Words that fail in describing musical creativity

Words will fail to describe a volatile presence when there is very little shared vocabulary between the two. The question "Why do you write the way you do?" has several meanings or intentions for which answers may be considered.

The first is the notion that we don't, or don't have to, make every intention or instruction clear to whoever playing our music.

That which is music has inherent characteristics where its very performance, in turn, gives responses to how the rest of the music behaves.

In other words, to ask that question implies "Do you really mean it that way?" without asking it that way, but a non-question if the person being asked is not me. Why am I being asked that question when another composer at a similar point in their compositional endeavour is not asked such a questioning query?

Hear ye (and we, me), that music of the "other" goes so far as we cannot be "other" to others. It's like the fish swimming and saying these folks on "land" have to work so hard to get air; those on lands in turn utter that those creatures immersed in water must have so much difficulty to get air. The other of the other is a imploding exercise, in the same way as "music of the world" is, to say the very least, illogical, if not territorial, imperialist etc. A more fitting question (instead of "do you really mean it that way?") is might be "what is the meaning in this music?" or in some cases a more appropriate enquiry might be "what does this mean to you as you play (or participate in) this music?" It is less than a century when many of us have a weekly ritual to immerse ourselves in hymn singing. That second question will have us explain a number of social and personal things during that time, and for today, those explanations might be shorter (or longer) and could well take on different perspectives.

Secondly, The more obvious point in asking that question is about the "validity" of the language - the structure, vocabulary, syntax and/or system - that constructs and evolves the music. The futility of the question is the self-denial of the presence of this question.

A compositional endeavour is nothing less than an exercise in making something new.

That new thing is not restricted to old and well-tested languages (systems). In other words, a composition could very well enact a new language. That language could also bear resemblance to an existing language but this is more a point of departure from that existing language than an attempt to recall it, to cling on to it, or even as a kind of paying homage to it.

Third: Another less obvious but more wrenching aspect of this question puts language of a different kind at the core of the issue - perception and assumptions of performers, which is about performance practice. A flute plays its music in a certain way, given the characteristics of the instruments with inherent strengths, limitations and "no-go" zones. A composition can pose "problems" to performers when the music does not fit the expected language, for example, writing a chord will not work on a single flute.

That is a point of judgment which calls for attention to the business at hand - a composition endeavour where both the language being used and the language written bear potential evidence of "new".

In a similar vein, the music of the Renaissance period differs in the degree of expression from that of the Romantic.

There are too many ideas; that is one comment. There is a fundamental existential dilemma here on which one's identity rests. Within 4 bars the music might have brought forward 3, 4 or even 5 distinct ideas. Walk into a shop is an instant experience of maximised sensation. Too many ideas is a choice, a communication device.