Sending Up Flares

I try to leave my mobile phone in another room in the house. That way, it’s not in sight. I don’t like to feel beholden to it. The trouble is, it means I miss calls. It also means that when I get those ‘one-time-passcodes’ there’s a quick scramble to find it. It’s never where I thought I left it.

So I also try to have my phone near me for some of the time, but this comes with problems.

Every day I’m tempted to peek at Facebook or Instagram. I’m drawn to it not just because it might feed me some diverting snippets of David Brent or Malcom Tucker, but because I feel it might keep me in touch with what’s going on in politics or in the music world. Almost every time, however, I learn nothing, and am clouded in a fog of self-doubt, confusion, and sadness. I feel the addiction of this ‘pandora’s box’. A stiff neck is often also part of the bargain.

It’s tough. I scroll past unimaginable horror; sadness, stupidity and insanity all on display in close up. And cheek-by-jowl with this, dotted here and there are celebrations of ‘success’. Photos with wide-mouthed, smiling people. Name dropping. Emojis and euphoric adjectives. Proudly happy, but speaking with polite ferocity.

The jarring of it all is overwhelming. It leaves me very confused and ungrounded.

In the world of new music there is an increasing delusion (and collusion) around social media. I’m guilty of joining in too. As composers we all post about the things we do. This proves that we are working and getting our music played. We haven’t been forgotten and we’re not dead yet. A photo or video, and some reasonably relevant tags are expected, plus some key information, and carefully worded self-deprecating captions. Then we wait for some confirmation that this message has been seen. We count the likes. Never enough. There’s a sinking feeling that the rocket has vanished into the vast dark night sky of the internet. No one was looking. The flare ignited, glowed briefly and then vanished instantly. So you send up another flare. And another.

The lonely bobbing boat of self-doubt continues its random course across the black sea.

As if the tumbleweed from the cultural gatekeepers isn’t enough, we composers drag ourselves through a daily round of feeling inadequate, fuelled by the online bright lights of success elsewhere. Social media is relentless, if you dare to look, or participate.

And it’s a shame, because putting your work out into the world, and talking about how you make your art is a good thing. I love sharing my work. I regularly make it available in many different ways online. I have been a regular exposer of my work and working methods and a de-bunker of the mystique of the composer for many years. If someone wants to find more about me, it’s all there. Warts and all.

I don’t really know what the music I create is called. Maybe it’s a form of classical music. Maybe it’s a crossover of a few genres. What I do know is that I have never indulged in language and actions that perpetuate a sense of rarefied, ivory-tower art.

My aim is not to alienate the audience or to take them for granted. My aim is to try and get them to meet me halfway. I lean into them and I hope they will lean towards me. My teaching of composition is exactly the same.

My writing about music, via Riley Notes, is a set of short personal essays, blending an account of my creative process with a slice of autobiography and hopefully a sense of openness. These short essays weave between my posts on Instagram and Facebook, and between live performances and album releases. My wave to the world is not a burst of laughter, or a shriek of wowsers and omgs. I’m trying to make my presence felt not with a bright flourish of fireworks, but with quiet enticing sparkles, glistening treasures, and carefully-wrought, glowing emotion.

The phone pings. It breaks the spell of my creative flow.

Tap, swipe. A notification. Someone needing congratulating on Linkedin. An Instagram post of beaming faces at an awards ceremony. A Facebook post of someone’s ‘view from the office’. Flares being sent up from all directions.

I set the phone down on its front and look around. I see that a couple of hours have gone by and I’ve hardly noticed. I’ve been composing. Absorbed, creative, and un-self-conscious. It’s been good. This my safe time. This is the best time. In this warm glow its simply all about the music. I don’t even care if no one listens. I have no need for flares. This is why I compose. This is enough. I am enough.