The Composer of "21st-Century Romanticism" Talks About His Music

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1. An Interview with M. Zachary Johnson

by Robert W. Tracinski.

Editor's Note: M. Zachary Johnson is a composer and musicologist in the New York City area whose articles on Camille Saint-Saëns, John Philip Sousa, Sergei Rachmaninoff, and other topics have appeared in TIA and in TIA Daily.
On May 13—a week from this Sunday—Mr. Johnson will hold the second concert of his work in New York City, this time at the Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall. (Go here for more information and here to purchase tickets.) While I have not heard all of the music in this new concert, my comments on last year's concert are item #2 below. On the strength of last year's event alone, I highly recommend next Sunday's performance to anyone who can make the trip to New York City.

Despite his busy schedule of rehearsals for the upcoming event, Mr. Johnson agreed to take some time to answer my questions about his music, the state of serious music in today's culture, and the May 13 concert.—RWT



RWT: How would you describe the style and compositional method of your music?

M. Zachary Johnson: My music is sensuous, rich, and melodic, with a strong structural backbone and a strong sense of purposeful motion to it. If you'd like a one-word name for my stylistic "school" the answer is harder to give. "Neo-Romantic" is a potential candidate, but I don't care for that term because it is being used to refer to a school of composers each of whom has an extremely eclectic style; they write 3 seconds of Impressionism followed by 2 seconds of Rachmaninoff followed by 5 seconds of frenetic Modernism followed by 7 seconds of something else. It's completely incoherent and my music is nothing like that. Plus the "neo" suggests that the music is some sort of "take" on nineteenth-century Romanticism, like a parody or the kind of thing that Postmodernism generates: a re-presenting of some old style of art in such a way as to comment on how our contemporary "social construction of reality" is different from the worldview that was held at the time when the style was genuine and sincere.

Someone I know came close to naming my style when he described it as "Baroque-Romantic"; the term suggests the sweeping passion of Romanticism together with the intricacy and tight structure of the Baroque period—but that term is still not quite right.

The best term I've heard so far is the one you used in your article last year: "Twenty-First Century Romanticism." This conveys that my music shares the basic emotional values of nineteenth-century Romanticism, while also clarifying that it is not a knock-off or imitation, but something new.

This brings me to the second part of your question, about compositional method. I constantly analyze the music I hear and listen to, in all styles, and identify the specific things that I like, and these things are nearly always elements or aspects of the music I hear, not the whole. I operate by identifying in principle what appeals to me in any given piece, as opposed to and separated out from what I find distasteful. Then I use those principles when I am composing.

I do a lot of experiments, trying out various things and analyzing what I like or dislike and why, then modify accordingly. I make a point of explicitly naming the emotional theme of a piece I am working on and including or excluding elements using the theme as the standard. It takes a lot of time, but except for instances of extreme time constraint for a deadline, I keep pushing as long as it takes to fully implement the theme.

RWT: I've heard you talk about a composer needing to define what it is he has to "say" in his music. What are you trying to say in your music? Do you think you have fully succeeded in saying it, or are you still working toward your ideal?

MZJ: My aim is to express an ideal inner life. I have defined this ideal thoroughly for myself; I feel a little reticent to tell you the whole definition because it is a bit like giving away a proprietary recipe, but I suppose I can find solace in the fact that nobody else would express the same thing as I, not in the same way, not in the same integrated sum—because a sense of life is totally individual and unrepeatable. But more importantly, if somebody could express the same fundamental ideal, the person would be my best friend.

So here it is in a nutshell: heroism, dignity, grandeur, seriousness, a fundamental joyousness, intelligence and purposeful action—goal-directed mental motion. As I put it in a lecture once, my ideal is "the marriage in music of intelligence and passion."

As for how well I'm able to implement that, I think I've gotten to be pretty good at it. I hope that if you listen to my pieces in chronological order you can hear the improvement with each piece. Of course, I am still learning and improving, and will continue to. I don't feel that I've composed a "magnum opus" yet, not by any stretch. I am pleased with the work I've done, and I have a lot more to do.

RWT: Most people associate the saxophone, of course, with blues or jazz. Part of what makes your compositions unique is the fact that you use saxophone for "serious" Classical-style music. What prompted you to do this? What kind of unique or unusual sound does the saxophone provide for this kind of music?

MZJ: It is understandable that people would make this association since the saxophone is so prominent in jazz and the blues yet pretty rare in "classical" composition.

There are some instances in the history of serious music, of course. Ravel used the instrument in his orchestration of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, and there are some solo pieces, but they are usually by Modernists and the repertoire is much, much smaller than that for any of the standard orchestral instruments like the violin or flute. Due to these limitations in repertoire, classical saxophonists often resort to playing transcriptions of music for, say, the oboe or cello. The end result is simply that people have heard the saxophone a lot in the jazz-blues vein, but not much at all in the classical vein.

Essentially, I think the exclusive association of the saxophone with jazz is just a historical accident. The fact is, the instrument just wasn't around yet when most of the great composers were working. Adolph Sax invented it in the mid-nineteenth century, so it came onto the scene relatively late as far as the history of "classical" music goes. This was not true of the clarinet, which is younger than the other wind instruments but still has a substantial classical repertoire. And you notice that even though the clarinet is often used in jazz, it doesn't have that exclusive association.

The limitation of the serious concert repertoire for the saxophone was one reason I decided to focus on composing for the saxophone for a time. I saw an opportunity to supply some good repertoire for an under-served instrument.

Once I started composing for the saxophone I found that I really liked its rich, velvety, sultry sound and that it worked well for my music. The instrument has that famous "mystique" about it, which helped fuel my imagination and break out of certain patterns I was accustomed to from having known so much music for older instruments. Also, I thought the appeal of the instrument with the public couldn't hurt when it came time to get people interested in hearing my music.

The other reason was that the opportunity of having my work played, and played well, presented itself. I began collaborating with saxophonist Brian Horner about eight years ago. We met in college. I wrote a piece for him, and we simply found that he liked my music and I liked his playing, so we've been building on that ever since. I think it has been a very fruitful collaboration. After all of our accumulated interaction, he knows exactly what I want in terms of performance, and he has taught me a lot about writing well for the instrument.

RWT: Your music seems both "old-fashioned" in one respect, since it hearkens back to the 19th-century Romantics. But it is also distinctively modern in the sense of belonging to the current era. Do you think about this consciously, and if so, how do you think of the relationship between the old-fashioned and the modern?

MZJ: I hate "copycat" music, so of course any time I write something and feel "that's been done before," I cut it and look for something new and interesting. So freshness and uniqueness are compositional values of mine. But I do not value the new for the sake of the new, with all standards of structure and intelligibility and expression being regarded as "old."

As far as my relation to our present culture goes, to be out of step with the times today is a compliment I'm happy to accept. But this doesn't mean I want to go backward or that I'm stuck in nostalgia while the world is progressing on to exciting new things. Rather, I am progressing on to exciting new things while the world is stuck in stale old Modernism and the void it has left in our culture. If my music seems "out of fashion" today, it is only because our "fashions" are so awful.

RWT: What do you think is the state of music today? In the visual arts, in painting and sculpture, there has been a small but growing movement back toward realism. Is there any movement back to harmonious music after the discordant Modernism of the 20th century?

MZJ: The state of music today is very, very bad. I am aware of the resurgence of representationalism in the visual arts, and I know that people are sick of Modernism in general. As for harmonious and melodious music, I have known people who can talk the talk, but no one who can walk the walk.

I think the public is interested in sane art, that some number of people out there want intelligence and moral values in art and music. But the old channels for reaching the public have been burned out by the Modernist establishment, which is still firmly entrenched and which is merciless in suppressing any new art that is not Modern. So those of us who have something to offer have to find a way around the old establishment. This is not easy to do, but the digital era makes it much easier.

RWT: Your career path has certainly been unusual. In previous eras, most composers were supported by patrons—either at Court or in the Church. Today, most "high-brow" composers are supported by the quasi-government entities of the serious music establishment. (The semi-Romantic composers all seem to end up doing Hollywood soundtracks.) But you have managed to work as an independent composer and writer on music. How is it going? Have you found it to be rewarding?

MZJ: I've been working as an independent composer and writer on music for a little over three years now. It has been very difficult financially, so I've had to juggle my work with various odd jobs, but I think a difficult early period is normal for any new business. Google was an impoverished start-up for many years before it became profitable. Same thing with any new corner restaurant or laundromat. Why should I expect to be any different? It just takes a certain amount of time for a new business to reach profitability and the growth is slow but steady. So even though it is rough, it is a normal process. I realize it is possible that because of the amount of resistance and apathy in the culture I may never make it, but the trend is upward, so I'm going to stick with it.

RWT: Tell me a little about your concert on May 13, and what music we can expect to hear in it.

MZJ: The concert is titled "She Walks In Beauty," after the song, based on the Byron poem, which is the last item on the program and will be sung by tenor Alex Richardson with pianist Elizabeth Wolynec and saxophonist Brian Horner. This is part of a group of three songs on the subject of women, love, and romance.

The other works on the program are instrumental. We have Elizabeth Wolynec performing "Solitude"—which seems to have become the unexpected hit single. We have the premiere of a solo version of the Adagio from my Quintet for Saxophones & Piano, and the premiere of "Two Wedding Pieces," which I composed for Brian and his wife Erin to play. These duets were heard in a concert in Georgia this past weekend and were very well received, I'm told. (There's an article about their performance here.) My Grand Sonata for Saxophone fills out the program.

I've put the finishing touches on the music and am attending rehearsals; things are shaping up for an exciting evening. The full details about the event are on the concerts page of my website, MZacharyJohnson.com.

RWT: Thanks, and best wishes for a successful event.

 

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2.

This article was originally published in the August 3, 2006, edition of TIA Daily.

A few years ago, an astute TIA Daily reader suggested that the years from 1914 to 1989 could be viewed as a "Mini Dark Age." It is an idea that has intrigued all of us at TIA ever since.

Given the painful example of the collapse of the Roman Empire before invading barbarians—a calamity that wiped out the accumulated cultural, scientific, and economic achievements of the Classical world for centuries—it is natural for today's intellectuals to wonder whether our civilization is in danger of a similar collapse, whether we will be defeated by barbarians and suffer under a new Dark Age.

Yet what if this has already happened—but it was only a Mini Dark Age, one which our civilization has survived without suffering a total collapse?

One would expect a Dark Age to be an era of war and mass slaughter—which is why the dates 1914 to 1989 are so significant, encompassing the horrific events from the beginning of World War I to the beginning of the Fall of Communism, an era of horrific wars. And one would also expect an economic collapse—which we experienced under Franklin Roosevelt during the 1930s.

But a Dark Age isn't just military and economic. It's cultural. In a Dark Age, one would expect culture to disappear. One would expect the heights of our culture's achievements in music, literature, painting, and sculpture to disappear, as they did at the end of the Classical age.

And they did, in a way. What was the Modernist trend of the 20th century, if not the cultural extermination of the enormous artistic achievements of previous eras? The trend in the visual arts was to abandon the accurate representation of reality, and especially a heroic vision of the human form, in favor of the splotches and streaks of Jackson Pollack or the shapeless blobs of Henry Moore. As for literature: plot, characterization, coherent narrative, even grammar were jettisoned in favor of what one Modernist described—approvingly—as "word salad." And after the enormous achievements of the 19th-century Romantic movement—composers like Chopin, Tchaikovsky, and Rachmaninoff—the emblematic composition of 20th-century Modernism is John Cage's four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence—that is, the complete elimination of music as such.

This was, fortunately, a Mini Dark Age. For the most part, the barbarians did not smash the sculptures or burn the manuscripts of the previous ages. They simply ignored them.

But the question of whether we have lived through a Mini Dark Age raises the question of whether it is really over and whether we are recovering from it. If the Mini Dark Age is over, has the Second Renaissance begun?

It is slow and halting, just like the stirrings of the first Renaissance. While there has been a resurgence of representational art, for example, much of it is still imitative and superficial, lacking a profound, independent vision. I suspect we are in a muddled transitional period, like that of the late Middle Ages. But there are signs of vibrant new cultural life.

One of those signs is the music of M. Zachary Johnson. It is the first serious Romantic music to be produced by a composer who is part, not of the 19th-century past, but of the 21st-century future.

On May 13, [2006,] I attended the New York City premiere of several of Mr. Johnson's compositions, and I am pleased to pass on the news that substantial parts of that performance are now available on a CD, "Saxophone Music of M. Zachary Johnson—Live at Steinway Hall."

On the subject of music, I consider myself a well-educated layman, but not a professional expert. So let me give just a few of my impressions from that concert.

One of the most striking things about Mr. Johnson's music is that he composes Romantic music—"Romantic," not in the sense of romantic love, but in the sense of the 19th-century Romantic composers, like Chopin and Tchaikovsky—for the saxophone, an instrument associated with a very different musical tradition: the popular music of American jazz and blues. It is this unique combination that helps give his music the feel of being part of the 21st century, rather than simply an attempt to copy the 19th. But neither is it an attempt to copy the 20th century; his saxophone compositions do not take their cues from jazz or the blues.

The sound he creates is something entirely new: the richness and lyricism of the Romantics, rendered on an entirely different instrument, with a unique timbre and "voice." I would describe the "voice" of the Romantic saxophone as having the deep, rich, earthy notes of the English horn or the bassoon, but with the refined smoothness and lyrical flow of the violin. It is this exciting and unfamiliar sound that first commands the listener's attention, and it is nicely showcased in Serenade for Alto Saxophone, a solo saxophone piece consisting of a complex series of rising and falling lyrical melodies—a kind of love song without lyrics, performed with the saxophone instead of the voice. The excellent performance by saxophonist Brian Horner is helped by the acoustics of Steinway Hall, which seemed to amplify Mr. Horner's instrument, allowing a single melodic line performed by a single soloist to "fill" the space.

My own personal favorites from the CD are the Scherzo for Alto Saxophone & Piano and "Solitude." The Scherzo is perhaps the most "19th-century" sounding piece, with a fiery hint of passion that somehow brings to mind a Hungarian rhapsody. The Scherzo's minor key, a rhythm that moves in intriguing stops and starts, and a melodic line that is constantly darting up and down the scale, never quite coming to rest, all combine to create a sense of mystery and intrigue.

"Solitude," the only solo piano piece, is more contemplative, and it is my favorite composition by far. The rich harmonies and slow, thoughtful pace give the sense of being admitted to a man's private thoughts and reminiscences.

But perhaps the best compliment I can give this piece is that I found myself involuntarily humming its melody the following morning—and as I write this, I have no need to listen to the track on the CD. It is already playing, soundlessly, in my head. This piece has a characteristic that I identify with the best works of art, in all media: enough complexity to keep the mind constantly engaged, but with enough unity to be grasped and remembered as a single whole.

When I attended the Steinway Hall concert, I had had the benefit of hearing previous recordings of these first three pieces. The surprises came in hearing some of the compositions that were performed that evening for the first time. I have not had much time to listen to, absorb, and think about these pieces, so I will only draw your attention to one that struck me as especially interesting on my first listening: the Scherzo from the Quintet for Saxophone & Piano. This is a fast moving piece with a strong, driving rhythm that keeps building to a powerful crescendo. I was impressed by its full dynamic range, from relatively quiet moments to the full force of five instruments—something that strikes you more, perhaps, when you are seated only a few rows away in a concert hall—and I was astonished by the sense of explosive energy this piece was able to create.

Above all, what struck me was that this is serious music—not in the sense of being dull or academic, but in the sense that it stands up to, and even requires, serious attention on the part of the listener. As a result, it "grows on you" through repeated listening, rewarding the more subtle appreciation that is possible the third or fourth time you hear it.

A friend who heard one of Mr. Johnson's compositions said to me that it sounded a bit like music from a Hollywood movie—but then she wondered whether the composer would be insulted by the comparison. I don't think he would be. Romantic music was never entirely stamped out during the Mini Dark Age. It survived in one widespread popular form: in the soaring melodies and lush orchestration of Hollywood soundtracks. But this was a secondary, incidental medium, subordinated to the action on the screen. With Mr. Johnson's compositions, Romantic music is once again brought out of the background and to the center of our attention, where it belongs—with the more demanding standards and greater complexity that this requires.

Is this the beginning of a Second Renaissance? It is just one man's work, and what follows will depend on what Mr. Johnson does next, and on how many others are inspired to match his efforts, whether in music or in their own fields. But his compositions—along with the works of a few other artists and intellectuals—are a promising start. After all, a Renaissance does not begin as a spontaneous mass movement; it begins with a few individuals who are willing to engage in the first-hand, independent effort to create new ideas.

I recommend that you buy the CD and judge Mr. Johnson's creations for yourself.