Lamentation Reflections: lamentation six

December 15, 2022 David May

This blog first appeared as a section of a post on my patreon. To see the pieces discussed, and the concluding restoration section of the project, sign up here. (No tiered subscriptions, pay what you want.)

lamentation six

papier mâché and arm

This piece is the most personal of the six laments. So much so that the Bible used is the Bible I had as a teenager.

The work alludes to the deep place faith has in my life, The Bible literally becoming part of my veins and nervous system throughout the performance. Alongside this, the sounds used are intended to reflect the use of religion to oppress. The text is taken out of cultural and narrative context, and the humanity has been removed by having them spoken by a machine. This audio is then further distorted through digital processes removing it further and further from its original intention.

At the end of the piece, the paper mâché ‘veins’ are ripped from my arm, stopping the voices. This is a reflection of how removing faith and religion would remove its misuse and oppression. However, it would also remove something at the core of who I am.

This final act is intentionally shocking, and visually alludes to self-harm. Whilst working on the piece I thought long and hard over whether to add a content warning to the video. I’m happy with how the piece works and feel it has the potential to be a powerful piece.

Alice Fraser recently wrote about trigger warnings and reflected on the difficulty of providing an appropriate warning to those needing one, whilst not ruining the art in the process. I feel the shock value of the final act in this piece is part of what makes it powerful. As I sat with the final video, I felt that the piece was less triggering that the concept had been in my mind. With this in mind I chose to leave its description simple and non-descript like the rest of the laments. Although if feedback on the piece were to change my perception of this I would of course reconsider that.

This is the final reflection on the six lamentation pieces. If you’ve enjoyed hearing these and would like to see the second restoration section it will be made available to my patreons first. You can subscribe here.

Lamentation Reflections: lamentation five

December 8, 2022 David May

lamentation five

ceramic, broken

lamentation five was easily the longest work to create. The subtle white shading on the side of the ceramic is the result of months of sanding.

My original intention was to sand down the jar far enough for the side to have the same rough unglazed texture as the unglazed centre which is exposed along the cracks. I actually prefer how this has turned out, the sanded areas give a third visual texture alongside the glazed jar and exposed cuts.

The piece is linked closely to lamentation three, both drawing on broken pottery as a metaphor for human tragedy. But where three created a hypothetical and generalised form, here there is a specific physical item. Many of the laments have unintentionally created pairs like this; three and five are a generalised and specific broken ceramic, one and six are generalised and personal pieces involving the destruction of a Bible. two and four break this trend and work purely as standalone pieces.

This is the penultimate of six reflections on the lamentation pieces. I’ll be positing the final reflection here next week. If you’d like to read it now, it’s already been made available to my patreons here.

Lamentation Reflections: lamentation four

December 1, 2022 David May

lamentation four

canvas and mixed mediums

This piece began with the idea of loss, specifically loss of potential. That a possible outcome or future has been destroyed or removed from someone, not by choices they’ve made but by things done to them.

A canvas is one of the basic starting points in art, like a writer’s blank page. Here the canvas has been defaced with paint smeared across its surface. While this destruction could almost be unintentional, the tea stains, coffee stains and handprints reflect a deliberate human intervention. It was important to me that the piece reflect an element of human decision within its destruction. And tools and paint tubes have been left attached to the canvas, their removal now carrying the potential of further damage.

The slashes across the canvas are reminiscent of Lucio Fontana’s Spatial Concept ‘Waiting’. And like Fontana’s work there is a paradox at play; the destruction of the canvas has in itself created a new piece of art. This idea builds on the landing point of lamentation three, that the scars and marks on a jar make it unique. Reflecting on lamentation four this has stuck out to me and feels relevant that the real loss and destruction this art alludes to often creates our present. That is to say; I wouldn’t be me without the pain in my past, the lost opportunities, as well as the positives.

This is the fourth of six reflections on the lamentation pieces. I’ll be posting the final ones here over the next month. If you’d like to read them now, they’ve already been made available to my patreons here.

Lamentation Reflections: lamentation three

November 24, 2022 David May

lamentation three

lamentation three was written with lamentation five in mind. I had already begun creating five, which turned out to be a long process, and the idea of broken pottery was close to mind. The use of ceramics and earthenware as a metaphor for the body is one used within Lamentations and other ancient city laments (e.g. The Lament for Sumer and Urim).

I received feedback from Bath Spa’s Open Score Lab on an early version of this piece which was invaluable. One change that resulted from this was the breaking of the piece into two sections. The first draft felt like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to be poetry or text score. The final piece has a more poetic first section. Then, alongside the line about a break in the jar, the poetical rhythm also ‘breaks’ and is replaced with a blunter list of instructions.

This piece ends with a reflection that the jar is made unique by its flaws. And this is a theme I later explored further in lamentation four.

I’ve been asked if I had a specific jar I was describing in this piece. And while I was working on lamentation five at the time, I chose to describe a hypothetical/general broken jar instead. Hopefully the piece works well standing alone, without the need of physical object attached to it.

This is the third of six reflections on the lamentation pieces, the rest will continue to be posted over the next couple of months. If you’d like to read them now, they’ve already been made available to my patreons here.

Lamentation Reflections: lamentation two

November 10, 2022 David May

lamentation two

for bowed sting instrument and piano

My original inspiration for lamentation two was mix of the coronavirus pandemic and anxiety. Throughout the pandemic I was struck by the repetition of see the same rooms, interspersed with brief moments of respite. I combined this with a rising background tension to create the structure of this piece.

It was during the creation of this piece that I decided to perform all the works in this project myself. At first I played both string and piano parts in lamentation two for simplicity, it was just easier than finding performers. But over the course of recording a personal link to these pieces developed, and I feel like they would be different if performed by someone else. Once the project is completed, I may look to have them recorded by someone else to see the comparison. But for the original iteration, and on Patreon, it became important to me that I am the performer as well as composer.

Interestingly, reactions to this piece have often spoken of it being meditative or relaxing. The string glissando contains enough changes in pitch and timbre to ground the listener in the moment, but also is unchanging enough to remain a background feature. Creating an atmosphere that is punctured by comparatively clear piano chords.

I’ll be continuing to post my reflections on the lamentation pieces here over the next few months. If you’d like to read them now, they’ve already been made available to my patreons here.

Lamentation Reflections: lamentation one

October 27, 2022 David May

lamentation one

for bible, ink and candle

This piece was inspired by a practice within evangelical Christian tradition of underlining passages of scripture that are important or relevant whilst reading. The section of the Bible used is Lamentations, and the words being underlined are ones that have particular emotional weight. This process is made intentionally messy by using a pot of ink, as opposed to a pencil or ball point pen.

Throughout the piece, wax is dripping from a candle above. As time passes the act of underlining becomes more difficult as wax covers the page, pen and hand. The candle is made from low temperature wax, designed for body contact, but the lack of clarity on this within the context of the piece creates an implication of pain.

I’ve been asked if this piece is political in nature, as it contains the destruction of a holy text. I don’t view this as an anti-religious work and, as I’ve said, the concept is closely linked to my own experiences within Christianity. I view this work, in one sense, as an artistic manifestation of the message of Lamentations. However, in contrast to lamentation six, which also features the destruction of a Bible, this piece is a generalised reflection. The Bible used is a King James translation, which I chose because of its importance within wider British culture. This first lamentation piece still has personal elements, but the piece is more a general reflection on society’s grief and lamentation following a major event.

I’ll be continuing to post my reflections on the lamentation pieces here over the next few months. If you’d like to read them now, they’ve already been made available to my patreons here.

Lamentation Reflections: An Introduction

October 12, 2022 David May

Six pieces in, half way through lamentations and restorations, the lamentation portion of the project completed. This seemed like a good time to pause and reflect on all the pieces produced so far. I’ll discuss each piece in turn but first, here are some general observations on the whole project and process.

As I started the series, forefront in my mind was the effect of the coronavirus pandemic. I’ve had many conversations discussing the loss felt during the pandemic. For some this was loss of friends and family, but wider than that there was a loss of time, education and opportunities. I’ve been very aware of the grief that has yet to be processed. In many ways, this set of works is a reflection of that grief.

What I didn’t expect was that a project that began as a reflection of our wider communities, would become a sort of self-portrait. In lamentation one there are elements that were personal to me, but the piece was grounded within our wider culture and society. By the time we reach lamentation six the works have become a deeply personal reflection on the place of religion and faith in my life. Some of these pieces I see as generalised with elements of self-reflection within them. Others are self-portraits with elements of wider context within.

I’ve deliberately released each piece with very little explanation, preferring to let the pieces speak for themselves. When people have spoken to me about the meaning they’ve found within them, there has often been elements I had not intended when I wrote them. On each occasion there’s been something so good that it has become part of my own interpretation of the pieces as well. I find art is rarely static and has the ability for its place and meaning in our lives to adapt as we grow and change. It’s been an exciting part of sharing these pieces that their meaning for me has done that over the course of the project.

I’ll be continuing to post my reflections on the lamentation pieces here over the next few months. If you’d like to read them now, they’ve already been made available to my patreons here.

Music for Tired People

August 10, 2022 David May

Last week I was on a campsite in Norfolk running a music venue/café at a youth festival. It’s always a privilege to be able to create a space for young people that didn’t exist when I was a teenager. A place that values their creativity, encourages them to engage with the arts, and allows them to be themselves - however that looks.

The venue I ran was alongside a number of others and by the end of the week we were all tired and worn out. With one day to go I wrote this piece with my other café managers in mind.

Writing 'for'

April 27, 2018 David May

In my last blog I mentioned I'd started writing a series of experiential pieces for specific individuals. Each piece is sent as a postcard to it's recipient, there is only one copy and it is handwritten. I'm currently enjoying writing for individual people and with these postcards I've tried to create pieces that are unique to the tastes and interests of the recipient.

One question raised by this is how to document the pieces. These postcards are designed to be one-offs. Sharing images of them would spoil the intimacy of the work. In other situations I might have chosen not to document the work but in this case an alternative option presented itself.

Each postcard is unique but the message written on the back is the same:

"I'm writing a series of personalised pieces. This is the [insert number here] in the series. Would be great to hear how it goes and any responses you have to it. David"

Each response I've received has been as unique as the postcards. One person sent a video of their performance, another sent a description of how it impacted their day. These responses gave an insight into the works without breaking the intimacy of them.

So as a documentation of them I am collecting the responses here. Sometimes the recipient will choose not to share their response, or for it not to be made public. In these cases there will simply be a name of the piece and the date it was sent.

Writing for people not for instruments

April 18, 2018 David May

Recently it was suggested that I write a series of experiential pieces (see past posts) that were less general. In response I've begun writing a number of these pieces for individuals. This has caused me to think more about how I composer for performers and I thought it might be interesting to think through that process here, maybe you'll find it equally interesting.

Music for Children is a piece I'm writing for saxophonist Sophie Gibbett. Originally inspired by Sophie's wonderful tone in her playing, the piece has quickly become less about the instrument and more about the performer. Music for Children is now a piece that explores playfulness and childlike-ness (in the positive sense) and the interactions between child and authority. This change took place as I became less interested in the instrument, and more interested in the person performing it.

Following this I have started to collaborate with Kira Thomas on a piece that aims to bring Goth sub-culture into the western classical performance space. While in its early stages this work has begun from an interest in the performer as opposed to the instrument.

One question this has raised is of multiple performances. Can a piece written for a performer ever be performed by another person? If it is, does it remain the same piece? Perhaps someone other that Sophie can perform Music for Children but in doing so they become an avatar for the original Sophie. I don't know the answer to these questions, I may never know. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

What I do know: right now I'm finding it far more interesting to write for a person rather than an instrument.

Lessons from Controversy

May 17, 2017 David May

Recently I finished a piece I've been working on for the last few months called Choice Words which explores the ideas and motivations behind erotic FanFiction. A speaking piece that involves offensive language and descriptions of sexual acts; it is easily the most provocative and controversial work I've written. Whilst writing I've had conversations about why I am writing the piece, whether a composer should expect their work to be performed and the ethics of performers' rights. All of this has caused be to think about composition more generally and this blog is a reflection on the experience so far.

Firstly I believe that all music should, in a broad sense, be performed. This may be in concerts or synthesised, I've even written works where the 'performance' takes place in the mind of the person reading the score, but the piece isn't fully realised until this happens. Having said that, no performer is obliged to do this and in writing Choice Words I was more aware of this than usual. But why are composers not always aware of it? Every piece I write requires the time, energy and talents of its performers. Every performer I work with deserves the knowledge that everything I ask of them has been thought through in complete detail - regardless of whether it is to play a 'simple' note, or speak an offensive word. Three questions arose in this process that I will now ask myself of future works.

1. Why?

There are two elements to this, which I think often have the same answer. Why am I writing this, and why should anyone perform it? With Choice Words there was an idea that I believed to be strong and raised important questions about language and cultural attitudes (an area that often surfaces in my work). Those who wish to perform it will likely do so for the same reasons I wrote it. The only addition is that I wrote it because if I didn't, I wasn't aware of anyone else who would cover the same area.

2. How?

Is this the best way to achieve my aim? Is music a better option that poetry, for example. Even then, is a melody using a major scale/an atonal cluster-chord/and text-score the best music to fulfil it. In writing h a controversial piece I had to be confident in the idea and able to defend it. Imagine if we always made sure our ideas were defendable, even the ones we know won't be questioned.

3. Presentation?

Choice Words has resulted in a score printed on off-white laid writing paper, 23x18cm, 100gsm. The font is Bookman Old Style. The pages were printed single sided and not bound together. Each of these choices was given great thought: what would it convey about the piece, how would it impact the performance? If I was writing a 'normal' score, I would have printed on A4 printer paper, using the standard settings in Sibelius. Why should all music not go through the same level of detailed thought?

In short: Why am I composing? Is this the best way to achieve that aim? Is this the best way to present my work? I suspect that these three questions will change how I compose.

PDF copies of Choice Words can be requested through the Scores page on www.david-may.co.uk