Category: Toolbox

Stephen Paulus Photo courtesy of Mike Haberman

So, you’ve decided to write a song cycle or a choral work, and you have found the “perfect” text. Now what?

It’s easy to see why so many composers are drawn to this medium. The human voice is an instrument of infinite shades of color with the capacity to induce a whole range of human emotions. And with our natural interest in all of the arts, many composers are also attracted to great literature, which is where we go to find the “right” words to fire the creative muse.

However, in the same way that your musical creations are protected by U.S. copyright law, works involving the written word are also protected by these same laws. The short and simple rules are:

Works first published before 1923 are in the public domain in the United States (but may be protected in other countries if the author is not a U.S. national).

Works first published from 1923 through 1977 are protected in the United States for a term of 95 years (assuming they complied with certain formalities).

Works written after 1978 are protected for the life of the author plus seventy years.

So, if a work was written in 1985 and the author died in 1997, that work will be protected until the year 2067 (1997 + 70 years). If the work was first published in 1946, it will become public domain material (i.e. a work in which the term of copyright has expired) in the year 2041 (1946 + 95 years).

As of this writing, any work first published prior to 1923 would be in the public domain, and you would not need to obtain permission to use such text. There are, of course, some exceptions and wrinkles. If you want to use a Spanish text that was created in 1909, but you want to set the English translation and that translation was made sometime after 1923, then you are going to have to seek permission from the copyright holder of the translation. A new version, a translation, or an adaptation completed since 1923 would have to be treated like an original poem or prose work.

It is much easier to proceed with your creative musical project if you select writers who have been deceased for a long time. I have worked with some wonderful living poets and count several among my close friends, but there can be numerous challenges in negotiating the legal authorization to set their work. If you are going to set text that is protected by copyright then it is preferable that you not even begin composing that work until all the permission details are in place. This is sometimes difficult to manage since when a composer finds the “right” text they usually are inspired and want to dig right in.

If you simply must work with a living writer or a writer whose work is still under copyright protection, then there are several things that will help to guide you in your quest.

There are basically two categories of permission situations. The first is what I call “established authors and poetical icons” who present special problems. There is a small group of these whom most composers just consider off-limits. This group has made it clear individually or through their heirs and estates or through their publishers that they simply do not want their text set to music and will not allow it under any condition. Examples include Robert Frost and T.S. Eliot. Frost supposedly gave permission for Randall Thompson to set a poem of his and, after hearing it, said that he would never allow his poetry to be set to music again. The publishers of the poetry of T.S. Eliot simply do not grant permission. I have tried on one occasion and was told politely “no, thank you.” I think the feeling among these poets and authors or their estates and/or their agents is that the text not only does not need music, but that music actually does it a disservice.

In addition to the flat-out “no” answer, there may be just certain conditions that have to be honored. At one time it was considered difficult to obtain permission to set e.e. cummings’s work, but it soon became obvious that one only had to observe a certain condition. The composer must not change one word of the poem and this meant not leaving anything out or even repeating a word in the musical setting. This can present problems since composers often like to repeat a word or phrase to help create a musical structure.

When you settle on a text you would like to use in your work, I would always suggest asking around before beginning to pursue the permissions business. Ask your friends and colleagues if they have ever set this particular writer or if they know of anyone who has. Without too much effort you can usually find someone who has been through the ropes before.

The second category involves published or unpublished poets and authors who are living or have not been deceased for the full 70 years. If you are working with an unpublished writer who is agreeable to your use of a text, then you simply need to work out an agreement that he or she finds acceptable. Most likely this will feature a plan in which you, the composer, and the writer share 50/50 in any royalties derived from the sale or rental of the work.

If the work is published, you may find a publisher who is interested and enthusiastic about having it set to music. In many cases, though, the publisher can present a real stumbling block. First, determine who holds the copyright on the work. This is usually listed in the very beginning pages of the book and often an address is given as well; there is rarely a phone listing. Now with Google and other informational search engines it is generally much easier to locate some in-depth contact information.

At a publishing house, the person you need to contact in order to get clearance to use the text is the permissions editor. This may also be listed as a “Permissions Department.” By and large these people do NOT want to speak with you, so even if you are able to obtain a phone number it may not be much help in expediting the process. They are generally not affected by a claim that “I simply must get started on the writing of my work by next week since the premiere is only six weeks away.” This, of course, is a generalization and there are always exceptions. I once used this line myself and got great results. My call did not reach the permissions editor, but was routed to an assistant who was empathetic and promised to help move things along. She happened to be married to a composer and knew exactly what I was going through. But that was just dumb luck.

The publisher will almost always want you to submit your request in writing, and this is certainly reasonable. No one will want any confusion about what permission was granted and when and for what term. You must keep in mind that the term “copyright” refers to a bundle of rights and the owner of those rights may grant permission for the use of a portion or all of them. They are perfectly within their rights to deny you permission or to grant you permission to use the copyrighted text subject to certain conditions. You are the buyer and they are the seller. They don’t have to sell if they don’t think it is in their best interest.

Now comes the asking part, and my advice would be to ask for all of the rights you think you will ever need up front. A typical letter to a publisher (sent by fax, email, or regular mail, as dictated by the publisher) should probably ask for the following:

Dear “Publisher,”

I am a composer of concert musical works (or some such terminology) and am seeking permission to set the work of XYXY. The text I would like to set includes:

(list each item and cite the volume or source from which it comes, along with the page numbers, e.g.
“Tough Day in Manhattan” from Big City Diaries, p. 28
“Oh, For a Night on the Prairie” from Big City Diaries, p. 47, etc.)

In addition to requesting permission to set the text to music (you can add, if you like, “for baritone and zither” or whatever your performance forces are), I am also seeking permission:

1. to have the work performed publicly
2. to have the work published
3. to have the work recorded
4. to have the work video taped
5. to have the text printed in a public program

You should ask for all of these rights in your initial request so that you don’t have to go back after the fact to negotiate additional rights which may entail additional fees. They might grant you the right to have your work performed and say nothing about publishing it. Then when you return to say, “Now I would like to have my work published,” they could easily tell you, “Fine. Please pay us $1,200 for that right.” I have been surprised by how often they will simply ignore all of these stipulations and only grant the composer the right to set the words and have the work performed. This is of no value if you stop to consider the future life of the work. You need to obtain at least items 1 and 2 from the above list and preferably 1 through 4 or 5.

On the part of book publishers, and even on the part of the general public, there is a pretty thorough misunderstanding of the term “published” music these days. In the past your work had to be “accepted” by a “reputable” or established publisher through which it was engraved, printed, and distributed for sale. Now, with Finale, Sibelius, Score, and all of the various software engraving programs, your work is really “published” the minute the data has been entered into a computer. All you need is a printer, an order, and a copying machine to complete the cycle from creation to customer. In terms of copyright law, you might add that “published” means reproduced in copies or phonorecords which then may be distributed to the public.

In your letter, you might also request exact wording for acknowledging all of the appropriate parties connected to the selected text. This might help to indicate that you have done this kind of thing before and want to give due credit and also that it is important for you to publicly thank them.

What are some possible results that can come from your request? There are really four basic ones when you are deadling with a text’s publisher.

1. The request can be denied.
2. They may ask for an up-front fee only.
3. They may ask for an up-front fee and a percentage of the royalties from the sale of the work.
4. They may agree to a percentage of the royalties only.

If your request is emphatically denied, you may choose do some additional follow-up, but you will likely receive a form letter telling you “no thanks,” and it will probably not be worth your time to pursue it further unless you know someone in the firm. At this point, you should fall out of love with your selected text and move on to another poet.

The request for an up-front fee can be the best alternative given the right conditions. What are those conditions? On occasion the publisher will ask for a very reasonable fee without requesting any portion of the royalties. If this fee is “reasonable” enough—and that depends on your own financial situation—then it may be best to agree to that.

For example: Let’s say that the publisher asks for a one-time fee of $100 and no royalties. This is a great solution for several reasons. It is simple, it is clear, and it means that you or your publisher (of the musical score) do not have to pay a percentage of the sales of the music to the text’s publisher. With one transaction you have taken care of the permission and all financial details. If your work becomes wildly successful and sells thousands of copies, then you can consider yourself lucky that you only had to pay $100 for usage of the text. Even if it doesn’t, however, you were able to secure the rights for a very modest fee.

Point #2 can require a bit of navigating. What book publishers fail to understand is that composers are generally not able to afford a substantial up-front fee. They also usually don’t realize that a 22-minute song cycle for soprano and piano is not going to recoup enough royalties in sales of the music to ever pay back a permission fee of $1,000 or $1,500. Explaining to a permissions editor that your little song cycle will probably sell for $15.99 and on average might sell three or four copies per year (in a good year!) might bring them back to reality.

Point #3 can end up with a few different outcomes and is my least favorite scenario. To have to pay an up-front fee and also give up a share of the royalties puts the composer in debt immediately and puts a dent in all potential future income.

The division of royalties is also a category of discussion. Some people argue that the royalty split should resemble the kind of arrangement that often governs an opera commission. In this case, it is not uncommon that out of the total fees available for commissioning a new work the composer will receive a 2/3 portion and the librettist will receive 1/3. On occasion, composers have successfully applied this model to the distribution of royalties as well. Keep in mind that this does not mean 2/3 and 1/3 of all the money generated by sales. It means 2/3 and 1/3 of the writers’ share. If a musical work sells for $10, then the writers’ share is almost always 10 percent. So the composer would receive $ .67 and the text’s author would receive $ .33 for each copy sold.

Quite often these days I have found that it is easier to simply offer a 50/50 split. It puts both creators on equal footing, acknowledges the importance of the text, and disarms possible disagreements. After all, who but a real hog or an extremely arrogant soul can argue that 50/50 isn’t fair?

Option #4 is a decent and fair-minded proposal and keeps you from having to come up with any initial funds. You or your publisher simply agree to pay a percentage of the monies generated by the sale or rental of the work. It does involve some bookkeeping and the submission of annual statements and a check, but allows you to set the literary work you have chosen without requiring any spending in advance.

I should not fail to mention that fairly often a publisher will have a ready-made form they can send to you which will grant permission subject to their conditions. These are quite often made without too much sensitivity to the composer’s needs, so you need to look it over carefully to make sure that it meets all of your requirements as well. An attorney may be helpful here, but could be quite costly. Unless they are well versed in this area of law, they may only complicate the process.

If you can write a succinct and professional letter using proper English then you don’t need a lawyer to do any of this. You could easily end up paying the attorney more than you would have to pay the publisher. If you are about to write a Broadway show and the producer has shown you a letter of agreement with a brief summary of the royalty pool then I would not make a move without an attorney. But these smaller endeavors—procuring a text for a song cycle, a choral work, etc.—are things that any composer can undertake. It takes a little time, but you will learn quite a bit in the process. All composers would do well to become more acquainted with the copyright law. While you’re at it, learn what the current rates are for mechanical licenses and as much as you can about that part of the business. This will affect you if your work is recorded. And learn about synchronization fees in case there is an opportunity for your work to be used in a T.V. show, a film, or any visual image.

What if you have already set text without securing the required permission or have even had such a piece performed? In this case, my only suggestion would be that you should quietly put away the work and act as if it doesn’t exist. Then I would very tactfully go about the permission-seeking procedure as outlined above. If a successful agreement is reached, you may then produce the “completed” work in due course. If permission is not granted, then you should withdraw the work and hope that no attorneys for the poet’s estate or the publisher were informed. You really don’t want to end up in this kind of hot water if you can avoid it.

I hope these suggestions prove to be helpful. Keep in mind that most writers are quite excited to have their work selected to be part of a musical creation. They, too, are wonderfully creative and independently minded people who are curious to see what might happen when their words are set to music. Seek help where and when you need it and don’t be afraid to ask plenty of questions. As composers, no one expects us to be experts in copyright law and there are plenty of people on the sidelines interested in our creative projects who stand ready, willing, and eager to help.

Paola Prestini

You have a great idea, a great group of people with diverse talents, the drive, and the energy. Maybe it’s time to start a 501(c)(3)! To start, you’ll need to carefully consider several questions:

Why do I want to start a non-profit?
Is my mission clear?
Do I want to form my own non-profit, or should I join forces with an existing group?
Is my idea original? What is its lifespan?

Getting your 501(c)(3) status is a long and arduous process, but it is ultimately very rewarding. This community links you with other artists and individuals and you can apply for grants once you are approved by the IRS, but starting a non-profit also means you are doing something that nurtures your community. It means you are working towards a larger good and have a mission in mind that is clear and does not have a visible time limit. The beginning is nebulous, but the more questions you ask, and the more determined and adventurous you are, the more this path can lead to amazing and fulfilling results.

I co-founded VisionIntoArt (VIA) in 1999 with Nora Kroll-Rosenbaum. We are a diverse, multidisciplinary collective with a political bent that inhabits sound and explores process and creativity. We incorporated right when we graduated from Juilliard. We had a strong belief that collaboration sustained artistic innovation, and we wanted to promote a political, artistic, and social message that enhanced tolerance and artistic engagement within our communities. We had a long-term plan and a goal of one day starting an interdisciplinary school. We applied for our non-profit status in 2000 and received it within the year.

As your group gets started, you can choose to work under the umbrella of another non-profit organization and apply for grants if they agree to be your fiscal sponsor. This is a good idea if your group does not have the funds or the skills to start this venture alone or if your see your idea as a short-term plan. Umbrella organizations sometimes take a small percentage of the grants you get, yet they offer you a roadmap which can be very useful. If you choose to go through another non-profit, make sure you get solid legal advice for this and, as always, keep good records. You do not want to find yourself in a situation where your money is poorly tracked and ends up misplaced. To help prevent this, it is imperative that you have a solid contract in place before any transactions occur.

Early on you should open a small business bank account. This is essential as a way of keeping your fiscal house in order and your financial goals in mind. Even if your organization is very small, it is essential to separate your own personal finances from your organization’s.

You should build an advisory board. The members can be your personal and professional associates—perhaps one or two of your mentors and teachers can be persuaded to join. The advisory board will help establish your credentials and give the project credibility. The advisory board is not necessarily made up of potential donors. That would be nice but this board is different from your actual fiscal board. These are people who believe in your project and will meet with you to spark ideas. They should be able to help connect you with potential donors, presenting organizations, curators, foundations, and other grant-making organizations.

You’ll also have to form a governing board—a group of people ready to assume fiscal and legal responsibility for the organization. We were advised to keep the initial fiscal board small and within our artistic group (in our case, that meant the three composers who founded the organization). In the years that you are trying to define your mission, you should take on the governing role by not only leading the fiscal board but also by doing the nitty-gritty tasks. All the details and departments in a non-profit need to be overviewed by a good director and learning these things yourself is a smart way to understand non-profit finance as well as law and administration.

You will need to create bylaws and articles of incorporation. Your bylaws include responsibilities, board information, how your business is structured, and other details. Your articles of incorporation include who you are, your location, your mission, and more. You will need to incorporate with your state before you file for your tax-exempt status. Each state is different, but this is a quick and inexpensive process. Your certificate is filed with the Department of State pursuant to Section 402 of the Not-for-Profit Corporation Law. It can cost from $50-$100 and should take about two weeks but can take up to a month. The Free Management Library, an online library of articles and other resources for non-profits, offers a good guideline for writing your articles of incorporation.

You will need legal advice. It’s important to get to know and trust a lawyer, and it is always best to find someone who specializes in the non-profit sector. If you hire a lawyer to help with incorporating your organization and getting your non-profit status, it can be a lengthy process—perhaps as long as a year—and can cost anywhere from $500-$2000. In the beginning, you will likely meet with your lawyer several times face-to-face, and then multiple times by email. You will be asked to provide your bylaws and letters of incorporation. The process entails paper work and lots of research. We downloaded the actual application online so we could understand each detail of what was being done. If you choose to complete the application yourself, consult with a lawyer before submitting anything to the Internal Revenue Service.

On your application you will have to indicate your fiscal year. It is sometimes better to go by the calendar year rather than your season so that your tax year matches your donors’ tax schedule. This generally makes book keeping less of a headache.

When you incorporate, you go through an advance ruling period of approximately 60 months before you are reviewed by the IRS. This does not mean you are not a fully functioning non-profit. It just means you need to demonstrate you are fulfilling your mission, keeping good paper work, and are in good financial shape. Before the end of the 60 months, you will need to fill out and submit form 8734 to the IRS.

By this point, you should also have developed a good relationship with a tax accountant who can help you cover all your financial bases. Be aware that when your organization receives more than $25,000, you will have to file a 990 form with the IRS. This verifies you are non-profit for the reason stated in your mission and that you are abiding by the rules and regulations for which you applied for status. Any of your employees paid more than $600 per year needs to be given a W-2.

Once you begin receiving donations and grants, keep all your files in order. Always, always write a thank you letter to your donor when you receive a donation, mentioning the specific amount and giving them your tax exemption number.

Without the help of a lawyer, it is possible to do all the above. We actually learned a lot about finance and administration from grantmakers and friends who run their own non-profits.

As soon as you receive your non-profit status, you can begin applying for grants. That’s when you’ll need your press kit, work samples, and, above all, optimism. Keep trying and stay positive. You’ll be turned away and rejected many times, but that’s okay. Grantmakers need to learn about you. Develop relationships with your peers and with the folks who run these organizations. They’ll track your progress, and you need to track their guidelines and changes in their programs.

Burn out is all too common among those leading small organizations. If your creative team also doubles as your administrative team, make sure to be specific about roles, responsibilities, and tasks. Clarify what each position means and write it down. Who is the artistic director? Who will be in charge of marketing, public relations, grant-writing, and publicity materials? Wherever possible, make sure you delegate.

Finally, keep re-evaluating your goals as your group grows and develops. Open and honest communication within the group is important as your organization matures. Changes are inevitable. Perhaps you’ll need to organize a larger board, drawing in new people who weren’t there from the beginning. Financial needs will change and you should be thinking two or three or more years ahead about where you want to be financially. And don’t be afraid if your group has changed in ways you couldn’t imagine. The success of a group depends on its ability to adapt, to renew itself, to find new energy and strength. Embrace the inevitability of change. Be open to new ideas and roads.

Still ready to start your own 501(c)(3)? Start with your mission and get it on paper. You’ll rewrite your mission statement a billion times but keep every single version. It’s important to track your dreams and your goals and to see how they evolve.

Edward Ficklin

Having given a short introduction to the world of commissioning agreements, I’m back to have another go at the question from a completely different angle. This time we’re going to discuss some of the same issues as they apply to collaborative works. Just using the word “collaborative” already tells you that we’ve entered murky territory. There’s rarely a neat roadmap to tell you where you’re going (or when you’ve arrived) in a collaboration. It might even feel a little like stumbling in the dark.

So let’s look at one way of shedding some light on the subject—a collaboration agreement. Just like its cousin, the commissioning agreement, the collaboration agreement is a legal document—a contract, if you will—that spells outs expectations and obligations among the creators of a work and can also incorporate expectations and obligations between creators and commissioners.

To help us get started and to make the discussion more meaningful, I’m going to set some boundaries by defining—somewhat narrowly—a few important ideas. Collaboration, for our purposes here, will be defined as the joint creation of a new artistic work by two or more artists. These artists can work in the same or different (even multiple) disciplines.

I say “joint” to emphasize the flat structure to the working relationship—flat, not hierarchical. One person is not directing the other(s). If that were so, then it would be work-for-hire, not collaboration. Here we’re talking about equal partners. The other important aspect to joint creation is ownership. All collaborators jointly own the work created out of the collaboration. This joint ownership has important implications when it comes to the intellectual property rights of the work and how those rights can be exploited.

It is because of the not-so-small details just mentioned that a written agreement governing the collaboration is a good idea. It may feel a little awkward, even adversarial, but it need not be that way. Written agreements don’t have to be weighty and legalistic, don’t have to be fretted over by large teams of well-paid attorneys or anything like that. As I mentioned in the previous article about commissioning agreements, ordinary language in a friendly yet professional tone will be more than adequate.

There is no set standard for such an agreement, and many successful collaborators have never even thought of such a thing, let alone used one. One size most certainly does not fit all. The format of a collaboration agreement can vary widely. In the commercial theater realm, for example, collaboration agreements are not uncommon and often very long, very legal, and very complicated. In our more genteel (i.e. less profitable) world, such iron-clad tomes created by lawyers, lawyers, and more lawyers, are not really necessary. A straightforward letter of “agreement” or “understanding” signed by each collaborator is more than sufficient. It should describe, in the aforementioned friendly yet professional language, how the collaboration will proceed and what the expected outcomes are.

To get you started consider this series of questions and use the answers as the basis for your agreement.

What are each collaborator’s feelings about having a written agreement?
Does each collaborator feel it’s necessary or would it interfere with the relationship and/or working process by setting the wrong tone, or, worst of all, breed resentment?

Will the collaboration agreement be separate from the commissioning agreement?
Collaboration issues can be incorporated into commissioning agreements. They can also be kept entirely separate. One advantage to a separate collaboration agreement is that the development and exploitation of the work after the commission is complete can be more easily managed. It will also keep the commissioning agreement (and possibly the relationship with the commissioner) much simpler.

What is the time frame for creation of the work?
When does the work on the piece start and how? Will it start with meetings, an exchange of materials for review, working sessions? Are there deadlines to meet, such as readings, rehearsals, or performance dates? What are the consequences of not meeting those deadlines?

What is the budget for this collaboration?
Awkward though they may be, discussions about money right up front can smooth the way later on. Is there money involved and who gets what? Also consider the costs of materials, equipment, space, or other needs necessary to the creation of the work. Who gets to hold the purse strings? Even if the collaboration is more open-ended or speculative, some discussion of the costs involved and financial control would be merited.

What will be the development process?
If the collaborators are willing to set milestones, a written agreement is the place to do it. If that feels too restrictive, then maybe a schedule of meetings—without dictating any outcomes—might better suit the working relationship. Discuss what each collaborator’s contribution will be. This is not always as obvious as it seems at first glance. When working within a well-established form like ballet or opera, each collaborator’s part is clear cut. But what if you’re venturing into new territory that doesn’t fit easily into traditional forms or disciplines? It might help to think in terms of “deadlines” and “deliverables”.

What happens after the work is done?
If the work was created through a commission or for a specific performance, what’s the fate of the work and the collaboration after that? Will there be further development of the work? How about publicity, recordings, fundraising, etc.?

Who owns what after the work is complete?
Intellectual property rights—i.e. ownership and licensing—are going to be the most important part of any agreement. Therefore, always discuss these issues before starting anything (even if you decide to forgo a written agreement). The licensing of a work becomes more complex when multiple creators are involved because the “ownership” of the work is not clear cut. Will collaborators own their parts individually and a share of the ownership of the work as a whole? Will individual creators have the right to exploit or further develop their individual parts of the whole work—with or without permission of the other collaborators? This is definitely murky territory. Collaborative works don’t always lend themselves to easy division into component parts. And most importantly, always, always, discuss how any future income will be split. The intellectual property issues are likely to be the one area where collaborators will want to seek legal advice.

How will each artist be billed?
It’s always worth your while to discuss how collaborators will be billed in publicity materials and playbills. This need not—probably should not—be too detailed. Simply spelling out how each collaborator’s role (composer, choreographer, librettist, etc.) will be listed and agreeing that all collaborators will receive equal billing should be sufficient.

How and when can we change the agreement?
Change is inevitable. The development process might bring to light whole new avenues of exploration, new funding sources, or even new collaborators. Make some provision for flexibility in the future.

I’d like to close with three thoughts on collaboration and its future in our increasingly digital age.

1. Communicate: Communication is vastly easier with the advent of email, and those emails are a great way to keep track of changes as the collaboration progresses. Email provides a great source of documentation. If you don’t already, you may want to explore various ways of sorting and archiving the incoming and outgoing emails related to the collaboration in question.

2. Manipulate: The distribution and easy manipulation of digital content can facilitate collaboration across distances and time. This trend will only increase in importance in the future. However, the same concerns about collaboration, especially intellectual property rights, still apply.

3. Alternate: Our digital age has seen the creation of several alternative schemes of licensing and new ones are sure to come along in the future. Two major trends are at the root of these developments. First, the ease of digital distribution and manipulation of content have increased dramatically. Second is a strong culture of intellectual collaboration as seen in the software industry in response to the monopolistic practices of certain behemoth corporations (which shall remain nameless). The results of that culture are now finding their way into and influencing the world of art and giving birth to entirely new ways of creating and distributing multi-disciplinary works. For some insight into this brave new world, check out the Creative Commons website at www.creativecommons.org. While these alternative schemes are certainly not for everyone, it is good to be informed about this growing trend.

Is a collaboration agreement absolutely necessary? No, not really, not in the way a commissioning agreement is. Be aware of the possibility, however, think through the pros and cons, and then, most importantly, discuss the issues and decide for yourselves. It might be a little awkward at first, but the collaborative partnership will likely be that much stronger for the effort.

***

Composer and librettist Edward Ficklin lives and works in New York. In addition to directing the Voyeur Theater Ensemble (voyeurensemble.com), he is on the staff of Meet The Composer, Inc. where he manages two key MTC programs: Commissioning Music/USA and Global Connections. More information about Edward and his work is available at www.edwardficklin.com.

Belinda Reynolds

Many composers shy away from writing music for young players, thinking that this is a “dumbing down” of their talents or time unwisely spent on musicians who have little interest in their work. Well, nothing could be further from the truth.

Over the last twenty years, I have fostered a dual career path by writing for professional ensembles and writing pedagogical music for young players. When I was in school, I began teaching piano and composition privately to children out of my need to pay the bills, but I loved it. I found the pedagogical repertoire to be sorely lacking in quality music that reflected the sounds of today, however, and began writing music to teach my own students. This evolved into getting commissions and residencies to work with young players in a variety of settings. From these experiences I have found a way that, for me, makes composing for young musicians extremely rewarding both in terms of artistic and personal goals.

Below I have compiled a “cheat sheet” of guidelines that have helped me when writing music for young players. While composing for students makes most of us think of children, these tidbits can be applied to creating music for all aspiring musicians, whether they be eight or eighty years old.

Know your players

This is perhaps the most important aspect of writing for students. It is vital to take the time to get to know them both as musicians and as people. Listen to them play, ask them questions about what music they like and do not like, get a sense of their personalities. Talk to their music teachers to get a clear assessment of their technical abilities. By doing this pre-compositional research, you achieve two things. On a musical level, you will learn valuable information about their musicianship abilities, data that you will find essential in writing a successful piece. On an extra-musical level, by letting the students share with you their ideas, they will trust you and will feel like they have a stake in the composition—that you are writing specifically for them. I find this translates into them really enjoying the music more. They then put more effort and attention into learning the work, which makes for a successful performance.

Let the players know you

Similarly, take the time to let the players know who you are. Share with them your own personal experiences as a young musician, perhaps even playing some of your first compositions. Encourage them to ask you questions and give an honest answer, even if it is “I don’t know.” Kids have the best radar for insincerity and if you put on airs or are distant with them, you are already sabotaging your project. However, if you take the time to share your music and yourself, you will gain not only their respect but their trust to try your music, something brand new, without hesitation. (How often to you get that with professional gigs?)

If you use technology, make it SIMPLE, SIMPLE, SIMPLE

Today many of us incorporate electronics into our pieces, everything from a synthesizer part or amplification, to elaborate computer processing and multimedia elements. Kids today are very savvy and very into this arena, and you may be pleasantly surprised as to the wealth of information they can provide you on your gear!

However, this may not be the case with their schools or teachers. Especially in public schools, often the only sound system is the PA system they use for announcements. The computers are hopelessly outdated, and the teachers have no experience with much of the music technology available, even at the student level.

This does not mean you need to ax that cool ambient track you wanted to overlay against the choir. In my experience, you have two options: either provide all your own gear, or simplify the technology so that it can be transferred to their resources. For example, I had a residency once with a public school in Connecticut for which I was asked to write a choral piece that included computer, as they wanted to begin to incorporate technology into their music program. Well, their gear consisted of an old Casio keyboard, a computer from the ’90s, and a very basic freeware music sequencing program. I decided to skip using my professional software and instead used MIDI files which could easily be transferred to their computer. As for the sounds, I was able to find a few choice mechanical tones which I used as musical allegories to the characters I had written into the text of the choral piece, a story about robots. Finally, I chose a student to be my computer guy, a kid with savvy computer skills but who could never sit still in rehearsals. It all went off without a hitch. The kids liked the whacky loops coming in against their parts, and my tech guy did a stellar job, focusing all his energy on his task and becoming a valued member of the team.

Compose a piece that builds on the players’ strengths, then focus on one or two new musical elements to master

Kids love a challenge. At the same time they need to feel they are up to that challenge. When composing for young players, I always keep this in mind and structure the work accordingly. I do this by composing a piece that incorporates the students’ musical strengths while focusing on one or two new skills to master. For instance, I once taught an 11-year-old piano student that had a great ear for rhythm and harmony, yet had difficulty in his reading ability. In composing a duet for him, I focused on structuring his part around a bi-tonal chord progression that changed its pattern by just one or two notes. I then overlaid a rhythmic cyclical pattern that I offset using accents and meter changes. By incorporating a spicy harmonic language and rhythmic flair, I enticed Tommy into the piece. Once he got into it, the challenge of having to focus on reading intervallically was not a daunting task, but a step he could focus on and master since the other structural elements were already within his technical grasp.

• MP3 sample of “Tommy’s Tune”
• The first page of part one and part two of the score

Limits are possibilities

We all have our strengths and weaknesses in whatever activity we do. Young players especially have areas in both their technique and musicianship that have simply not matured to the level of an advanced performer. While many might see this as a hindrance on one’s compositional craft, I see it as a possibility to stretch my compositional chops, so to speak. For example, when I was composer-in-residence with the San Francisco Conservatory, I was asked to write a string orchestra piece for beginning players. However, nobody mentioned just how “beginner” they were. In getting to know the students and teachers, I found out that the fifth graders had only been on their instruments for two months! They had never read music and had only learned the beginning phrases of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” by rote. That was it. Well, I decided to create a “post minimalist” piece based on open strings and the melodies and rhythms of the “Twinkle” variation they knew. Each part had only two patterns to learn that were cycled against each other in various combinations. Against this I gave a melody and counter melody for the teachers to play. The result was a kalidoscopic ensemble piece that all the students mastered within weeks. They pulled it off great, with only three rehearsals in front of a conductor (me). The kids and the audience liked the piece and I, as the composer, felt it was a success, both for how it sounded and also for how I stretched myself in approaching the challenge of writing for these fledgling musicians.

Style does not matter, so long as you give them something to ‘hold on to’

In my experience, I have found students to be more open to experimental music than professionals. Why? Unlike us, they have yet to fully form their opinions of what they like and don’t like. Studies have shown, in fact, that the process of learning an instrument (whether you are young or old) actually creates new neural pathways in the brain. So now is your chance to indoctrinate the young into noise music or performance art—whatever your cup of tea.

To assure success, though, it helps to contextualize it within the framework of something they are already familiar with. For example, as a member of the Common Sense Composers‘ collective, I and my seven comrades were asked to write eight pieces for two high schools in Albany, New York, as part of the New American Music Festival.

Well, in our spirit of collaboration, we decided to create our pieces based on a song the students chose. The kids had a vote and the winner was “Zoot Suit Riot.” Every composer had a different take on it, especially my dear colleague John Halle. A political activist, he decided to base his music on the actual political Zoot Suit riots. In his piece, he created a quasi-tonal/noise/arrhythmic sonic landscape from which different band members stood up and declamated the story of immigrant revolt. The performance art aspect did not throw the musicians, but drew them in as it was both new and daring, yet it connected them to something they already knew and loved. So you can do improvising, you can do scratch tones, you can do multiphonics, you can do rap, you can do the most abstract thing imaginable, as long as you get both the trust of the players and you frame it within something they already know.

There are myriad other individual lessons I have learned over the years, but the above guidelines are what I always bring to any composing project that involves young players. If there is one thing I would say to always bear in mind it is that, as composer (and my husband) Dan Becker says, “Simple does not mean simplistic.” That means trust that, as long as you are mindful of the players needs and abilities, you can write an engrossing, musically challenging piece that is technically attainable by your young performers.

Thus, I invite you to explore this largely untapped arena for composers—writing for amateurs. Not only might you find it to be a rich and unique experience, you will be making both a short and long term investment in your art. I cannot begin to tell you how often my educational works have helped create notice and a wider audience for my other projects. We must also realize that the kids of today will be the audiences and players of tomorrow. And the more they listen to and play new music, the more of a chance we have to make noncommercial new music a vital thread in the fabric of American culture in the years to come.

Contact info:
[email protected]
www.heshemusic.com

David Frost Photo © Jeffrey Herman

Say you’re a composer with an opportunity to have a professional recording made of your music. You’ve been told you’ll be working with a record producer, but what does a producer do, anyway? You’re suddenly reminded of that old joke: A blind rabbit and a blind snake run into each other in the woods. The snake says, “What are you?” The rabbit replies, “feel me and see.” The snake slides around the bunny. “Furry ears, bushy tail, twitching nose…you’re a rabbit! Now tell me what I am.” The rabbit feels the snake. “Slippery, slimy, no ears…you’re a record producer!”

Well, don’t worry. A skilled record producer actually has good ears and is there to help you. Basically, they oversee the entire recording process. The producer is responsible for whatever preparation is needed to make sure things run smoothly during the session, beginning with making choices about venues, engineering, scheduling, and budget. A good producer will also have contacted you about getting scores and any available live recordings in advance, so they can become familiar with your piece. Depending on the artist, once you get into the studio the producer may just stay out of the way and keep things organized or can greatly influence the performance.

But what happens when the composer is at the recording session? Who is in charge? Ideally the producer runs the session, takes care of bookkeeping, gives the artists input when needed, and works with you to convey your wishes to the artists. The producer is there as your advocate as well as the artists’, and you should use that to your advantage. I’ve seen composers come into a session with an adversarial attitude toward the producer, and I think that this is counterproductive. Yes, you know how you want your music to sound, but producers work in this environment all the time and bring fresh sets of ears to the session. They will likely have things to offer that you may not even think of.

Ideally, you will build enough trust to function effectively as a team. Sometimes you may want the artist to do something but may feel afraid to express it for some reason. Ask the producer. Sometimes a remark is more effective coming from the composer, and sometimes it’s better coming from the producer. For instance, it would be more credible to the artists for the composer to explain a sweeping interpretive change. However, comments concerning performance details such as intonation, ensemble, balance, etc. are better left to the producer. In this way, the composer avoids alienating the artists by saying too many critical things to them in a high-pressure recording situation. Also, many times composers will ask that I say something to the artists that they have said before, perhaps in a rehearsal, because the artists are still not responding. Here is where the producer can step in as another opinion, echoing the composer’s thoughts. As a team, the producer and composer can be a powerful influence.

If you are not getting along with the producer and unable to work out the problem directly, the recording process will be difficult. If there is an executive from the record label available, you may want to speak with them. If the problem is a question of personal style, and the recording is being made to your satisfaction despite this, then rise above it. Next time you can work with someone else. But if the recording is being compromised, the best course is to deal directly with the producer. Most of the time, it will come down to a problem of communication.

When you are expressing your wishes to the producer be as specific as possible but don’t worry about not being technical—that’s why the producer and engineer are there. You may not like some aspect of the recorded sound but aren’t sure how to express it. Producers are accustomed to interpreting comments like, “it sounds too (insert any word in the English language)”. If you can’t figure what this means and translate it into a technical suggestion, you probably aren’t a producer. The best time to speak to the producer about performance details is between takes. You should confer in the control room and then speak with the performers to avoid any confusion. The hardest thing for the performing artist at a session is to get ambiguous or contradictory feedback, so it is best to present clear and unified thoughts.

Almost all of my experiences working with composers have been interesting and enlightening. What I always appreciate about having the composer at a session is that there is no ambiguity or guesswork when interpretive issues arise. Sometimes the composer’s wishes are beyond what anyone could have known. I’m surprised when I find myself more concerned about accuracy or playing what’s in the score than they are. Once when I pointed out a note discrepancy between the part and the score and asked which was correct, the composer said, “it doesn’t matter, I like either note.” This was not because he was uninvolved or uninterested: at that point in the music, it just didn’t make a difference to him. I’ve also worked with composers who felt willing to accept small differences in the performance from what is written in the score for the sake of getting the right feeling or effect. Of course this makes sense, and it reminds me of how we are trained to be somewhat dogmatic about performance. What would Beethoven have said at a recording session of his own music? Would he really care as much about an accent, or a question about a slur as much as we think he would have? I have also seen the opposite: when a composer is focused on the tiny details and is losing sight of the overall picture. If you have a really good producer, they can help put things into perspective.

One more piece of advice about working with producers: keep in mind that they are musicians and artists in their own right, and will have opinions and ideas. This is a good thing and can be very beneficial to you. Producers are ultimately responsible for the recording’s quality—technically and musically—so it is in their interest to get the best possible result. I know that sometimes I want the artists to do something differently or better, and the composer is sitting there not feeling that this is so important. But this is a situation where the producer serves as an advocate for the performing artist. Artists are concerned with the details of their performance and you need to have enough material to edit with, so they will be happy with the final product and want to play your music again!

If you are the composer and also one of the performers on the recording, you will need to rely on the producer even more. One composer I’ve worked with several times behaved very differently in his different roles. When attending a session of his music, he was very mellow, relaxed, and tolerant. When he was conducting his own music, or even some else’s, he was a dictator! He was edgy, upset, and demanding in a completely different way. I found this to be fascinating, because he obviously felt more invested in the outcome when he was one of the performers. I would have thought that when he wasn’t in control of the performance of his own music he would have been more anxious.

Now, if you don’t have a producer, don’t want one, or can’t afford one, then you may be working on your own. I would suggest that, at the very least, you keep track of everything being recorded—the take numbers and what each take contains musically. When it comes time to do the editing, this information will save a ton of time. The engineer usually keeps a “tape log,” but unless they have the score and are following along, which is often not the case, that log will only tell you the take number and where it will be found on the tape. You won’t know what material is contained in each take. If you are recording directly to a hard drive, the engineer may not even make a log. You should request having an additional format recorded at the session that you can actually listen to later away from the studio, like a CD or DAT. If you need to have these made after the fact, it’s an extra expense. If you have your own log of takes, and all the material on a format you can easily listen to, you will be ready to review the session later and make decisions about what to use in the editing process. You should also know whether you are recording two-track or multi-track—this is important whether you are working with a producer or not. It will determine how you listen at the session, because if you are recording multi-track you will be able to change the balance to some extent in post-production. But you need to know what the tracks are and how much isolation there is.

An editing plan is an exact map of what will be used in the editing process. It’s written right into the score and indicates which takes are to be used and where. So it may indicate using take 6 from the beginning until bar 12, and then take 2 until the second beat of bar 25, and so on. When a producer is involved, they usually create the editing plan, not you. At first, this may seem strange, but it actually works very well for a number of reasons. First, the creation of a solid and detailed editing plan takes a lot of time, especially for someone who is not accustomed to doing this work. Secondly, the producer will be familiar with your general wishes and should have notes on your preferences from the session. Finally, a producer is very experienced with the editing process so should know quickly what will work and what won’t. This can save a lot of time and money. As mentioned before, a producer is an artist in his own right, and having an objective pair of ears to do this work is really useful. By the end of the session you will have a sense of whether you think the producer has an understanding of your music, and at that point you should feel comfortable. You will almost always have an opportunity to review the editing and request changes.

In conclusion, a relationship with a producer can be an important tool for you and your music, and the more you connect with them, both on practical and musical levels, the more successful the result will be. Ask a lot of questions about what is going on, and don’t assume that just “anything” can be done in the post-production. The old phrase “fix it in the mix” in a dangerous one. Despite the amazing tools available now, there are some things that just don’t work, mostly for musical or sonic reasons. If there is any doubt, ask the producer, and good luck!

A lot of people see the three mysterious letters DBA and wonder what they mean. Do they represent membership in a secret club? Is it a special legion or earned degree? Would a CEO with an MBA viewing a DVD in NYC need one to complete her profile? Well, none of the above, actually. “Doing Business As” is simply a public declaration that you intend to conduct business under the name of a company you have created.

DBAs are also known by the shadier sounding term “Fictitious Business Name Statement”—perfect for those who like a little mystery in their life or who are in the federal witness protection program. (I’m not certain just how many composers that latter group includes, but just the thought of it makes me smile.)

DBAs are good for business—and good for privacy. From top: Alex Shapiro and Activist Music.

There are two important reasons for a composer to acquire a DBA: one has to do with money, the other with privacy. And if you are doing business under any name other than your own, it’s required by law. If you are a composer and a member of a performing rights organization like ASCAP, BMI, or SESAC, then you are automatically what’s called a “writer member” of that organization and you receive writer’s share checks for your performance royalties, made out to your name as the composer. But if you haven’t been signed to a publishing house, hopefully you’re also listed as a “publisher member” as well, and have created a name for a new publishing company that you own. Thus, you’re collecting the other big piece of the royalty pie, known as the publisher’s share (the intricate anatomy of royalties and publishing is a very big one that is gleefully dissected in other articles). Those publisher’s checks are made out—here’s a surprise—to your publishing company. If your publishing company is in your name, say, Kelly Composaroni Music, then you won’t need a DBA because it’s presumed that you indeed are Kelly Composaroni (few people would claim a name like that voluntarily). But if your publishing company has an unrelated moniker, say, Squishy Tunes, then you’ll indeed need to file a DBA form.

This is because if you, Kelly Composaroni, bring a check into your bank made out to Squishy Tunes, the banker isn’t supposed to deposit it into your account unless he or she knows that there’s a connection between you and that company. Heck, you could have snagged that check out of your neighbor’s mailbox, or maybe even mugged its rightful 89-year-old recipient on a street corner and stolen it from her little beaded purse. Just take a look at your face in the mirror! Would you trust yourself? Of course not. So why should a bank?

Well, okay, we all know that most banks either know you personally or simply don’t check. But they have every right to do so, sometimes do, and legally always should. Plus, it’s entirely possible that at a key moment you might stroll into your branch and a shiny new person is working there who needs to check out just who Squishy Tunes really is before they let you have access to that company’s cash. Without proof, not only wouldn’t you be able to get your money, but you’d also have no place to put any new deposits. And so the bank needs a DBA statement on file, in order to be assured that they aren’t inadvertently trafficking in misappropriated funds and committing fraud. The DBA simply makes it clear that Kelly Composaroni and Squishy Tunes are actually one and the same.

The other benefit of a Fictitious Business Name is privacy. Just like a comic book hero, you can shield your true identity from those you don’t want to find out about you. Assume you’re a composer of some note. Eb, perhaps. Do you want people to have your home phone number and your address? Possibly not. You can purchase a post office box and set up voice mail on a separate phone number, and then use this parallel contact information for registering your DBA. Now your real profile (and unquestionable celebrity status) will be protected.

By the way, anonymous voice mail is a terrific thing to have, and thanks to the Internet, it’s very cheap. If you do a search for “free internet voicemail” you’ll stumble across a ton of services. Yahoo Messenger offers free voicemail, and Skype, another hot multi-communication tool, offers what they call Skype-In service for €30 a year (about $36), which gives you your own phone number, separate from your home number. There are also services including efax and j2 Messenger that assign you a phone number; if you live in a large city, it costs a bit more to get one in your own area code.

So how do I get one of these nifty DBA documents, you ask?

Obtaining a DBA is very simple and reasonably affordable, averaging around a hundred bucks or less. You can either take the time to register your DBA yourself, or have a service do all the work for you while you use your day to do something far more interesting, like organize your sock drawer.

If you choose the do-it-yourself route, forms are available online; each state has its own regulations. Do a search for “(your city) and (your state) DBA certificate,” or some clever variation thereof, and you’ll get to the right place in a few clicks. You can also be very daring and leave the safe haven of your home computer to venture outside and visit your town clerk or county recorder’s office to obtain the proper form. I bet they’re lonely and would appreciate the company.

Ever take a look at some of the pages tucked away toward the back of your newspaper and wonder what all those “Fictitious Business Name Statement” listings were doing there? Ever marvel at who all those make-believe companies were, selling everything from glitter glue to pig feed? Well, now you can be one of them. You’ll need to bring your form to a local, generally circulated newspaper of your choosing and arrange for the notice to be printed every week for four weeks in a row. This ensures that everyone in your vicinity has had a chance to be warned about the trouble that you and Squishy Tunes intend to get into. You’ll receive a proof of publication form from the newspaper after the month has passed, which you then send in to the County Recorder.

If you feel like springing for just a few more bucks, you can use one of the many convenient filing services available through the Internet; just type “DBA form” in your search window and you’ll find yourself inundated with choices, such as filedba.com or legalsharp.com. These kinds of services will have the form available online for you to fill out and will then take care of all the filing, publishing, and follow-up needs associated with your DBA in whatever state you’re in.

Your DBA must be renewed every five years, but even if you forget and end up having to file again as a new applicant, it shouldn’t be a problem. Unlike trademarked names, in many states (but not all), several people can have the same DBA, much like there are many songs titled “I Love You.” (Too many.) The purpose of the DBA is mainly for your bank to recognize the connection between your name and the business name under which you’re receiving checks. Even if you live in a state that requires a unique business name, the chances are good that if you forget to renew right away, your company name still won’t have been immediately snatched up by someone, and your tunes will continue to be squishy forever more.

When I was living in Amsterdam, American composers would often write to ask, “How can I get my music performed over there?” My usual response was come visit! Of course, setting out to establish one’s music in another country can feel overwhelming; it’s often problematic enough getting your music played in your own town! But overseas performances don’t have to remain a distant fantasy. Here are some thoughts about how you can approach this daunting—but ultimately rewarding—task.

Making a trip to meet performers, composers, and presenters—or tacking such an excursion onto a vacation—is certainly the most direct way to introduce your music to a new place. But you must think of yourself as more than just a composer; in traveling to a foreign land, you also become a de-facto cultural ambassador and full-time student of society. It is therefore worthwhile to transform the above question into: “How can I have an enriching and satisfying experience overseas?” This holistic approach may seem incomplete, but ultimately it will be much more fruitful. Integrating yourself into a new country’s musical scene is not something that happens overnight; it takes time, commitment, hard work, and continual nurturing, and it will certainly not evolve in the way you expect. The shortest distance between two points in time—now and the date of your first international performance—will not trace a straight line, so make the decision at the outset to enjoy your unique journey.

If the “exploratory excursion” busts your budget, you may have to get creative in order to finance your trip. For those with academic jobs, your school may offer funds to defray the cost of airfare, hotel, and other expenses. Employment with a professional ensemble, venue, or foundation may carry similar perks, or you might suggest such a trip to your boss, if you can identify ways that it would assist the organization. If you are a good writer, you might be able to find a publication that would help cover your expenses in exchange for a blog or an article. The more unorthodox your potential funding source, the less competition you will have.

Think globally, act locally

In your quest to seek international fame and fortune (or at least fame), a great deal can be accomplished here in the States. Start off by reading Todd Reynolds’s excellent article about the ensemble/composer relationship and apply his advice to your global perspective. Next, do some research on the music scene in the country you’ll be visiting. Identify which American composers are played most often there. Some American music seems to travel better, and certain countries reveal a fondness for particular composers or trends (though this may simply indicate which types they have been exposed to). Try to narrow your sights to one city, especially if you’re dealing with a rather populous or diverse country. It would be overwhelming—and not particularly useful—to try and identify all potential venues for your music in France or Japan; better to concentrate on Marseilles or Kyoto. Of course, it helps if you’re choosing a place in which you have a genuine interest, beyond its contemporary music scene.

Web surf’s up!

The Internet is an indispensable tool for research. One of the most useful publications is the Gaudeamus Information Newsletter, published in Holland twice a year and updated continually online. It contains a range of information for composers and new music enthusiasts of all different stripes. Students or emerging composers should look for workshops and courses like Domaine Forget in Québec, the Britten-Pears Young Artists Programme at Aldeburgh, the Vancouver Creative Music Institute, New Music Indaba in South Africa, the International Young Composers Meeting in Apeldoorn (info on Gaudeamus website), or Ostrava Days in the Czech Republic. Fulbright and Rotary Fellowships, though very competitive for certain countries like France or Germany, can be considerably easier to secure for less traveled places like Uzbekistan, Uruguay, or Uganda; for some countries there aren’t even enough applicants to fill available slots! More established composers should check fellowships like the Rome Prize, the Sacatar Foundation in Brazil—both of which include airfare—Ircam in Paris, ArtsLink for Eastern Europe and Central Asia, or the Japan Foundation. Some of these courses, fellowships, and residencies include performances and showcases of your music, which can lead to other possibilities. A ton of information is available from the Foundation Center, which costs a small fee to join. It can also be useful to get in touch with the U.S. Consulates and Embassies. There may be a cultural attaché, who can help to introduce you to folks in the local arts scene.

Once you’ve settled on where you want to go, create a contact list. Ask friends whether they know people you should meet in your chosen country, especially contacts who speak some English if you are unfamiliar with the local language. Set up appointments before you visit, so that when you arrive you can make the most of your limited time. Don’t start by asking for connections; just schedule a meeting to talk and listen. Be patient. It can take a while for anything to happen, and Americans—especially ones from big cities—can easily get frustrated by slow, or no, results. Remember, hearing about a cheap apartment can be as valuable as connecting with an excellent musician. Attuning yourself to a foreign country is something like assembling a jigsaw puzzle; you can spend a great deal of time feeling lost, then all of a sudden the right pieces fit together in a way you didn’t quite anticipate.

Identify overseas institutions which can be of help. Many countries—from Norway to New Zealand—have contemporary music centers or foundations devoted to jazz, improvised music, electronic music, folk, or even pop music; the International Association of Music Information Centres publishes a list. Most of them have websites and newsletters with important listings for composers—the equivalent of the American Music Center’s Opportunity Update, the American Composers Forum‘s bulletin, or the Calendar for New Music. Contact them well in advance of your trip and set up a meeting for the first day you’re there. Correspond in advance to learn whom you might meet while you’re in town and what festivals are happening. You might even decide to plan your trip around a major festival, like Warsaw Autumn, Umbria Jazz, the Adelaide Festival, or the World Music Days of the International Society for Contemporary Music. If the subject of your music comes up during the correspondence, refer them to a website or an article about you. If you have enough time, send them a CD or share a site where they can download or listen to your mp3s (like the AMC’s NewMusicJukebox). Don’t bother sending scores unless asked; they’re too bulky and not really of much help when trying to introduce most folks to your music. Send perhaps one or two pieces on a CD, works that you consider to be your most representative and compelling.

Contemporary music outside of America is often featured at local or national festivals, some of which last for weeks. It’s worth checking out the Gaudeamus bulletin and other new music journals to see which festivals and ensembles are the most pro-active in the country where you’re going.

You say goodbye and I say hello

You’ll most likely have strong first impressions of the “natives” upon your arrival, some reinforced by preconceptions. Don’t worry; the folks there will also have impressions (and preconceptions) of you. Americans have a reputation abroad for being friendly, outgoing, and dynamic, open to fresh angles and new relationships. Europeans, in particular, envy the fact that we come to the artistic drawing board less hindered by the weight of history (though in improvised music, these tables are sometimes reversed). That said, we can also be seen in a negative light—as self-promoting, ignorant, superficial, disingenuous, and stubbornly independent. Americans may perceive foreigners in equally suspicious ways, as dogmatic, aloof, stiff, jaded, and lacking polish.

The best way to break down those stereotypes is to be conscious of them. Attempt to view things from your host county’s perspective. Sometimes other cultures and countries have a completely different way of handling every aspect of a performance, from financial transactions to programming to planning. If you’re in Caracas, try and imagine how America fits into a Venezuelan’s vision of music, and of the world in general. Apply your acquired knowledge of their arts, politics, history, religious life, and culture. Ask for candid views of America and of American music. You are bound to find out information which will be useful to you. Before you know it, you may find yourself appreciating—even incorporating—some of their approaches, and you may discover nuances of your own personality of which you were unaware.

Du bist ein Berliner

The more interest you show in a foreign country’s culture, the more likely it is that they will be inclined to open up to you. In many countries, promoting your music directly can seem rude or inappropriate. You should also seriously apply yourself to studying the language. Conductor Steven Burns of Fulcrum Point cites “lack of language proficiency” as a key obstacle to American composers procuring performances overseas. Especially when abroad for more than a month, learning the language will offer you more self-reliance and allow you to communicate—and by extension, network—on a much deeper level. Just knowing the phrases for “hello” and “thank you” in Bulgarian will remove huge barriers and so it’s well worth the time it takes to learn to pronounce. If you’re in Bulgaria, that is.

In addition to the language and history, the particular type of music-making in a country or region may provide clues to successful compositional approaches. Yeesun Kim, cellist in the Borromeo Quartet, notes that “operatic singing is a deeply important part of Korean folk music. There are T.V. shows in which housewives, some of whom are fantastic singers, enter to compete in singing contests for popular and traditional music.” Composers can increase the likelihood of performances or commissions by tying their ideas to this kind of local tradition of style or instrumentation. This rule holds true for many other countries, especially ones in which folk culture remains vibrant. One is much more likely to engender high-quality (or, for that matter, any) performances in Senegal by writing works for djembe and kora than by composing for snare drum and harp. When teaching at the Universidade Federal de Bahia in Brazil, I found that almost two-thirds of the composition students at the conservatory were acoustic guitarists. After witnessing spontaneous guitar sing-alongs at every party I attended, I came to accept that this instrument had a special place in the society, one which transcended music. For composers seeking performances overseas, a creative approach to musical traditions already embedded within a culture can serve as a deeply effective starting point for new projects.

A franc assessment

Be sensitive to the financial situation in the country where you are traveling. Most places have different fee structures than in America, and you should try to work within their means. Commission fees in most countries are generally lower than in the U.S., but not always. Don’t be afraid to ask about money, but proceed cautiously; until you figure out how the system in a given country works, it’s often wisest to ask a fellow musician who is not directly involved with your project.

Government organizations are the most common source of funding in other countries, which can be both a help and a hindrance. Conductor Clark Rundell, director of contemporary music at the Royal Northern College of Music, points out that “many ensembles have an obligation to play music by local composers and many national organizations will only commission composers from that country.” This situation dims prospects for American composers seeking money through official channels. So if you’re looking for a sponsor, search first in the U.S. Meet the Composer offers “Global Connections Awards” which allow composers to pursue individual projects abroad. Private individuals—notably those affiliated with the country or city in question—may also be a viable option. Or find a company that does business overseas and see if they will help sponsor a project (foreign companies which do business in the U.S. are also a good bet).

Ask not what your country can do for me…

Many overseas performers and groups are eager to play in the U.S., and some may pay more attention to your music if you can help them organize a tour here. A composer delivering a score and recording may not garner immediate attention from an ensemble, but a composer who engages them in a dialogue about performance opportunities is unlikely to be ignored. Help them make connections in the U.S.—to venues, festivals, press, or presenters—or simply help plan a concert, perhaps (but not necessarily) one including your music. One can either take a cynical view of such actions as being “politically motivated” or see them as an empathetic gesture, a “two-way street.” I would encourage the latter interpretation. When the U.S. is unknown territory to a musician or to an ensemble, even small favors are greatly appreciated. I firmly believe that karmic energy is an important reality; if you offer a helping hand, it’s more likely that one will be offered to you, sometimes from a completely unrelated source, sometimes years later. It can also feel empowering to do a good musical deed without expecting something in return.

The show must go on

When a group, festival, or presenter finally decides to program your work, clear communication suddenly becomes vital. Try and avoid vagueness in details (unless it is an indelible part of the culture), and make sure you know what is meant by a certain question or response. It is especially important to be clear what is expected of you in terms of scores, parts, attendance, and participation, just as you would in the States. Find out how often your contact person checks their messages, and what mode of communication they prefer. Inquire also whether you should correspond with separate folks about artistic and logistical issues. If you continue to have unanswered questions due to language barriers, ask a native speaker to help write or translate an email, letter, or phone message. If the project in question is rather extensive, you may want to consider employing a translator to help you communicate on a regular basis.

The procedures for generating and delivering scores and parts are not necessarily different than in the States, though you may have difficulties with the paper size or availability of copying facilities, depending on where you’re going. If facilities are available on the opposite shore, PDF or other computer files can be a safer, cheaper, and faster way to send music (though you shouldn’t be surprised when your picture-perfect page turns get printed back-to-front). When shipping materials by post, remember that mail can take an excruciatingly long time getting to and from certain countries. If you want to make doubly sure the music arrives in a timely manner, use a courier like UPS, FedEx, or DHL (though this can be expensive); some—like Aramex—are cheaper and specialize in certain areas of the world.

Needless to say, never send the only copy of your music and always bring an extra set of everything with you, just in case. It is risky and expensive to send musical instruments or other valuable objects by mail. Much wiser to include them as “excess baggage” and pay an extra fee at the airport. In certain countries, be prepared to pay small bribes to folks handling delicate instruments or baggage. It can be well worth the tip.

Doe maar gewoon (dan doe je al gek genoeg…)

This Dutch cliché essentially means “Be normal!” Remember that your first performance overseas is a learning experience as well as a musical experience. Composer Tania León affirms that a foreign composer’s presence “is always vital to the performance of the work, as long as the composer does not become confrontational with the ensemble.” How much input do they appear to want from you? If you’re performing, try to view the ensemble in action before you come into the mix, so that you can observe their process. In general, it’s best to offer your presence at the first rehearsal, but not to insist. If you do attend rehearsals, try and keep your initial comments to a minimum (unless there is a misunderstanding of great magnitude), responding to questions asked of you, and keeping notes to discuss with a conductor, director, musician, or choreographer afterwards.

Answer your mail!

This was Aaron Copland’s reply to students who inquired how they could further their careers. After a performance, keeping contact is the most important action you can take. Be courteous and (at first) formal. Americans have a tendency to use casual language before it might be appropriate. In corresponding with your performers, be appreciative of their efforts and ask their opinion of how things went. They may express reservations, but that doesn’t mean they won’t play your music in the future. Americans tend to view negative feedback as harsh criticism, but many other cultures place less importance on niceties than we do. A friendly note to a presenter or festival administrator may be greatly appreciated; however, your most valuable contacts—perhaps one day your champions—will be the musicians themselves, and perhaps the choreographers, writers, filmmakers, directors, or other artists with whom you work. And don’t forget your colleagues, the composers. They are the ones who will best understand why your music should be heard in their country, and they will be able to articulate it to their comrades better than you can.

Ultimately, an overseas experience is about much more than being performed. Discovering what makes another culture tick is itself an enriching and fascinating journey, and ultimately the lens is turned back on yourself. It may take a great deal of energy and perseverance in order to engender interest in your music abroad, and the payback is not necessarily great in monetary terms, but what is refracted and reflected back—in knowing yourself on a new level—will help you grow as a person and as an artist. And that reward is well worth the trip.

Edward Ficklin

agreement n. 1 the act or fact of agreeing or of being in harmony or accord 2 an understanding or arrangement between two or more people, countries, etc. 3 a contract

Imagine that you’ve been given a commission that represents an incredible, career-changing opportunity. You feel this could be your best work yet. You get a contract to sign, and it stipulates that the piece will be a “work made for hire.” When you ask what this means, you’re told that the commissioner retains all rights to the work—they will own your piece and can do whatever they like with it. (Read the previous sentence again, then re-read it, and then ponder on what it really means—someone else will own your music!) Though work for hire is common in commercial settings, rarely should this arrangement applied to concert commissions.

Perhaps you’ve already written the piece, delivered the score, and the commissioner refuses to accept it. You look at the agreement you both signed and it doesn’t mention anything about refusal. Now what?

Or what if you’ve been given a commission and you’ve written half the piece. Suddenly the commissioner wants something completely different. You feel like they’re starting to write the piece for you. Since you’ve worked together so many times in the past, you mutually decided to forego any kind of written agreement. How do you convince them they’ve crossed the line?

Coming To An Agreement

Commissions are essential to the careers of professional composers. They represent key opportunities to explore new artistic directions, hone compositional skills, and reach out to new audiences. They’re also a huge risk—for both composer and commissioner.

That’s where the commissioning agreement comes in. The agreement is a shield both composer and commissioner can use to protect themselves should anything go wrong. Think of this agreement as insurance. You wouldn’t buy a house or a car without the right protection for your investment. Is your work as a composer any less important?

While a good agreement won’t eliminate every problem, it can help avoid the most common ones and make the whole process flow much more smoothly. But how to tell what’s a good agreement? Unfortunately, agreements are not of the “one size fits all” variety. Just as each commissioned piece will be unique, so will the agreement that helps bring it to life. Whatever the final form and content of the agreement, just make sure you have one, it’s in writing, and it’s signed.

Please note that my advice here applies mostly to commissions for concert works. The points I raise may not apply to other types of work arrangements you will come across throughout your career as a composer. Composing for film, television, video games, advertising, commercial theater, etc., are usually carried out under very different conditions.

To make sure you have a good agreement, I’m going to suggest two “simple” steps to follow:

1. Communicate profusely before signing anything.
2. Get everything in writing, keep it in writing.

Communicate Profusely

Sometimes the obvious must be stated. Communication is important and its value cannot be overestimated, during the commission and beyond. What to communicate about? Try these points for starters, but don’t limit yourselves to just these.

1. Consider the nature of the commission. Discuss such things as the reason for commissioning the piece, expectations about the finished work, any historical or personal background behind the piece.
2. Include the premiere date, performers, and venue.
3. Decide on a final delivery date, as well as expectations for delivery of drafts or sections of the final work.
4. Outline specifics regarding instrumentation and length. Who does the copying and to what standards? If the piece involves text, discuss who selects the text and who is responsible for getting necessary permissions to use the text.
5. What role will the composer play in realizing the work? Often this is overlooked, but can be instrumental in relationship building and in making sure the work is performed as you intend. This is also a necessary point to discuss and include in the agreement for improvised and/or electronic works.
6. Which rights remain with the composer? Which are granted to the commissioner or other parties? Typically agreements for concert works specify that the composer retains full rights to the work. Agreements will also specify limited or temporary rights granted to the commissioner, such as premiere rights, subsequent performance rights, right to make the first recording, broadcast rights, and who keeps the scores, parts, and other performance materials. Remember my earlier warning about “work made for hire”. Though first-time commissioners might not be aware of this, a concert composer is not expected to give up copyright of the work just because money is changing hands to get it written.
7. Discuss money: Specify the total commissioning fee and the payment schedule. Usually the composer receives half the fee upon signing the agreement and the other half when the score is delivered. Keep the copying costs separate, even if the composer is also copying scores and parts. If the work does not involve scores or parts, discuss the nature of any necessary performance materials and who is responsible for producing and paying for them.
8. Summarize publicity and promotion plans and include these in the agreement wherever possible.
9. Include a request for an archival recording of the performance, if possible.
10. State how and when the commissioner can request (not demand) revisions and whether the composer is bound to implement those revisions.
11. Determine a method of dispute resolution before it is needed: Agree on a mediation service or an outside party to arbitrate should things go really wrong.
12. Miscellanea: List what credits/attributions are required on the score, programs, press materials, and recordings; what additional publicity materials are needed by commissioner, presenters, or performers and when and how they should be sent.

Don’t offer to waive your performing rights fees. Ensembles and many halls have to pay a licensing fee anyway, and you are entitled to a portion of that. If you waive the fee, then you will just be giving away your earned share.

If the stakes are really high or especially complex, talk to a lawyer. If you need help finding one, contact the Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts’ Arts Law Line at 212-319-ARTS Ext. 1 if you’re in the New York area or check their website (www.vlany.org) for a national directory of Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts Organizations. Lyn Liston, director of new music information services at the American Music Center, can also assist you in finding appropriate sources of legal advice in your area.

Get It In Writing, Keep It In Writing

Communicate in writing whenever possible and, yes, email does, for the most part, count as “in writing”. Just be sure to save any and all emails that deal with the commission. For really important concerns, however, such as changes to delivery dates or to the piece itself, there’s no substitute for an old-fashioned letter sent by certified mail.

Keeping communications in writing has the extra value of jogging either side’s memory when needed. Commissions can take anywhere from a few months to a few years to complete and sometimes the details can get a little foggy.

Don’t let the communications stop once you’ve both signed. If anything, there should be more communicating than before. Regular written updates, say once every month or so, are a good way to keep the relationship happy and productive and demonstrate that you’re handling this commission with a high standard of professionalism.

Write Your Own? Yes, You Can

Traditionally the commissioner presents the composer with an agreement and then the commissioner and composer negotiate before signing on the proverbial dotted line. This doesn’t always have to be the case. You—yes you, the composer—can write the commissioning agreement.

If you’re like me, you didn’t get much training in drafting legal agreements in music school. It will be helpful—necessary even—to consult some templates and other resources. These provide a good starting point. A note of caution: Make sure you read multiple examples—don’t just cut and past the first one you find. Various user-friendly legal guides give templates and instructions on drafting agreements, and service organizations like Meet The Composer and the American Music Center will have templates specific to commissioning new music.

My “talking points” above can also serve as a guide to drafting your own document. Covering each point in the order presented would produce a good, if somewhat basic, commissioning agreement.

If you take anything away from this discussion, I hope it’s a clear understanding of the need for communication when dealing with agreements. The more you and the commissioner talk about before signing and during the entire commissioning process the less chance there is that something will go irreconcilably wrong. Don’t be afraid to ask and don’t ever delay in responding.

I’ve only just touched on some deep and complicated issues and further research on your part is highly recommended. While it may be frustrating in the extreme to exchange the courting of your inner-muse for your inner-attorney, it is time well spent. Remember, commissioning agreements are insurance and a few hours of your time and a small “premium” will bring you much needed peace of mind and protect your creative endeavors.

Richard Carrick

You can easily find great music with a great image added, or a great film with great music added, but there are fewer examples of perfect blends between the two media in which something new is created. The groundbreaking multi-media composer Jaroslaw Kapuscinski likens this “new” experience to being able to perceive the third-dimension (i.e. depth), when looking at a two-dimensional image. There are famous examples in popular culture of these audio-visual blends, such as the last space travel scene in Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey and the return of the theme song, with lyrics, during the last image of Gilliam’s Brazil. But, for the most part, the perfect synthesis of moving image and sound exist in the work of less commercial artists such as Oskar Fishinger, Norman McLaren, Bill Viola, and the Quay brothers.

I began working in this area almost ten years ago and recently premiered Cosmicomics, a work for narrator, chamber ensemble, multiple video, and electronics, created with Peter Nigrini (projection designer). This piece provided a chance to further develop ideas and techniques of audio-visual integration, including counterbalancing visual dominance by emphasizing the music, creating a counterpoint between music/video/story, and orchestrating main ideas across each of the three media.

Similar to the Florentine Camerata’s creation of the opera from music and theatre, the future for multi-media art—creating a fluid interchange between music, image, story, performers, and ever-evolving technology—opens up all sorts of new territory. What follows are a few notes from my own explorations into these new possibilities, drawn both from my own work and from experiencing performances of my colleagues’ ensemble/video compositions.

Audio-Visual Primer

I. Types of moving images.

Since music performance and moving image create vastly different experiences, it is important to generalize what they might have in common and match the right type of image with the right type of music.

I deal with three different types of visual images:

• Realistic footage, such as a man walking down the street.
• Abstract footage, where realistic footage is processed or filmed in such a way as to not clearly represent anything in the real world. This footage moves in a life-like way, but has no identifiable subject, and most closely resembles chamber music.
• Computer generated (or non-filmed) footage. This most closely resembles non-performed, non-acoustic (electronic) sounds.

There are also musical categories, including realistic sounds (jackhammers, birds), abstract sounds (chamber music) and generated sounds (not performed, can be real or artificial).

Each of these categories has different degrees of identity. Joining realistic footage with abstract sounds means the video has a stronger identity, and hence, might dominate the music. Furthermore, since different members of the audience interpret abstract music differently, the realistic footage might limit someone’s experience of a multi-faceted score. Likewise, realistic sounds can bring a stronger identity to abstract images (imagine different sized dots appearing on the screen, each with a different animal sound), limiting the multi-faceted nature of the abstract image while heightening the created “realism.”

II. Creating the “meta-instrument”

Conceiving an audio-visual piece should not be like Kierkegaard’s leap of faith, jumping into the unknown with the belief that it will work. There need to be strong reasons why audio and visuals are synchronized. Many hours of experimentation are usually necessary, of course, to arrive at the full concept.

Equally important is conceiving the technological setup behind multi-media works.
I liken this to creating a meta-instrument of video, instruments, playback setup, stage setup, lighting design, etc., that you use to realize the concept of your piece. You have an idea, and in much the same way that you choose an orchestration to realize a musical idea, you have to carefully choose video equipment, controllers, and stage setup to build the perfectly matched meta-instrument. This requires time to get to know this new instrument, how it behaves, breathes, gets excited, looks bad, looks good, etc. It is similar to a solo percussionist having to lay out and learn a new instrumental setup for every piece.

Different technology sensitizes the audience to different types of perception.
Picking the wrong technology can make the work unfocused or unfulfilling just as easily as can the wrong materials or execution. Imagine writing a soft, fast piece for large orchestra, or a passionate requiem for solo piccolo. A spontaneous multi-media piece using click-track or a rhythmically precise multi-media piece where the real-time video is lagging will feel similarly disjunctive.

There are millions of unique ways to technically present visuals with live music.
For this article I’ll limit the discussion to an ensemble or soloist playing a notated score alongside a moving image presentation. But it’s worth mentioning that working with improvising musicians is a great way to elegantly create a meaningful dialogue between the disparate media.

There are theatrical, stage, and lighting elements to consider.
This might or might not include ascribing characters to the musicians and deciding how the musicians will ‘dialogue’ with the technology. Where onstage are the musicians? Are they visible? Are the musicians functioning like a pit orchestra, or are they characters in the piece? Where is the screen? How many screens? How is the stage lit? How are the music stands lit? Is the video rear or front projected?

In Cosmicomics, our meta-instrument allowed two video streams to be cued live, so the conductor was free to perform the entire piece without ever looking up at the screen while conducting. This kept the emphasis on the musical performance, and musical sensitivities that both musicians and audience members expect. It challenged us to create video footage with flexible durations, and conceive the music/video experience with a broader sense of synchronization. Short video clips were easily coordinated with this setup. However, the last section of footage, which runs a continuous six minutes, was too long to just hope the music (full of fermata’s and slow tempo’s) would end exactly in the same place every time. Therefore it had to be carefully cut, extended and overlapped so to provide flexibility of duration without showing these edit points.

III. How to synchronize

Here are some technical options, (with my impressions on each). The first one synchronizes music to video, the other two synchronize video to the music.

Click-track
The click-track is a stable way of syncing studio musicians to pre-edited film or video footage. For live music, however, it removes a crucial level of musical thrust that any great conductor/musician instinctively gives when in front of an audience. It also makes the music sound less relaxed and subservient to the visuals.

With so many other options available for synchronizing musicians with video, why sacrifice the musical performance? There is also the possible technical glitch of the audience hearing the headphone click, not to mention musicians who really don’t look good or happy wired up. The click-track works great for rhythmic music that synchronizes every beat to the video, a style that was popular in the ’80s and early ’90s. Nowadays, we are exposed to many more subtle video techniques, making the click-track seem out-of-date and inelegant by today’s standards.

Live video
Live video can be a great option if professionally realized. The biggest problem is control: How much control of the image do you need to achieve your concept? The more control you need, the less variables the resultant image can provide. For example, if you want to avoid a shaky moving image, you require a fixed camera, which limits you to one subject for the length of the piece. I’ve used live video with a fixed camera on the keys of a piano, alongside two pre-recorded videos of the same image (playing the same piece, “Ruby My Dear” by Thelonious Monk). Both the live performer and the audience’s understanding of the piece were dependent on and reacting to the technology, making this piece truly interactive technology.

Real-time interactive software
With laptop CPU power and hard drive space close to the level needed for stable playback of uncompressed, full size video, it is only a matter of time before the majority of video playback in theatre, dance, and major shows all switch to real-time video interactive software. The best current option is Max/Jitter. There are other options developing, such as Miller Puckette’s PD, as well as hardware-based systems like Watchout.

More importantly, once you choose a real-time environment as part of your meta-instrument, you need someone to make all of those cues in real-time. The inventive solution is an interactive piece where the musician controls both the music and video. David Wessel at CNMAT (UC-Berkeley) developed a very elegant score following ‘meta-instrument’ for orchestra with real-time technology, where a musician in the orchestra (following the conductor) is playing a part for midi-keyboard that only performs the cues for the video software to realize.

IV. How to rehearse

No matter how well you conceive, prepare, and internally visualize/hear your work, if it is experimental or new to your way of working, it is all but impossible to completely predict how everything will look and sound. Fading to grey instead of black or keeping a low bass note throughout a video passage might make the difference between a good piece and a perfect piece. So, a completely practical and necessary part of the creative process is adequate time to stage your piece in advance of the rehearsals and performance.

This is where the world of academia provides a huge advantage over professional performances—the opportunity to test, re-test, and re-fine your work before presenting it publicly. Professionally, the ideal situation is to have a full run-through with musicians, edited video, and staging (including lighting) a month or two in advance of the performance to fine-tune the qualities most difficult to predict at the composing table. If a full run-through is not possible, leave as much flexibility as you can realistically keep track of in the score and video. If the musicians are willing to change, you can test and immediately decide on different possibilities during the rehearsal process.

Introducing video into a rehearsal is very tricky, as it changes the dynamic of the rehearsal and can be distracting. I like the IRCAM model for rehearsing with technology: the conductor should be able to run rehearsal the same with technology as he/she does without. This requires having many start points in the video that sync up with rehearsal letters in the score. More importantly, as any player in the ensemble does, the video engineer needs to rehearse playing back the video to perfection before bringing it into the rehearsal. These requirements should be discussed with the ensemble/musicians at the very beginning, since they usually require extra rehearsal(s) and rental of video equipment for rehearsals as well as the concert, which affects budget.

V. Interested in making an interactive piece?

If you’re interested in beginning multi-media work, here’s some advice.

• Study every art form using live music with video you can, including theatre, opera, ballet, concerts, installations, etc, and see how things work live. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. Unlike writing for string quartet (of which we have millions of examples in the repertoire), live music/video pieces are hard to come by.
• Have a defined reason for adding video.
• Don’t chain yourself to your first idea. Experiment as much as possible before deciding on a concept.
• If you are new to multi-media, start small. A solo instrument and video is much more manageable and will free you up to explore.
• There are a number of up-and-coming programs around the country and abroad focusing on inter-media creativity and issues. If you’re really curious, but not sure what’s out there, sign up for a class.I’m presently in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, where walking around and seeing the movement of life on streets without sidewalks is mesmerizing. It reminds me of the experiences I had living in Holland in the mid-nineties that first got me interested in capturing visual perspective on video. The Dutch were less suspicious of my camera than the Tanzanians will be: time will tell whether that turns out to be the inspiration for my next piece.
  ***Richard Carrick writes chamber music, multi-media works, performs as a pianist, and directs Either/Or. He lives in Manhattan.

  Cosmicomics was premiered by the Sequitur Ensemble on January 12, 2005, at Merkin Hall. Video stream and complete information at www.richardcarrick.com/cosmic.html.

Ian Moss Photo by Randy Nordschow

So here’s the deal: Let’s say you’re what they call an “emerging composer,” which is to say a composer that nobody has ever heard of. You’ve been through school, maybe have a few live recordings of your music, but presenters aren’t exactly knocking down your door yet begging to program it. Wouldn’t it be great if you had a high-quality demo CD of all your pieces? Or maybe if you got together with some other composers and put on a concert with professional musicians? Or what if you went the Philip Glass/Steve Reich route and formed an ensemble dedicated to playing your own music? It does sound great, but all of it requires money, potentially a lot of money—money that you don’t have because, guess what, you’re an “emerging composer”! You’d like to apply for some of these grant opportunities you see listed everywhere, but the requirements seem too specific, the competition too fierce, and half the time you’re not even eligible.

This was exactly the situation I found myself in shortly after moving to New York, when Frank J. Oteri offered to include my music on his monthly 21st Century Schizoid Music series at the Cornelia Street Café. “Great,” I said, “what do you need, like one, two pieces?”

“No, no,” Frank corrected me, “you get the whole evening to yourself. Two sets.”

“Uh…okay,” I stammered, taken aback, “about how much music are we talking about, exactly?”

“Well, let’s say forty-five minutes per set. Does that work?”

“Sure, sure,” I said, conveniently neglecting to mention that, excluding orchestra pieces and other works that would be inappropriate for the venue, I had written about forty-five minutes of music in my life up to that point. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I was hatching grand visions for this concert in my head. Not only would it feature the world premieres of the five or so pieces that I would need to write to fill out the evening, but the performers would include a 13-voice pick-up chorus and the debut of my electric new-music ensemble, Capital M. In recognition of the unusual opportunity and the fact that I had relied on the generosity of performers playing for free in the past, I wanted to pay each of the 24 performers on the concert. But where was the money going to come from? As an individual composer trying to put on a concert, there weren’t many funding programs I was eligible for, and I had already missed most of the relevant deadlines anyway.

Luckily, I had a secret weapon in my experience as a fundraiser for nonprofit institutions, most recently the American Music Center. With a little help from my boss at AMC, I was able to construct a letter campaign that raised more than $3,000 for the concert, 50 percent more than my initial goal. The money not only helped me pay the performers, but paid for rehearsal space, purchased necessary equipment, and gave me a launching pad for subsequent musical activities. What’s more, many of the smiling faces who were in attendance that night at the club were people who had supported me and wanted to see the fruits of their contributions. It was one of the musical highlights of my life, and it all became possible with an investment of $51 and about a week of my spare time.

Wondering how individual fundraising might work for you? Here’s a step-by-step guide to making it happen.

Step 1: PLANNING

Choose your battles wisely. Anytime you approach a potential funder, there should be a clear rationale for doing so. How important is this project to you? Could its success have a substantial positive effect on your career? Will it provide you with new connections, a document of your work, a quote in the local paper? It’s important to gauge the maximum benefit that this opportunity could realistically provide you, and proceed accordingly. In addition, be sure that you are ready to take on the project for which you are seeking funds, on both logistical and artistic levels. There is no surer way to alienate first-time donors than to present them with a poorly executed realization of your proposal, or worse yet, to have the project never reach fruition at all. Remember that even though it’s not your own money, a fundraising campaign still represents an investment. It’s an investment of your time, your energy, and most importantly, your reputation and your name. Especially if this is the first time you’ve reached out to your prospects, you will want to choose a project and a goal that you can stand behind with pride and without reservation.

Identify your prospects. Most early-stage individual fundraising campaigns start with people that the fundraiser already knows quite well. This means family and friends (and—don’t overlook this one—friends of the family). Did you recently graduate from high school or college? Did people give you money as a graduation present? Who gave you the most, and did anyone surprise you with their generosity? Are there any music-lovers among your acquaintances who are well-off enough to help you out substantially? These are good people to start with. Don’t end with them, though: once you get them on board with your artistic goals, some will likely be more than willing to introduce you to others who could potentially contribute their resources. Remember, this is a networking process, and people tend to socialize with members of the same socio-economic class.

There are two components to determining the value of a donor prospect: their ability to help; and their willingness to help. The former you do not have control over, the latter you do. Keeping this in mind, you are best served by first identifying prospects who score high in their ability to help—in other words, people who are rich. Especially for a cause like ours which does not have the universal appeal of breast cancer research or world hunger relief, a single donation from a well-heeled individual can have an exponentially greater impact than several smaller donations from your musician buddies. This is not to say that you shouldn’t approach your musician buddies, but pure common sense dictates concentrating the bulk of your efforts on the people who have the resources to help you the most.

Finally, depending on the nature of your project, you may be able to tap some unusual funding sources with a little creative thinking and a lot of chutzpah. Do you think a local winery would donate the beverages for your post-concert reception? You won’t know unless you ask. Guggenheim-winning composer and former AMC staffer Yotam Haber was able to raise about $10,000 for a performance of his chamber opera in part by approaching local restaurants and offering them product placement in the piece (the subject of the opera was food). When you believe in your work, all manner of crazy things become possible.

Develop realistic expectations. Before you talk to anybody, work up a detailed expense budget for the project for which you are seeking funding. It wastes everybody’s time if you start the fundraising process without a clear idea of how much you’re going to need. Then, consider your list of prospects and guesstimate how much you might expect from each of them. Throw in ticket sales, CD orders, and other “earned revenue” as appropriate. Does it all add up? If not, you might need to reevaluate your budgetary demands or look into additional funding sources, or be prepared to pony up some of the money yourself.

You should know that unless your proposal is on behalf of a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, your donors’ gifts to you will not be tax-deductible. If you want your donors to be able to take a tax deduction for their contribution, and you don’t have the time or inclination to apply for nonprofit certification yourself, you should apply to an organization that helps individual artists and/or emerging organizations by providing fiscal sponsorship. Once you have an arrangement with a fiscal sponsor, donors can contribute to the sponsoring organization, making their gifts tax-deductible. There is typically a fee (usually 7-10 percent of contributions to your project) for administrative expenses. Organizations that have fiscal sponsorship programs include The American Music Center, The Field, Fractured Atlas, Harvestworks and The New York Foundation for the Arts. Each organization has different guidelines and pricing structures which can make them more or less suitable depending on the nature of your campaign.

Step 2: EXECUTION

Okay, you’ve chosen your project, you’ve identified your prospects, and you’re ready to get started. For the purposes of this article, we’re going to assume that you’re using a letter campaign for your approach. A basic letter campaign consists of up to five components: the letter itself, an insert or flier giving more detailed information about your project, a pledge card, a return envelope, and an outer envelope. Presumably you’ve received a few solicitation letters from arts organizations in the past—take a look at a few of these to get an idea of what’s standard.

Gather your materials. Most arts organizations spend thousands of dollars printing the materials that you receive in the mail, but thanks to the magic of 21st century technology, you can create a simple but attractive package for a pittance. Head down to your local stationery store and pick up some resume paper, matching envelopes, some cardstock in the same color (for the pledge card), and some smaller envelopes that you could use for RSVP purposes. Make sure the sizes are such that the different pieces will fit in their respective envelopes with minimal folding.

Each of your documents can be created without the benefit of expensive software; Microsoft Word or a similar product is all you’ll need. The actual process by which one creates the pledge card, envelopes, and so on is a bit beyond the scope of this article, but here are a few tips to get you started:

• You can create a simple letterhead for yourself by using Word’s Header and Footer option from the View menu before you start writing your letter.
• The flier can give the reader information about the project that might not fit into your fundraising letter, or you could use the space to insert an existing brochure about your ensemble, season, record label, etc.
• Don’t overlook the power of Word’s extremely nifty Mail Merge function for printing envelopes and dealing with personalized form letters.
• If your envelopes are not plain white and you don’t have a printer capable of printing directly on them, you can get clear labels which actually look quite classy.
• Make up different names for different giving levels on your pledge card, such as “Patron,” “Donor,” “Benefactor,” etc. You can also provide a “shopping list” of sorts that corresponds with the nature of your project. When I was putting together the pledge card for my debut concert in New York, I assigned meaningful terms to the lower categories such as “sponsor a musician” and “sponsor a world premiere.” I was surprised by how many $50 and $100 donations I received as a result of using these terms.

Write the letter. The fundraising letter is the meat of your campaign. It is here that you will do most of your convincing. While it is very simple to write a passable fundraising letter (all you are doing is asking for money), it won’t get anyone on your side who wasn’t already there in the first place. A truly well-written and well-thought-out letter can make all the difference, not only for this campaign, but also for the purpose of establishing your long-term reputation as someone whose work is worth supporting.

Before you start writing, think about the larger picture with regard to your work and the project at hand. What is it that’s unique about what you’re doing, musically or otherwise? What aspects of your proposal will benefit other people besides yourself? What successes have you had in the past that show your worth or potential as an artist?

Any good proposal has to have some sort of statement of need. Otherwise, why are you asking for money? However, the key here, and this is a classic rookie mistake, is not to focus too heavily on your own need for the funds (though this is important too), but rather on the larger need for your project and projects like it. Taking the former approach all too often makes your letter read like a sob story: “with rising costs of living, it’s all I can do to stay afloat…your contribution would give me the peace of mind I need to continue going about my work.” Donors generally do not respond well to this type of approach because it’s too negative and sounds unprofessional. Instead, focus on the positive: talk about what the success of the project would mean to you; about how it fits into your larger goals as a musician; about how their contribution is going to serve a larger purpose. Try to frame the discussion from the angle that highlights the project’s greatest impact, whether that impact is artistic, educational, social (community-based), economic, political, or some combination thereof.

You’ll also need to discuss some specifics in your letter in order to assure people that you actually know what you’re doing. No need to get into the numbers beyond a mention of your overall campaign goal, but do provide a summary of your plan. How will the money be used? Over what time period will the project take place? What will be the final result? How will you get there? The point is to answer any obvious questions your prospects may have so that no one will doubt your ability to carry out your proposal. Through it all, keep your message short and sweet. One page is standard for a fundraising letter—more than that and you will risk losing your prospects’ attention.

Most of all, dig deep and ask yourself why it is that you want to do this, what makes you so excited about the possibilities offered by your project or your work. If you’re devoting your life to this difficult, unglamorous field, chances are you have a pretty good reason. The degree to which you can articulate your passion will have a huge effect on your donors.

Everybody likes attention. In my experience, one of the most effective ways to increase donor return is to make each donor feel like it means a lot to you if they contribute to your cause. If your list is small enough, it’s a great idea to include a personal, handwritten note with each letter in some form, whether it’s a separate card or written directly onto the letter itself. It not only frames the formal letter (which is by nature an impersonal document) within the context of your personal relationship with the donor, it also gives you an opportunity to highlight aspects of your project or your history with the donor that may seem especially compelling to that person. Make sure you place the note in such a way so that the recipient will see it!

If there’s someone on your list who you don’t know that well, but a friend or associate of yours does, consider asking your friend to serve as a go-between by delivering your letter to the prospect or bringing it up in conversation. That way you can still enjoy the benefits of a personal approach even without a strong personal relationship with that prospect.

Step 3: FOLLOW-UP

Now it’s time to sit back and watch the money roll in! As exciting as this stage can be, the process of cultivating donors does not stop once the cash is sitting in your bank account. The people who contribute to your campaign are not check-writing machines who only exist when you need them. They supported you because they care about you and what you’re doing. It’s not only to your advantage but a matter of common courtesy that you follow up with them and involve them in what you’re doing.

Acknowledge your donors. Everyone who contributes to your campaign should receive an individual acknowledgement letter that mentions the date and amount of his or her gift. Send these as soon as the check is cashed. The acknowledgement letter doesn’t have to be complicated; just reaffirm what the money is for and how it will help you achieve your goal. If your organization is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, be sure to put language in the letter to the effect that “no goods or services have been provided in exchange for this contribution.” If your list is small enough, consider handwriting the notes for greater effect.

Your donors also need to be thanked in your concert program, CD booklet, website, or whatever forum is most appropriate for your project. A simple “thanks to…” list can suffice or, if you like, you can break down the donors into categories according to who has supported you the most. Look at the acknowledgements page in the program at the next concert you attend for ideas on how to go about this.

Maintain the campaign. What happens when the money doesn’t come in as expected? In general, it’s best to be patient with donors who pledge to give money—they usually come through eventually. Some people, however, can use a little nudging here and there. If you were really counting on someone’s support and they are dragging their feet, by all means feel free to ask politely if they have had a chance to read and think about your proposal. Sometimes a single email or phone call can help you avoid last-minute scrambling to find alternate means of support.

When your project has reached completion, make sure that you offer your donors an opportunity (at no charge) to experience the direct, tangible results of your work. This could mean sending them a copy of the CD you just recorded, giving them free tickets to your concert, inviting them to sit in on a workshop that you’ve organized—whatever you need to do to give them an opportunity to see their money in action. If someone has provided truly major support or footed the entire bill for one of your activities, it’s also a good idea to supply them with a brief (1-2 page) report showing how the money was used, how the final expenses compared with the original projections, and what has resulted from your efforts.

Keep in touch. Individual fundraising, at its core, is about relationship-building. They call the process “cultivation” for a reason. It requires nurturing, knowledgeable care, and regular maintenance. Remember this: anyone who makes a contribution to your campaign, or gives you any kind of positive response at all, has expressed interest in what you’re doing. They are reaching out to you, and it’s up to you to repay that interest with interest of your own. Put them on your email list, give them special discounts on your CDs, give them “backstage passes” or a chance to meet some of your collaborators, take them out to dinner to talk about your future plans. Make them feel special and involved in your work. Obviously, you don’t want to involve people so much that it becomes a problem (whether because of issues of artistic control, administrative overload, conflict-of-interest concerns, or anything else), but there are plenty of ways to show your appreciation to your supporters without compromising your integrity—and if they are true supporters, that’s what they’ll want as well.

Many people are uncomfortable with the idea of fundraising. No matter how noble or high-minded your purpose is, the feeling is that every time you ask for money, you are violating subtle social codes ingrained from birth governing privacy, self-sufficiency, and open admissions of need. I’ll be honest—when I first started out in arts administration, I didn’t want to touch fundraising with a 10-foot pole. I personally hated being asked for money and fundraising was hopelessly wrapped up in my mind with shameless guilt-trips, teary-eyed begging, and all manner of other coercive tactics.

The turning point for me came when my former roommate and one of my closest friends in Philadelphia each sent me solicitations within a couple of months of each other for various “Walk for Hunger”-style fundraising campaigns. They each wrote a nice personal note along with the card. Suddenly, the cause itself didn’t really matter so much—these were people who were important to me and I wanted to support them. In the case of my former roommate, she knew that I didn’t have a lot of money to spare (and said so in her note to me), but I sent her a donation anyway at the lowest rung. Sure enough, she appreciated the gesture and contributed much more substantially to my own campaign when the time came. I realized that fundraising doesn’t have to be about twisting arms and getting results at any cost, including the cost of friendships. I also realized that while I may be as cheap a bastard as they come, not everybody is like that. Some people genuinely enjoy the thought of their money being used for a noble purpose. Some people have more money than they really know what to do with, and would rather see it in action than have it sitting in a bank account somewhere. Some people used to be young artists or musicians themselves, and relish the opportunity to be directly involved with the ongoing development of the scene even though their current lives have led them elsewhere. Some people were never artists or musicians, but find the whole concept so impressive that they can’t help but want to support it. Some people, for whatever reason, would love nothing better than to give money to someone like you. It’s your job to figure out who these people are and help them understand why you are that person. Good luck, and save some for the rest of us!