were perceiving the piece during the performance. It was only when I received the footage and edited it all together that you could see the piece as a whole.

The performances for each movement took place over the course of the week. Most of which was fitted around the musician’s schedules for the other performances in the festival, but it did include a night vigil that took place between 10pm and 6am the next morning. Afterwards, Andy Ingamells and Seán Clancy were performing their piece ‘This Is About’ on the beach, and they had mentioned that the ensemble was all tired because of my piece. It’s kind of crazy that they were performing during the early hours, but they were so dedicated and really made the piece come alive.

I’ve never thought about it in that way, but that’s a very good point.

Yeah, that’s right! Vallé began when I was 18, after I had bought an audio interface to use for home recording purposes. In the spring of 2013, I uploaded a few standalone tracks, before releasing my first four track EP that summer. Back then, it wasn’t really a “shoegaze” project, as I wasn’t really listening to that kind of music at the time. Then and now, I have always considered Vallé as a “side project” that exists outside of my concert music.

After three EPs and a two track release between mid-2013 and mid-2014, I took a break from Vallé for about a year and a half. I don’t really remember why I had a hiatus, but inevitably, when I did finally decide to go back to it, some of my approaches, influences and ideas about Vallé had changed.

In 2016, I put out three releases: An album titled ‘Album’, an EP called ‘Ep’, and a single named ‘Single’. Compared to the earlier Vallé material, there was a lot more reverb and other effects featured on these releases. I wouldn’t say it was heavier, but the production was certainly fuller. At that point in time, I was a bit more public about the project — previously I would just release them, but not make any posts about it on my personal social media accounts. Going into the following year (2017), I was looking for new ways to approach Vallé and one of the avenues that I hadn’t really explored was collaborating with other people. Up to that point I only saw Vallé as a project that I would do everything for – the writing, recording, releasing, etc. – everything apart from the cover art on several of the releases. The first foray into collaboration and working with others was on a track named, ‘Dc’, which Dan Cippico played the bass guitar on. Later that year I released the fifth Vallé EP, ‘Castle and Woodland’, which featured several collaborative tracks – working with Sam Leith Taylor, Peter Bell, and Dan Cippico.

When I moved to The Hague towards the end of that summer, I took another hiatus, largely because it was a new environment. I didn’t have my own place to live until mid-October, despite arriving in The Netherlands at the end of August. I was fortunate to know enough people to sofa-surf for the first seven weeks. But as you can imagine, I did not get much composing done in the first part of the term, and subsequently I spent the rest of the first term feeling a bit disillusioned.

After arriving back in The Hague after the Christmas break, I was looking for ways to get out of my writing block and so I decided to return to Vallé by recording a track a month over the course of the year, resulting in the album, ‘Twenty Eighteen’. I had initially planned for the album to not be a collaborative effort, but a friend of mine — Shannon [Latoyah Simon] — asked me if she could play guitar on one of the tracks, so I said “yeah, of course”. To make things more consistent, I then approached Dan Cippico, Peter Bell, Sam Leith Taylor, and Luke Deane to also collaborate on a few tracks with me.

I wouldn’t say that it was to challenge the way albums are usually released. It was more from the standpoint of doing things slightly differently; rather than shoving 10-12 tracks out in the open at once, why not write and release one each month? Admittedly some of the ideas were drafted several weeks prior to their release date, but for the most part they came together within the month they are named after. To date, ‘Twenty Eighteen’ has been my largest Vallé project.

Peter Bell and I had been talking about integrating him into Vallé as a full-time member, but I quickly learnt after a few attempts that I wanted to still have creative control over the recorded output. So instead, the two of us agreed to set up a new breakaway project that focuses on live performances instead of recordings. It hasn’t fully taken off yet, but we did a performance at the Ideas of Noise Festival last February with composer and vocalist Georgia Denham. We were billed as Vallé at the time, but we now refer to this project as Open Union, which is going to be an electric guitar duo that performs works by other composers and ourselves.

Definitely! At the moment, Peter and I are still working out where exactly Open Union will sit between these facets, but we do know that we want to be working closely with ourselves and other composers that we approach to make new work. Neither of us are proficient guitarists, so we shall be focusing more on exploring timbre and open forms through effects pedals, programmed patches, improvisation and interpretation.

Generally, my music falls under two strands. The first is mostly notated instrumental music that can be performed in both concert/recital halls and alternative venues. The music itself is often characterised by focused material in the form of repetitive gestures, that either deviates away from itself or is juxtaposed with other materials. Increasingly, over the past three or four years, I have taken an interest in integrating more timbral and gestural detail into my instrumental writing.

The second strand of music is largely based around an online only ‘bedroom studio’ project named Vallé. I began it back in 2013 as a means to fill a void that had been left when one of my teenage rock bands split up. However, it has since grown into an extensive project, having released two albums and several eps. Typically, it’s instrumental and heavily guitar driven that utilises ambient, dream pop and shoegaze aesthetics.

For a long time, I viewed the two as completely separate entities, writing my Vallé music in secret during my spare time when I was living in student halls whilst I was studying for a degree in composition. However, I have gradually begun to notice that both strands of music have infiltrated each other, and after suggestions from some friends, I plan to begin a new ‘branch-off project’ of Vallé with friend and fellow composer Peter Bell, that will function in a live capacity, using characteristics from ambient, noise, drone, shoegaze and experimental music – we did a pilot show back in February with composer/singer Georgia Denham and enjoyed the process of working together to create new material – an experience I have not often had since playing in bands as a teenager.

My creative process varies from piece to piece and largely depends on which medium I am working with. In most cases, I begin sketching ideas for the piece based around information related to medium. For example, if it’s a piece for a solo instrument, I research its associations, techniques and repertoire. Then, I take what I have learnt and then make sketches of structures or material that is either central to the final piece or as a means to develop something from it.

On occasions, I do start from a more conceptual starting point, but for that I usually take non-musical elements and try to translate them or integrate them into gestures and/or formal structures.

I have heard a lot of positive things from other composers about the pianist Zubin Kanga and the Irish based Crash Ensemble, so I would be curious to see what it would be like working with either of them. However, I think that it is more important to work and collaborate with people who are enthusiastic about your own work and creating music as a whole, so I would say that I would most like to work and collaborate with other musicians and composers who enjoy performing and creating new music.

Between 2013 and 2017, I studied my bachelors at Birmingham Conservatoire, and then moved to The Netherlands for my masters at The Royal Conservatoire of The Hague, graduating in June last year.

During my time in Birmingham, I was mostly experimenting with different practices and disciplines to see which elements were right for me. The scene at the time was quite a tight-knit community, so it was a fantastic time for a young composer to be exposed to all kinds of work. Towards the end of my studies there, I began to make choices for which contexts that I wanted my music to fit in with, and started to focus on things that adhered to it.

When I was over in The Hague, it was mostly about building on from where I had left of in Birmingham, but refining and pushing it further. Once again, the department and the local scene had a great community, however rather than growing together with the other composers in my year group, we had all come from disparate perspectives, giving a different feel to my studies in Birmingham.

I don’t really have anything concrete planned at the moment, but once things are safer, I hope to meet up with and spend time with friends that I haven’t seen for a long time. It would also be great to work in person with other musicians again.

The internet has impacted the music business in many ways. For a start, it has completely changed the way recorded music is distributed by the record companies and consumed by the public. This has brought upon both a set of positive and negative changes for artists. I won’t go into every aspect, but for the case of each – it has made eclectic music more accessible and easier to distribute. On the other hand, however, it removed a lot of artist’s potential earnings from record releases. This change in the classical world has arguably not had as big of an impact as artists working in popular music, but it has still had a negative effect.

I will confess though that had music not been as accessible as it has been for the past ten to twenty years or so, then I may not have decided to be a composer or have pursued music for as long as I have.

I don’t really have a favourite piece or composer to perform per se, rather a favourite type of music to perform. For the past few years, I have enjoy playing electric guitar the most, and although I’m not a technically proficient performer, I love the opportunity to create sounds through the instrument, amp, effects pedals and any accessory to alter the sound of the instrument.

During my studies in Birmingham, I was an active member of the department’s Creative Ensemble which devised and performed pieces that were openly notated by members of the group. I do enjoy performing music that allows for flexibility and interpretation over more prescriptive notation– the opposite to my preferences when I compose.

It’s perhaps not the best piece of advice, but it has certainly been one of the most valuable – being a composer, is something for the long haul, it is not something that happens in a quick flash.

There are many things that I would change about the industry, but for the purpose of the interview, I will only mention a few things:

I think any stigma towards artists and musicians who have jobs outside of the arts should stop, it should be about the work you create, not whether or not your job is in the arts.

More diversity in concert programmes, events and opportunities should be encouraged, I have seen some organisations making changes to be more inclusive, which is encouraging to see.

Have more opportunities for composers over the age of 30, that doesn’t mean removing opportunities for young people, but helping more composers who either started writing later on or are developing their practice would benefit from the same support as under 30 year olds.

Revaluate the streaming model and pay artists more per play.

I am currently in the process of writing a new piece for the Netherlands based percussion trio, Xtro. It’s going to be collaborative and will feature electronics, projections and some non-musical elements. In October, a piece that I composed for solo viola earlier this year will be recorded as part of an upcoming release for Birmingham Record Company.

Don’t burn yourself out unnecessarily, sometimes we can’t afford not to (for example when you have a lot of deadlines), but when you can, take time for breaks and rest. Always try to evaluate the work you are making and see if it is how you want it to be. Music and art in general is a very broad discipline and there are many avenues and ways to go about it, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Commit to and dedicate yourself to the things that are important to you.

So I have a few things in this year’s No Frontiers Festival.

On the first day I have two premieres: Wnd Qntt which is to be played by the Lumos Quintet at 3pm in the 6/8 Kafé and Unbranded Ensemble Piece which will be performed 315 Ensemble at 8pm. As with explaining these two pieces, I don’t really want to give much away, so to find out – come along!

Then on the 31st at the Parkside Building, the Composition Department’s Creative Ensemble will perform a set of works composed by the ensemble members, this includes my Riaan’s Trilogy, which is a set of three open score pieces (Riaan’s Rag, Riaan’s Rant and Riaan’s Return) that I composed in 2014, 2015 and 2016, which is dedicated to Riaan Vosloo, the director of the ensemble. The Trilogy features the ensemble singing, electronic manipulations of ‘rants’ and a section with a bass groove.

On the final day of No Frontiers (the 1st of April), I am a part of the Vivid Trip event at Vivid Projects, in Digbeth which features performances and installations by Roché van Tiddens, stenton.press (Richard Stenton), Oliver Mack, Kolbitr (Robin Morton), Susannah Self, Andy Ingamells, Peter Bell & Cam Athanasiades, Wilson Leywantono, Dan Cippico and myself. My installation is a new presentation of field recording piece that recorded edited in 2013 titled, The Streets of Birmingham. It was one of the first pieces that I composed when I was a first year, so it’s fitting to have this featured as the last piece of my last Frontiers Festival as an undergraduate.

With regard to what makes the performances happen it’s the people who have curated the events and the festival. So a huge shout out to Tom Earl, Chris Cresswell, Riaan Volsoo, Cam Athanasiades, Peter Bell, Wilson Leywantono, Dan Cippico and the Frontiers team for organising these projects! Without them there would really be no Frontiers.

Some people think that music is universal, so perhaps that is how it breaks down barriers. However, I don’t think all of it is, so the music that is ‘not universal’ either helps people escape or bring to light universal themes.

I could talk about this for years and really bore people, but I particularly like the sparse sounds of Laurence Crane, Jürg Frey and Michael Pisaro. I admire how they stick to a minimal means of material and work with it inside out. It’s a cliche phrase, but sometimes you’ve got to work within limitations, I think that way one is more imaginative.

Moving towards the ‘popular’ music realm, I have admired Bob Dylan for a long time, particularly his output from the 1960s, which evolved at a fast and organic rate despite disapproval from fans (for example, the constant boos and shouts that he was Judas during his 1966 concerts). If he had stuck to his political folk music, then more artists signed to a label would perhaps not be brave and just follow what the record label executives believe would sell more.

Also the Kinsella brothers (Tim and Mike), who were and are part of many Chicago based bands/monikers from the mid-1990s to the present day. These range from the acoustic sing-songwriter project, Owen (Mike Kinsella) to the erratic sounds Joan of Arc (a band fronted by Tim Kinsella). I admire the fact that the two of them have produced such a large discography that is very diverse and have continued even when the critics dislike something (for example, Pitchfork once rated a Joan of Arc album 1.9/10). If you stick to one thing, you might be building barriers around yourself and others.

Finally, I admire my friends, colleagues and tutors who are/were part of the Conservatoire Composition department and the Birmingham New Music scene (particularly the Post Paradise concert series), there are too many names to mention here, but there are pieces that I have heard and seen, which have really challenged what I perceive as music.

I have felt a guilt and a responsibility, however up to this point, I have not composed something that overtly represents or interprets any current social or political issues.