Christopher Gunning - composer of film, TV and concert music

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Symphony no 3, Symphony no 4, Concerto for Oboe and String Orchestra

Composing “serious” classical music is not a new thing for me - not at all! Throughout my school and college years I was intent on pursuing a career as a composer of concert music, and that intention has never left me. It’s just that there have always been more immediate concerns to be attended to. For a start I have had four daughters to feed and water, and anyway it’s virtually impossible to support yourself financially as a concert composer in this country - so you have to do something else. Most composers teach. I decided very early on that I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher, and preferred to make my way composing somehow, and it therefore had to be via the media. Since I already had great enthusiasms for films, pop music, and jazz, it didn’t seem like a dreadful cross to bear.

As a teenager I thought that one could compose film scores for six months of the year and compose one’s own music for the other six months. In fact I had read that was what Elizabeth Lutyens did, and later I could see that Richard Rodney Bennett managed several careers at once, so why shouldn’t I?

Little did I realise what demands the media would make! No, I’m not complaining - I have enjoyed nearly every minute of it, and have learned a fantastic amount through sheer hard experience. But it’s been a full time job; for example, when composing “Poirot” for about forty episodes, there was absolutely no time to think of anything else for months and months on end, and then, when a break happened, I was completely exhausted.

Perhaps another reason for “not getting down to it” was a growing concern about the very nature of concert music. The audience for contemporary music has been small, and I have felt it isn’t solely the fault of music lovers. The idioms favoured by most composers particularly during the 60’s and 70’s have been difficult. Indeed, much contemporary music is still just as difficult, and I have found myself out of sympathy with much of it. And yet, at the same time, I have not relished the thought of being a fuddy-duddy composer writing in worn out idioms. I suppose I was trying to define a way in which I could write music which communicates directly but is not hopelessly predictable or slave to the various “isms” which have cropped up over the past fifty years or so.

For me, the breakthrough happened about ten years ago, when I was out of work and badly needed something to do. I found myself writing a saxophone concerto (now recorded by John Harle) and then several other pieces. Of these I am most fond of the Piano Concerto - in it I found the basis of a style of working which had been eluding me to some extent. I’ve enlarged on that since, and my most recent efforts are the 3rd and 4th Symphonies, and the Oboe Concerto, newly released on the excellent Chandos label.

The two symphonies are each in single 20 minute movements, but they are quite different in tone from one another. I hardly dare describe the life events that led to the 3rd. My new wife, Svitlana, had become desperately ill, was misdiagnosed in a London hospital, and operated on in Kiev, Ukraine, in early 2005. She then developed peritonitis and was on life support for several days. From these two operations, Sveta did not recover for two years and her condition deteriorated to the point where we all thought she would pass away at any moment.

Simultaneously, I was diagnosed with a heart condition with pretty dreadful survival rates. So I couldn’t travel to Kiev, and the two of us endured these worrying times in separate countries. One of the doctor’s recommendations for my condition was to walk as much as feasible. I took this seriously and one of the places I loved to visit was Wales and the Brecon Beacons. I found the rawness of the mountains beguiling, and was particularly attracted to the changing light patterns which pervade the area. It is astonishing how the mountains can be hospitable one moment and the next anything but! I saw a parallel with certain musical devices - the same material changed, perhaps radically, by reworking the same notes to different effect. The result is that In this symphony everything is derived from the opening dissonant chords - for several weeks I was obsessed with them. And when I was at home I would look at pictures of Pen y Fan and want to be there.

By the time I came to write symphony no 4, much had changed, thankfully for the better. I had found a miraculous doctor in Kiev who, over the space of a couple of months, cured Sveta. And my own heart was pumping enthusiastically again. So, for the most part, Symphony no 4 is a far more optimistic affair. It even dares to be triumphant. And the idiom is much more tonal.

The Oboe Concerto presents another side of me - I suppose it’s more conventionally “classical” on some ways. I wrote it before the two symphonies, towards the end of 2004, and gave it to my 3rd daughter Verity as a Christmas present. If you know Verity, you might agree that it echoes her personality to some extent. Youthful, witty, and “poised.” She’s a great player! The outer movements are bright, but the middle movement is melancholic, and it was composed in a single day - the day Yasser Arafat died. No, it isn’t supposed to be a eulogy for him, but my mind was taken with a sense of sorrow for the appallingly tragic situation in Israel and Palestine.

The recordings of these three pieces took place in March 2008 at Air Studios, with my dear friend Chris Dibble engineering. The RPO pulled out the stops for me - superbly .musical and efficient, and I’m so grateful to everyone involved. I’d love to work with them again soon, and I’m hoping that Symphony no 5, which is well on the way, can be recorded before too long.

Christopher Gunning

April 2009

My early years

People sometimes ask me how I came to be involved in music.

As a boy, growing up in the years following World War II, life was tough. My mother and father had abandoned their professional musical careers and we were pretty broke. Father, desperately needing to earn some money, did all manner of odd jobs; he was a night watchman for a tarmacadam company by night and a gardener and occasional piano teacher by day. At Christmas he would become Father Christmas in a nearby toy shop. He did anything to keep us supplied with food and clothes, while mother struggled to raise three children.

It had not always been bad for them. My father had had an illustrious career as a musician, starting in South Africa, then Holland, then Australia, and finally this country. He had composed a great deal of music in a romantic style sometimes echoing Rachmaninov or Delius, and in Australia had accompanied some celebrities of the time, including Dame Marie Melba and Peter Dawson. The final achievement was to make it in Britain, and initially things went well. His music was performed by various orchestras here, including the BBC Symphony Orchestra under Sir Adrian Boult. My mother, who was my father’s pupil, performed his piano concerti and other works with the BBC and the two of them toured the country giving concert parties. But a number of factors put a stop to all this. His musical style had become unfashionable, there were three children to support, and these were the war years. They must often have wondered why things had gone so awry. By the time I knew my father (he was already fifty when I was born) he was disenchanted and sick with untreated diabetes and then he suffered a series of dreadfully debilitating strokes. For the last five years of his life he was an invalid, and throughout these years my mother nursed him at home with undying devotion.

A musical education for me was not high on the agenda, even though it must have been obvious from the beginning that music would provide my livelihood. I was no good at anything else! With no formal lessons at all, I picked up tunes and their accompaniments by ear, and it was not long before I was composing my own pieces. There were rather a lot of waltzes at first, but gradually things became more sophisticated. At Hendon County Grammar School, I learned to read music, and (if I say so myself) excelled at harmony and counterpoint. These were such exciting years, as I investigated classical music from dawn to dusk - or rather when I wasn’t out on my bike. I also started to learn about jazz - I’ll never forget hearing Miles Davis playing “Milestones” and “Porgy and Bess” for the first time. And then came pop music in the guise of Burt Bacharach, and I realised that pop music, too, could be harmonically interesting. A major discovery happened when I borrowed an LP of Bartok’s 2nd Violin Concerto from the local record library. Actually it was the second time I’d borrowed it; the first time was when I was twelve and I thought it was rubbish. Then a friend suggested I give it another go, and since it was a friend whose musical taste I respected, I gave it another shot. Wonderful! A whole new area of music was opened, and I began to hear all sorts of elements I thought I could work with. Another composer whose work I began to adore (and still do to this day) was Maurice Ravel - I revelled in the orgasmic sounds of “Daphnis et Chloe” and was especially moved by the famous daybreak scene, loving the impersonation of natural sounds. It could be that this was the music which helped me veer towards composing for films. One cannot listen to Daphnis without having pictorial images, and yet of course the music always has a structure built of iron beneath the glowing surface. I have always consciously aimed at giving my film/TV music some sort of musical structure over and above the demands of the film sequence itself, believing that this way one might achieve the best marriage of visuals and sound. It’s a difficult proposition and I certainly haven’t always succeeded, but it still seems to me a laudable proposition.

Schooldays over, I went on to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, where I had already been a junior exhibitioner for two or three years. I didn’t work especially hard for the first two years - there were too many other distractions, notably girlfriends. But I knuckled down to it in the second two years, and after lessons with Edmund Rubbra, a highly distinguished composer, I needed to extend my compositional abilities somehow, so went to Richard Rodney Bennett. What a good choice this was! Richard taught me how to use serialism and various other contemporary techniques, and we also had marvellous discussions about film music composition and jazz. I was completely in awe of Richard’s abilities. Later on, Richard was to help me in a practical way by offering me work as an arranger on two of his films, and he recommended me for a documentary film which he didn’t want to do himself. The film was called “Runaway to Sea” and it showed life aboard the P & O ocean liner, Canberra. It was a nerve-racking experience to do the whole score myself, but the producer loved the music and that’s how my career as a film composer was born...

PROM 49 2008 - some thoughts

t's interesting that several people attending the same concert can have widely differing views. Prom 49 was a case in point. The National Youth Orchestra, conducted by Antonio Pappano, played "Ameriques" by Varese, Rachmaninov's 4th piano concerto with Boris Berezovsky as soloist, and Aaron Copland's 3rd symphony.

I went along with 4 friends and we all came out walking on air, agreeing that it was one of the most inspiring concerts we'd ever attended. I was even moved to express my enthusiasm on the BBC Proms reviews page. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/proms/2008/interactandreviews/reviews/23aug.shtml)

On the same page I was astonished to read one person saying "rather disappointing" and another complaining that "I find it truly tragic that this fine orchestra has been stuck with Varese (who he ?)," later describing the Rachmaninov as "4th rate" and saying that "the whole thing seemed to me singularly ineptly conceived."

That this person had never heard of Varese already speaks volumes. Why not? Varese was one of the most influential composers of his day - and the pioneering spirit of his work is evident for all to hear. Yes, it is sometimes uncomfortable - but what is the point of art that stays rigidly within a fake comfort zone? This programme was not inept - it was inspirational. All three works , widely different in character, were composed at roughly the same time, yet inhabit completely different sound worlds, and thus offer a fascinating view of the times as seen by three composers from very different cultures. The Rachmaninov may not have the huge tunes of the 2nd concerto, but some would say it's the more meaningful for it. Nobody would argue for having no tunes - but strong melodies, with beginnings middles and ends, also create huge problems of form. Beethoven and Sibelius were two composers who discovered this. There isn't a more effective sonata-form movement than the 1st movement of the Eroica, and yet all the building blocks are quite brief. Likewise, in Sibelius' 7th symphony, there are no massive tunes (as, for example, in the 2nd) yet this turns out to be one of music's most wonderfully moving creations.

The Copland is another of my favourite works. I love the directness of it. Many people complain that middle to late 20th century music was inhabited only by manic depressives - well, here's the opposite! But that isn't to say that it is unrelentingly bombastic - it isn't. There are lyrical passages too, especially in the slow movement, and dance-like passages which recall some of Copland's superb ballet scores. The whole piece is a work-out for the orchestra, and with its youthful spirit ideally suited to performance by young players.

One or two critics noticed some fluffs in the brass towards the end. Well done guys! I noticed them too. Actually I've never heard a live performance of this symphony without a fluff here and there, and that's because it's hugely demanding. The important point is whether or not the fluffs seriously marr a performance, and here they definitely did not. This was one occasion where the mighty weight of an enlarged orchestra (8 trombones!) added grandeur and majesty to the score. It was thrilling!

There isn't a better orchestra than the NYO. It performs the most marvellous service in providing young people with an opportunity to make great music with conductors and soloists at the top of the profession. Some of the players will go on to make a living from music - others will choose different careers. All will benefit from the experience. And we should turn up to their concerts and applaud what they do so well. There are genuine fears for the very future of classical music in this country. When we see teenagers revellng in it, we should revel too.

Getting started

I often receive emails, letters and telephone calls from young musicians who fancy a career in the media. The question most frequently asked is "how do I get started?"

There is no such thing as a "standard" method, and every composer working in films or television has his or her own story to tell. But there are some prerequisites.

Most importantly, you have to have some material available for potential customers to hear. You should compile a CD or tape which demonstrates as wide a range of material as possible, and many short items will be best – always remember that those listening to your music will be busy people with little time or patience to wade through extended masterpieces.

In some respects things are easier for young musicians than they were ten or twenty years ago. The wide availablility of relatively inexpensive computers and music programmes means that demos of high quality can be assembled at home or in a college workshop. Professional guidance is also widely available at universities and music colleges - which was not the case when I was a student!

In other respects, things are more difficult. Getting yourself known in the television and film industries is certainly no easier than before, because there are a great many young composers trying to break in. There is simply not enough work to support the number of people who would like to be doing it, meaning that things are fiercely competitive. And we are living in difficult times with ever decreasing music budgets. I would always recommend that a budding media composer has a second string to his or her bow.

You should send your music to producers and directors, having established that they have a production lined up. Names and addresses can be found in tomes and periodicals such as "The Knowledge", "Screen International", and "Programme News". You will probably receive no response – but it is essential to remember that you only need a favourable response from one producer or director to get you started.

Good luck!
Christopher Gunning~
August 2008

Those reviews!

How true it is that one should never trust the musical opinions of others - and least of all reviewers! There simply is no substitute for listening oneself and forming one's own opinions. This is not to say that all reviewers are incompetent, narrow minded, or simply world-weary from having heard too much music, although all these could apply to some. The point is that the appreciation of music becomes an entirely subjective affair once one has got past certain obvious hurdles, such as "is this orchestration defective?" or "is this composition a direct rip-off of something else?"

The first reviews of my new Chandos disc, are coming in. I am beginning to wonder if the reviewers have been listening to the same disc...

In the Daily Telegraph we have "Film composer Christopher Gunning's classical efforts are nice enough but don't blow you away," and the disc is given three stars - well far, far better than one or two, and thank you for that! But then, if you turn to Music Web International, one of the most important music web sites, the tone is quite different. "This is fabulous stuff. That, really, is all I need to say, but I’ll say it again. This, quite simply, is fabulous stuff." The reviewer goes on to praise just about every aspect of the music, from its composition through to the performances by the RPO and my oboist daughter Verity. Then again, if you read the review in "Gramophone" magazine, surely one of the most trusted music journals, you will find praise once again heaped on the music and performers. The oboe concerto is "a charming composition, winningly played." For the thrid slymphony, we have "The Third immediately takes a grip on the imagination and offers the listener a full symphonic workout."

Of course it's for others to decide whether my music moves them in any way, and on that basis they will form an opinion as to whether it's any good or not. But what I don't get at all is how the Telegraph's reviewer could find my Third symphony "nice enough." It just isn't "nice" at all, and that's not a subject for debate - it's an intentionally dissonant piece, at times very noisy and dramatic. One or two friends have been quite shocked that the composer of the Poirot sig tune would also write such a thing as this. And anyone wanting "nice enough" music would be mighty disappointed to put Symphony 3 in his/her player if he/she was expecting a pleasant English idyll.

Isn't it all strange! When my Piano Concerto appeared a few years ago, one commentator labelled it "Gunning's atonal concerto." Another referred to its "tonal idiom." One found it to be a "highlight of the British concerto repertory," and another thought it aimless. Again, did they hear the same piece?

This sort of thing happens when I go to concerts. I have sat through innumerable concerts of contemporary music struggling to find any good reason why one note followed another, only to read in the paper the next morning that I had been listening to a masterpiece. Conversely I have also been moved to tears by performances which a critic then dismissed as inadequate.

We all like to criticize to some extent, but I'd certainly hate to be a critic. Wouldn't it be awful to HAVE to attend operas and concerts day in, day out. One should attend an event because one WANTS to - not because it's an obligation. If it's the latter, one starts off on a dodgy footing - ready to find what's wrong with something rather than what's right.

So, to that extent, I sympathise with reviewers. To do the job responsibly is an onerous task - and I suppose it's only human to fail sometimes. And that's why, throughout music history, the critics have got it wrong time and time again.