Motivation Quadrants for Musicians

Influences, Research, , , ,

What motivates me to write or practice a piece? As I grow older with less time and energy, I must strategize what to do for the next research or creative activity. The decision-making process is multidimensional, but a simplified guideline helps me. I ask two questions before I commit to a project.

  • Do I want to do it?
  • Do I know how to do it?

Answers to these two questions yield four degrees of motivation plotted as four quadrants in a graph. My goal is to identify in which quadrant I start the project so that I can identify the level of motivation and amount of work. I also find that the answers to the above questions change at the end of the project, sometimes.  

I am most eager to work on a project that starts in Quadrant IV and ends in Quadrant I. Changing the “I don’t know” axis to the “I know” axis takes time and energy, but that process is what being a researcher, artist, and student is all about. Learning SuperCollider was an IV-I move. Going to graduate school to be a teacher was IV-I. Improvising on a no-input mixer was IV-I. Spending a few months of the COVID quarantine time to learn Mark Applebaum’s Aphasia was IV-I. 

Quadrant IV is also a fandom area. While some pieces move from VI to I, like Aphasia or Alvin Lucier’s Music on a Long Thin Wire, I don’t mind Jeff Mills’ Exhibitionist Mix 3 and Bach’s music staying in Quadrant IV. Discovering and admiring awe-inspiring pieces is what being a researcher, artist, and student is all about.  The permanent Quadrant IV pieces become motivations for new pieces as well. Cobalt Vase is my homage to Exhibitionist, and 847 Twins is my Bach fan art.  

Ideally, all projects should end up being in Quadrant I, where I am happy to do the work with the skills I know. Realistically, many works fall into quadrants II and III. Dismissing them is not always possible, especially when the projects involve benefits like money, graduation, future opportunities, etc. Some projects in Quadrant III move into Quadrant I through education and repeated experience. Many dance and sound installations were my III-I projects because I learned more about the benefits of collaboration as I got more experience and studied more. Witnessing students doing the III-I move is equally exciting as students doing the IV-I move in my music technology classes. 

In contrast to the III-I or IV-I move, II-I moves are much rarer. Projects in Quadrant II often stay in Quadrant II, and they involve extra motivational factors, like deadlines or funding, to accept and finish the project. Some projects move from Quadrant I to II due to burnout or changed interest. Such regression, however, was not always bad, as it pointed me to new artistic/aesthetic directions. I am currently not focusing on further developing free improvisation skills as I feel the plateau or burnout. This condition led me to make notated electronic music less dependent on an individual’s improvisation skills. My notated electronic pieces gain more performance opportunities nowdays, and I am happy to present both improvisational and no-improvisational pieces in a show. Music career is cumulative. 

Evaluating the need to start a project by asking two simple questions with four possible answers clarified my thoughts.  Perhaps I could extend this to plot listener reactions. I want the audience, colleagues, or commissioners to feel Quadrant I when they listen to my piece  (I want to play it, and I think I figured out the technology!). The audience feeling Quadrant IV could be good (I don’t know how he’s making that sound, but I want to try!), especially if they are scholars or performers. Learning opportunities and capable institutions abound for the audience in Quadrant IV. I hope my pieces do not fall into Quadrants II and III. 

Electronic Musician Career Example

Research,

A career, as in a job, as in getting paid, as in getting paid enough to live off of it, looks different for every musician. I talked about my career as an electronic musician at last year’s SPLICE Festival and ended the presentation with the chart below. It visualizes the type of work I do as a composer-performer-teacher.

With the chart above and a blurb below, I hope to share one way of living as a musician specializing in a niche genre. The first step is to define who I think I am.

I am a 44-year-old musician living in southeast Michigan. My specialty is in electroacoustic music composition and performance. I am also a music educator. Teaching music and creating music have equal value for me. 

With that context, I share how I made a living doing music in chronological order.

My first and ongoing employment is university teaching. I have been a salaried full-time college professor for 16 years, and it covers most of my income—25 years if I include teaching assistantships and part-time private lessons. The teaching position gives me the financial flexibility to do creative experiments that do not yield income. I am happy to continue developing a teacher-artist career, as some of my favorite composers were also teacher-artists. 

When I got my first full-time teaching position at the Community College of Philadelphia in 2008, I did not know anyone in Philadelphia. The isolated situation almost forced me to develop a solo electronic music repertoire. I was lucky to meet people who liked my solo performances and invited me to more gigs. Institutions like the fidget space,  Bowerbird, electro-music, and the music program at Temple University lifted me up at the beginning of my solo performer career. To this date, most of the performance opportunities I am getting are invitations to present solo pieces.

Increased visibility as a solo performer led to opportunities to collaborate. I gained more confidence in creating technology for instrument+electronics pieces. My next teaching jobs at Oberlin Conservatory (2014-16) and Wayne State University (2016- ) also provided ample chances to meet performers who were willing to work on my music. The last piece I wrote for a traditional instrument before 2014 was in 2008. I tried to recover the six-year gap by writing and producing five instrument+electronics pieces for my third album, Modulationist (2016). This is a notable change compared to the first and second albums, which did not feature anyone but myself. 

The combination of a high-end college music lab and increased confidence in working with other musicians in 2014-2016 led me to develop electronic ensemble pieces. An electronic ensemble director has been my favorite hat to wear since the premiere of the Singaporean Crosswalk. Ensemble gig opportunities are fewer than those of solo shows, as it takes more time and energy to manage an ensemble. Nevertheless, there is something special about making music together as a group of electronic musicians. I think people know that as well. Most of my guest artist talks and residencies involve electronic ensemble workshops. Projects on electronic music ensembles received awards and grants with the largest amount of monetary prizes. I won no grants with solo works. 

My recent musical career focus is on multidisciplinary projects. The largest works in terms of people involved, piece length, and size of audience happened in the past four years; they were dance projects. The workflow is different and fast when producing music for dance. Experiences in my 20s and 30s prepared me to work on evening-length music for dance fast and efficiently. Collaboration with dance companies such as Artlab J takes my music to people and places I could not reach as a solo performer. 

It is important to note four things in career building in music. 

  • A music career is cumulative. Roles are added on instead of changing from one to another. A teaching gig did not prevent me from becoming a performer or ensemble director. Different roles positively feed each other and bring more opportunities. Different roles grow together and strengthen each other. 
  • A music career does not have a defined path. According to my Ph.D. degree title, I am supposed to be a classical music composer writing orchestral pieces. According to my high school dream career, I am supposed to be a game music composer at Square Enix. I am not. But I am happy with the different paths education, opportunities, and communities have taken me. 
  • A music career may take time. It took me ten years of college-level study to comfortably call myself a musician. I have done solo performances, collaborations, and interdisciplinary works as a student, but could not see how they would develop as my identity. It took another decade of practice, failure, and refinement to see the true results of the skills I acquired at college.  
  • A music career needs a community.  I was fortunate to be welcomed by a vibrant artistic community wherever I lived. I am grateful to be involved in institutions specialized in the field I am devoted to. Groups like SEAMUS, SPLICE, Third Practice, and Electronic Music Midwest, have been a long-term supporter and opportunity providers. It took me years to realize that.

Endorsement – SuperCollider for the Creative Musician

Announcement, Research, ,

I wrote a book endorsement for SuperCollider for the Creative Musician by Eli Fieldsteel. 

“SuperCollider for the Creative Musician teaches how to compose, perform, and think music in numbers and codes. With interactive examples, time-saving debugging tips, and line-by-line analysis in every chapter, Fieldsteel shows efficient and diverse ways of using SuperCollider as an expressive instrument. Be sure to explore the Companion Code, as its contents demonstrate practical and musically intriguing applications of the topics discussed in the chapters.“

The endorsement had a word count limit. This book deserves a more detailed review. I agree with Fieldsteel’s statement in the Introduction that the book is a  “tutorial and reference guide for anyone wanting to create electronic music or experimental sound art with SuperCollider.” Musicians, media artists, and programmers will learn the fundamentals and practical applications of SuperCollider by reading the book from cover to cover. I especially recommend this book to musicians seeking the connection between creative coding and their artistic practice. Electronic musicians learn to express musical ideas in numbers and symbols when they code music.  Coding trains users to think of music differently as a result, and the author does an excellent job of teaching how to do so. 

Fieldsteel’s expertise in composing, performing, and teaching SuperCollider for over a decade is evident in every chapter. The author correctly anticipates common beginner challenges and provides the most efficient solutions. I love Tip.rand sections dedicated to troubleshooting and debugging. They are essential in increasing productivity and decreasing the frustration of learning a new environment. The book’s biggest strength, as demonstrated in Tip.rand, is its accessibility. The language, style, and examples do not assume that the readers have previous programming, music synthesis, or audio engineering experience. Included figures, tables, and example codes are also effective and pedagogical. I was happy to see that the printed codes’ font is identical to the default font of SuperCollider IDE.  It reconfirms the author’s effort in creating inviting chapters to learn a language with a considerable learning curve.  

I spend the first month of my SuperCollider class helping students overcome the initial steep learning curve. The book will dramatically reduce the time and frustration of going over that hump. I don’t think other existing SuperCollider resources will help as much as Fieldsteel’s book for that purpose.

The King of Nothing (2023) by Benjamin Damann

Performances, , ,

Here are two versions of The King of Nothing (2023) by Benjamin Damann. It is for any number of no-input mixing boards (NIMB). The first version is for solo NIMB, and the other is for trio. Note that there are intentional silences in the piece.

The King of Nothing – Solo
The King of Nothing – Trio

As a reference, here’s the premiere version of the piece

I wanted to try this piece because the score was well-written. The instructions were clear so that I knew what to change at a specific time. Written instructions were enough for me to interpret and perform. This core function is assumed and expected in traditionally notated scores (i.e., I know what to play and what not to play when I see traditionally notated piano scores). However, such clarity of performance direction is not always the case for electronic music, where instruments and performance practices are undefined and non-standardized. 

When performing The King of Nothing, I was delighted to follow the composer’s decision on form, which dictated when to play, how many parameters to control per event, and the speed of the parameter changes. At the same time, I was free to interpret which knobs and faders to move. The resulting sound is a well-timed sequence of various NIMB sounds with different timbres for each run. The solo version was fun, but combining the three versions gave a distinct texture. I liked both versions. 

I encourage readers to try The King of Nothing. It is a great introduction to the world of no-input mixing. Being able to play and present other people’s electronic music repertoire is a crucial but rarely done musical practice for electronic musicians. I want to do an evening-length concert of solo electronic music performances consisting of pieces not written by me. Damann’s The King of Nothing will certainly be a part of it.