Malin Bång

Malin Bång–in conversation with Alexey Munipov

 

Could you introduce Unfurling, your new piece for the SWR Symphony Orchestra?

 

The title refers to waves, different types of wave formations.

 

It also relates to memory–the different layers of our memories. Some of them are very present, sometimes painful; at other times they linger quietly in the background and only show up gradually, after a while.

 

This unfurling moment is when a wave is almost about to disrupt–and then it somehow freezes, so the moment stops for a while. And then it is released again, and there is one such moment in the piece. So it is like memory waves.

 

Sometimes these memories are portrayed almost like wave formations, and in other places it is more like a strong cluster block that comes quite suddenly, and then gradually releases layer by layer underneath. Sometimes there is an extremely quiet texture that can only be heard when all the other layers are peeled off, so to say.

 

What was the initial idea? Where does this piece come from?

 

I have been interested in rooms quite a lot–mostly physical rooms, the type of acoustic rooms that are either dry or resonant, far away or close. But in this piece I wanted to take this as a symbol for inner rooms instead: how the flow of consciousness can actually contain quite a few rooms at the same time.

 

It is a concerto for guitar with orchestra, not a very common combination. Why did you choose this format?

 

It was my good friend and colleague, Frederik Munk Larsen, who, a few years ago, took the initiative to make this collaboration.

 

We are also doing the piece together with an orchestra in Denmark–the Odense Orchestra. We have been collaborating a lot in our ensemble, Curious Chamber Players. I have been writing a lot for him and for the classical guitar, but not as a soloist.

 

So this was a fun occasion to bring this instrument into the orchestra. It is amplified as well, so we can hear very quiet sounds–there is tapping on the guitar in the beginning, with a very quiet surrounding. I also took the chance to use a very everyday kind of sound and bring it into a new context, through the guitar, so to speak.

 

And what were the main challenges?

 

Of course, with the guitar and the orchestra, it is about creating a possible balance between them. But it was also fun to invent different interaction possibilities. In some places, the guitarist triggers the orchestra to start certain musical actions, interrupting the orchestra; and at other times the guitar is more like one layer, or the contour of a wave of textures going on. So it goes a little bit in between those roles, I would say.

 

You work a lot with what you call documented noise–found objects, acoustic objects, everyday noise. How did this way of thinking work when you wrote for a symphony orchestra?

 

I think it is interesting to bring these sometimes ignored sounds from everyday life into a musical context. When you place them in an elevated situation like the symphony orchestra, you start to listen to them in a new way. For me, it is interesting that you can bring attention to them, and listen differently, when you put them on such a large stage.

 

And of course you have to notate it in a way that makes sense for orchestral musicians, and use their instruments in quite unusual ways–from an orchestral point of view. In that way it is fun to collaborate with the SWR Orchestra, because they have a lot of experience with this and are very open-minded to try different ways of playing.

 

Speaking broadly, what is your general approach to writing for orchestra?

 

I do not want to make one kind of music for ensemble, and another kind of music for orchestra. I want my music to sound similar, no matter which medium. So for me the fun thing with orchestra is to think: how can the orchestra bring out these sounds and timbres that I am interested in, for a certain concept, for example?

 

I also played a lot in orchestra myself when I was young–I played viola. When you play viola, you often sit in the middle of the orchestra, and you can hear everything very well. So I think it is interesting from that point of view, too.

 

Contemporary music ensembles are usually very flexible–they are used to unusual ideas and instruments. They can play rubber ducks, chainsaws, whatever you offer. A symphony orchestra is often more conservative. Did you feel nervous about that?

 

A little bit, yes. You never know. With each new piece there might be different challenges. One thing is to describe everything in a very communicative way: you explain everything from the ground up, so to say.

 

For example, in the contrabass section they occasionally use a rasping stick, a tool normally for percussion. But you can hold it as a bow, and it sounds beautiful when you play the lowest string of the contrabass with this jagged surface. It is not always easy to know how they will approach this.

 

I remember another time when I wrote for an orchestra and everyone had to sing at a certain point. I thought they might refuse, or say that it is not in their job description, but it was not a problem at all. They sang very easily.

 

So it can be hard to predict what feels meaningful for them to do, and what feels strange. In this piece there are a few choreographic passages which they manage very well: they sweep the string of the cello or contrabass with a very faint, beautiful sound, and then you have to move your hand backwards in the air at a certain speed, and then redo that many times. It might sound easy, but to make it work in the whole string section at the same time has taken some rehearsal to find.

 

Do they need to do this simultaneously, like a single gesture?

 

Yes. You have to do this over quite a long duration–from the nut almost until the end of the fingerboard. That might be challenging. But it is a very subtle, beautiful sound.

I would also like to ask you about the beginning of your journey. How and when did you decide to become a composer?

 

When I was small, I played piano and violin, and I was always drawn to more contemporary repertoire–at least more modern music that focused on timbres. I watched quite a lot of music drama–operas, musicals, dance performances–when I was around 13, 14, 15, and I was so grasped by that situation, by how expressive it was. I thought: I want to do that somehow, compose such a piece.

 

But it seemed very difficult, so I thought I have to study composition first. When I started gymnasium, I began taking composition lessons. And almost since that first composition lesson, I realized: this is what I had to do.

 

Do you remember a crucial point when you realized you are a composer–not »I’m learning to be a composer«, but »this is who I am«?

 

I think my first obstacle was wondering whether I would even be able to enter a music academy: what is demanded, really, to even start studying composition? But once I entered, I felt very happy with it.

 

I studied for many years, and then directly after my studies I got to compose a piece for the Hardanger fiddle, a Norwegian folk violin. That was my first professional job, and that is when I felt: okay, now I am working as a composer.

 

Also, toward the end of my studies we started an ensemble, Curious Chamber Players, which I am still part of. That immediately led to doing a lot of concerts together and planning concerts. So that also started the lifestyle that has been going on since then.

 

So the first commission and the first administrative work that comes with it?

 

Yes, exactly–both project leading and creating: composing, and also managing the ensemble.

 

What do you find to be the most uncomfortable part of your work?

 

Maybe it is when you really need to compose, but there is all this other noise–other tasks you need to do, administration and all these things that steer you away from the artistic part.

 

And speaking of noise: I know you are very much into listening–listening to tiny details of sound. I am also interested in listening as a human activity, although people tend to underestimate it. We listen every moment and don’t pay attention to it. What is the most important quality of listening that you cherish?

 

It is about being fully in the moment. You cannot listen without being exactly present, and letting everything outside this disappear. That is an important focus that listening can enhance.

 

And it is also about being able to listen to small differences–to deal with small nuances as well as larger perspectives, of course.

 

Сity ​​dwellers often have problems with focusing. Focused listening can be difficult, and just being in focus in general can be hard.

 

Yes. I start to think that maybe, as composers and musicians of contemporary music, one of the most important tasks today–in a life filled with distractions–is to create this special focus. You sit down together and listen to maybe a one-hour-long piece. I think that is very good for our minds: to actually do that, and not constantly be interrupted by different other things.

 

Do you believe music can carry some kind of message? And if so, what kind of message does your new piece carry?

 

For me, it is often about communication–among the people who are creating the piece, the musicians, what is happening there, and that we are doing this together.

 

Of course, I have many different pieces, and some of them have quite specific concepts. You can stage concepts musically by how you let materials interact. Sometimes I use acoustic objects, and they can symbolically mean something, or create a field of associations.

 

As a composer you can decide how directed or clear a meaning you want to convey, or whether you want to keep it more abstract–depending both on how you compose and how you shape the piece.

 

Could you name one sound you have been fascinated with recently?

 

I think I am in a crunchy period at the moment: textural, crunchy, natural sounds–wood, wooden sounds, and different natural surfaces meeting wood. In my orchestral piece there are two wooden boxes involved, and different brushes–a pot brush with very spiky hair. If you rotate it very slowly on the wooden surface, you get all this crunchiness coming out of it.

 

I have used that in several other pieces lately, so I think that is a kind of red thread for me at the moment.

 

If you had to recommend your piece to a friend who is not that much into contemporary music–a friend, or a neighbor–how would you describe it?

 

The piece has a lot of contrasts. It portrays something powerful and painful, but also something very gentle and fragile. I would say those two elements are in dialogue throughout the piece.