“I’m a musical theatre composer.”
“I’m a composer.”
“I’m a songwriter.”
What am I?
I find myself cycling through different answers when asked, “So, what do you do?”. I change my answer based on the person I’m talking to. I’m not the only one either- I have friends who struggle with the same identity crisis. Why do we do this? There’s a multitude of factors- current employment, current mood, tone of the conversation, recent career victories, demeanor of the person we’re conversing to, the attitude of the conversation towards our work, and overall attitude towards ourselves and our career’s work to name a few.
I find myself bolstering myself when talking to those within the arts, eager to show them how serious and dedicated to my work I am, “I’m a musical theatre composer”. However, I find myself censoring myself when I know the person I’m talking to has a negative attitude towards the arts, or careers in the arts, “I’m a composer”. And then there’s my answer towards the disinterested, in order to keep it short and simple, “I’m a songwriter”. These answers are all within the same realm, and get the point through- I’m a musician. But there’s one thing that unites them on a personal level:
They’re all true.
All of these answers are true of me- all three are facets of my work. However, they all have slightly different implications- both to others and myself.
“I’m a musical theatre composer.” I’m extremely passionate about telling stories on stage through the art of live staged theatre with the magic of music. I’m passionate about not just creating stories to tell onstage, but advancing the craft by experimenting with musical and lyrical structure and form. This is my passion. There’s no shame in being proud of your passion. Your passion is what you’ll be spending most of your life doing and pursuing, so you had better, if not be obligated to, promote it to others. This specific realm of composing, musical theatre, is how I devote most of my time. It’s the art I want to create above others, and if someone lends me their ear, I’ll happily go on for as long as they’d let me- most likely unable to stop myself from rambling about this deep interest. There’s no shame in passion- be proud of it! But it begs the question that many, including myself, ponder at times, “Do I have to stay within my passion?”
“I’m a composer.” Before your niche in music is found, it’s clear at the base level that you have a passion for writing music- you’re a composer. You’re a composer before you’re a musical theatre composer, or a choral composer, or a rock composer, or sea shanty composer. You’re dedicated to the art of composition before you’re dedicated to the passion. The passion serves the craft. Without the craft, the passion does not exist. The art of composition provides you with a skill set that helps make you a better composer within your passion.
Going back to the previously asked question- there are no written (or even unspoken) rules saying that once you choose what you’re passionate about, you’re exclusively doing that until you retire. I’m a musical theatre composer, but I’m interested in other venues of music, ranging from choral to country to, yes, sea shanties. I’m not fervently passionate about these, unlike musical theatre, but I love to explore these genres as well. Perhaps my best work isn’t within these genres, but that’s fine! These interests not only fulfill a personal desire to write, but also help serve your passion. Writing choral music helps me have a better grasp on writing in a choral texture, the musical relationships of voice types, and setting others’ words to music. Country, although often despised by many, helps me with the ‘folk’ nature of the music, as well as music set mainly for guitar. Lastly, sea shanties help me with nontraditional melodies, stories told within this untraditional lyrical and musical structure, and, frankly, allow me to have quite a bit of fun.
All of these composing interests serve my passion in one way or another, making me a better musical theatre composer. And becoming a better musical theatre composer makes me a better composer. It’s a productive cycle. Pursue those other interests! Don’t be held back because they’re “outside what you normally do”. Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote a Requiem Mass, Sondheim wrote a movie score, Andrew Lippa wrote an oratorio- all beyond their “traditional” scope, but projects that interested them nonetheless. And it’s been for the better. And your writing will be too.
“I’m a songwriter.” “You’re a songwriter. Before you’re a composer, you’re a songwriter. What is a song? It’s words and music.” Broadway composer Drew Gasparini said those words to me during a composition lesson with him. He knows exactly what he’s talking about. Before you’re even a composer, you’re a songwriter. Musicals are sets of compositions, but at the barest level, those compositions are songs. Words and music. I went into that lesson ready to amaze him with this solo I had written. I had stayed up all night and woke up early that morning working on my piano accompaniment that was chockfull of triplets going against the simple meter, and chords that purposefully worked against the performer. “It’s art. It’s a wonderful composition.” Drew had many good things to say, thankfully, but one point that he drove home (and consequently, stuck in my head) was the fact I am a songwriter.
It is my duty to write songs before I turn them into compositions. I had a bit of trouble understanding this at first (and he even said, “maybe I’m wrong about this, it’s your song”), but he was right. I was so caught up in being a composer, I forgot to be a songwriter. Everything within the composition was so overwhelming to a first time listening, especially since the song had not been refined. What I should have done was stick to chords that got the point across and amplified my lyrics, not drown them out. There’s zero shame in writing a song that is chords underneath lyrics. Not every song begs for a complicated arrangement. Most of modern pop music is chords and lyrics, or music and lyrics, as Drew would say, and those writers are successful. Does that mean stay away from complex arrangements at all costs? Absolutely not- but you can’t be so focused on the art of composition that you forget the craft of songwriting. I forget that constantly. You’re a songwriter before you’re a composer. Once again, it serves the rest of your craft. It’s a cycle of productivity and growth.
“I’m a musical theatre composer.” “I’m a composer.” “I’m a songwriter.” I’m all of these. When these titles present themselves as a struggle, I have learned that they are all a blessing. They don’t present an identity crisis because they’re all the right answer. I’ve learned that for others, as well as myself. I hope this has helped your composer identity crisis in some form, and hopefully, has created the lack of one.
John Claudy 