Category Archives: Uncategorized

Upcoming concert: Music of Starrs and Skies

On Saturday 11th May, several CNM members will have their music premiered by harpischordist Sara Stowe at her Music of Starrs and Skies concert. Premieres of music by Philip Joy, Peter Thorne, Laurence Glazier and Jenni Pinnock will be performed alongside a varied programme of music including other newly commissioned works.

The concert will be held at Old House Barn at the Pimlott Foundation, Colchester, Essex, CO6 4EQ, and starts at 3pm. Ticketing information will be updated here shortly (as well as on the Pimlott Foundation’s website).


‘Donata’ by Philip Joy premiered by Essex Chamber Orchestra

New work, ‘Donata’ by CNM membeArtboard 1r Philip Joy is to be given its premiere performance by the Essex Chamber Orchestra (ECHO) in their 40th Anniversary Season.

The concert is to be held on Sunday 9 September, at 7 pm at Anglo-European School, Willow Green, Ingatestone, Essex, CM4 0DJ

For more information, visit

Piano Project 2018 – Details announced


Colchester New Music’s Piano Project 2018 concert in association with EPTA Essex will be at 3pm on Saturday 9th June at Christchurch United Reform Church, Chelmsford, CM2 0AW.

Teachers and students will be performing new music for aspirant pianists selected from Colchester New Music’s call for scores at the end of 2017. For details of the shortlisted works, please click here.

Writing for everyone

This article is the second of two from Dylan Christopher, Colchester based pianist and composer who is running the Piano Project 2018 project in association with Colchester New Music.

Read Dylan’s first article – Playing the new stuff! – here.

When music is written for virtuoso performers, there are generally no limits.  Anything can be written and performed, so long as there is a message to be shared, an idiomatic practical application, and a legible score from which to read.  However, it is not until we are limited that we are truly tested as composers.

Limitations inspire adaptation, growth and discovery.  If a composer is limited to three note chords rather than six notes, they will make sure to use all three notes to get the best possible sound with what they have available.  If a composer is limited to a score with very little ‘clutter’ they will make every word, dynamic, articulation or general marking count to best illustrate meaning and intention.

These limitations foster efficiencies in engraving and orchestration, making the composer ask questions of themselves.  The key question here, always, is how can we write the same thing in the simplest of terms to achieve the same, if not similar result?  As composers, we are architects, planning each component of a composition for performers to interpret and then relay to our listening audience.

We must also consider that a large portion of musicians who will actively perform music on any given instrument are not professional, but amateur or hobbyist.  Unless existing in extremely fortunate circles, many composers will need to find performers to play their work; for the most part, it is likely to be music societies in one of the many churches or universities in the area.  If written for solo performance, many pieces are primarily performed in people’s homes, and not on the concert stage.

A composer looking for their music to be performed would be hard-pressed to find a seasoned virtuoso musician in this group, but what are found, are people who are genuinely interested in performing music as best they can, having a good time while doing it; that is providing the music and musicians are the focus of effort when writing it.

One of the many hurdles we encounter when writing for amateur performers (or for that matter, any performer) is simplicity.  Simplicity can mean many things, ranging from the level of detail we give via instruction all the way to how we convey pulse and metre throughout a piece of music.  The main consideration here is always: am I being clear enough?  If a performer has any questions about what they need to do with the music we provide, then we have not been clear enough.

Clear does not mean more instruction. Sometimes this can be illustrated by a well-placed slur, or an expression such as ‘Sempre legato’, ‘Forza’, or ‘Agitato’.  To put this into perspective, I have five editions of Beethoven’s Complete Piano Sonatas.  Despite this quintessential work being a transcendent staple in the canon of solo piano repertory, there are discrepancies between all versions.  The same piece of music is written five different ways, which vastly affects what the interpretation of that edition will mean.

Incidentally, I prefer the Henle Urtext, which has very little in terms of anything – articulation or cautionary dynamics – but is what Beethoven would have sent to his publisher after a once-over from a copyist.  It is worth considering that all of these editions have been thoroughly edited over the past two hundred years. The score seen today in the twenty-first century is the final result of refinement and reprinting; even then, there are still blemishes and some questions.

A problem that is faced when receiving contemporary music for performance is that it has often not been thoroughly edited to be considered and concise.  Many pieces suffer from what I consider ‘over-composition’, mainly due to music notation software being the performer during the composition process in place of a living, intelligent performer.  The result is often statements that do not need to be stated, inserted to facilitate an accurate ‘midi’ performance.

For a human performer, stating ‘Cantabile’, will mean to make the melody loud and smooth, while keeping the accompaniment quiet.  For music notation software, one would need to put separate dynamic markings for the melody and accompaniment, alongside excessive slurring.  If the programming of midi velocities is understood, this might not be the case.

If we can agree on the understanding that every piece of music written for performance by a living musician is read from the score in a first sitting, it changes how we write our ideas down.  From the performer’s perspective, rehearsal is not the first priority; that is secondary once we have understood what we need to do.  More often than not, a performer will give the score a once-over with the intent to understand what is expected of them; they then rehearse to make the ideas permanent and confident in performance.

From a composer’s perspective, thinking that a performer will simply practise it to ‘get it’ makes us lazy.  Even the best of performers, virtuosos, will be left confused by a score that has not been sufficiently refined to facilitate understanding.  A composer’s true mastery is being able to express musical ideas concisely, with consideration of their simplest form to facilitate understanding.  This understanding sets the trajectory for what is performed and later heard by our audience.

Playing the new stuff!

This article is the first of two from Dylan Christopher, Colchester based pianist and composer who is running the Piano Project 2018 project in association with Colchester New Music.

My love of music was fostered from a young age.  I do not come from a musical family; I was, and remain today the only musician in my immediate, and extended family circle.  However, this did not stop me being inspired by the giants that helped shape music.

When people talk about the past, there is a detachment.  We forget that we are talking about events that happened on this planet; albeit a long time ago, but on our planet nevertheless.  While studying, a mentor once said to me “There are some pieces of music that you feel as though you can reach your hand out and touch, and some you cannot”.  The music we cannot reach out and touch, so to speak, is where this detachment lies, past or present.

A few years ago, I had the great pleasure of visiting the Handel Museum in Mayfair; Jimmy Hendrix lived next door.  There is something amusing about picturing Jimmy Hendrix living next door to George Frideric Handel, as though it was pulled from a BBC primetime sitcom.

Obviously, Handel was an early eighteenth-century composer, and Hendrix was a twentieth-century popular musician, so they did not live next door to one another at the same time, but this image conjures up all sorts of tomfoolery and shenanigans.

Just being in the rooms where they stood, looking out of the windows they looked out of, and seeing the view they might have seen, brought them to life; for me at least.  Speaking with my performer’s hat on, we spend a lot of time and effort trying to understand the mind of the composer whose music we are performing.  Why did they write it like this? What do they mean us to play?  Is this what they wanted it to sound like?

Both Handel and Hendrix are no longer alive, so these questions are labours one might have when playing their music.  Not forgetting that the world we live in has moved on certainly since the time of Handel, and somewhat since the time of Hendrix in the late seventies.

Today everything we do is, to a point, sanitised and detached; behind a speaker, or a screen.  We see musicians and the sounds they make, but for the most part, we forget that these are events, that are unfolding or have unfolded, before our eyes, on this planet. In some instances, they are so finely polished that the suspension of disbelief would not for a moment permit the thought that they are part of our world.

The first time I met a real composer was an enlightening experience.  They were not a superstar who lived in the parallel star-studded universe of show-business.  They were also not the larger-than-life- itself icon asking for worship and sycophantism.  They were a human being, living, feeling and thinking like you or I; most importantly, living in the same space and planet.

Of most importance to this person was the music they had written and the connections and insight it would inspire in others.  They said, their role was to write it, and mine was to sing it; which I tried my hardest to.  I was so worried about ‘getting it right’ I almost forgot why we were singing it; as the composer reminded me, it was for our audience to enjoy and be moved by.

The piece was written for a choral competition, in which I sang tenor, and incidentally, we would later win.  I am by no means a vocalist, but I could contribute, which the composer saw and was enough to convince him to let me join the cause.  At the time, I felt like I was part of something larger, which I was.  Forever my name will be on the programme, as performer – tenor –  for the first performance of something new; never heard before that moment.

It would be almost ten years later while talking with a colleague, Alex Blustin, on this very issue of performing contemporary music, on which he would say:

“If you give the first performance of a new piece, it’s ‘yours’ forever in a way that ‘Für Elise’ will never be.”

This so beautifully and eloquently puts into words the very meaning of reaching out and touching music.  By playing it, we make it our own, which is why after so many years of making music, we still play, practice, perform, record, then re-record music.  Being the first to make that connection makes it special, for you, the composer, and the audience.