Not long ago, a young composition student wrote to me after attending a concert of new music. He wasn’t angry so much as discouraged. His question was one I’ve heard, in one form or another, from many musicians over the years: Why does so much contemporary music seem to have so little to say?
His letter prompted me to reflect on a struggle that every serious composer eventually faces. It is not merely the challenge of learning technique or mastering craft, but of discovering whether our music contains ideas worthy of being called art.
What follows is my response to him.
Dear Student,
I received your letter about the dismal state of the two new compositions you recently heard. Your comments about the decline in the quality of ideas in much contemporary music resonated with me. Here is what I would like to say.
A teacher once told me, “Writing music is easy; composing art is hard.“
That statement identifies, quite rightly, the profound lack of truth, or, more accurately, of meaningful ideas, in so much music. I use the word truth carefully because I mean it in the sense of the transcendentals: truth, beauty, and goodness. One who creates great art does not merely imitate the ideas of others or devise increasingly clever ways of repackaging the past. Rather, the artist says something genuinely new.
When a composer chooses one note instead of another, those notes should feel inevitable. They should be chosen because, to create logic and coherence within the work, they are the only notes capable of expressing what must be said. Holding oneself to this demanding standard of coherence can lead to works of transcendent power.
This leads to another problem facing composers today. Through their training, many have come to believe that writing music is simply a craft. Under this view, composition becomes a self-referential exercise—a reflection of other people’s ideas with little desire or necessity to organize those materials into something truly profound. Rather than striving to create a coherent musical metaphor (or series of metaphors) that leads listeners toward a transcendent experience, the music often becomes an act of public self-expression for its own sake, a kind of artistic self-congratulation or spectacle.
Many would argue that this is perfectly acceptable. After all, we live in an experience economy, a world saturated with individual tastes. There seems to be a product for every preference—consider the endless advertisements for sofas with different fabrics, organic fillings, steel frames, modular designs, removable covers, and countless other options. But should art and music function the same way? Should music resemble a grocery store, where audiences simply choose what appeals to them, prepared exactly to their taste and at whatever price point they prefer?
The modern composer’s career often resembles that of a pop star. A composer becomes known for a particular work—whether good or bad—and is then expected to reproduce that style indefinitely. Commissioners often want more of what has already proven successful, and composers themselves may begin to believe that this is simply how the profession works. Because composition has become increasingly consumer-driven, the demand is not merely for music but for a particular product. As a result, the time required to think deeply, to reflect, to make meaningful connections, and to allow ideas to mature is pushed to the margins, if it is considered at all.
Contrast this with Michelangelo’s work on the Sistine Chapel. He devoted the better part of four years to painting its ceiling while being financially supported by the Catholic Church. Imagine someone saying to a composer, “I want you to write a three-hour opera. Take as long as you need, and I will pay you $600,000 so you can devote yourself entirely to it.” Instead, many professional composers accept several major commissions each year and complete them all within that same year. It may provide a living, but does it produce better art?
I submit to you that this unfortunate reality weighs heavily on the mind and soul of anyone who participates in it. I struggle with it regularly myself.
There are certainly many composers today, and statistically that means more great music is being written than ever before. But it also means that vastly more mediocre, and simply bad, music is being written as well.
Keep your chin up, though. Recognizing this sad state of affairs is the first and most important step toward becoming sensitive to weak or superficial ideas in your own music. Never forget that the wastebasket, the eraser, and the Delete key are among a composer’s greatest friends.
Your friend,
Joshua Daniel Nichols
