BY MARK BOSCH
I always hesitate to call a composer — or any artist and their work — “unique”, “singular”, “solitary”. Nothing exists in a vacuum. No one creates anything without outside influence and inspiration.
But what Ross Edwards does, and has been doing for so long, now, is writing music that fits these descriptors remarkably well.
His soundworld is instantly recognisable — at once earthy and transcendental, mysterious and resplendent, fluid and geometric. He has cultivated a music that somehow captures the elemental, the ecological, the universal; and yet which remains utterly idiosyncratic.
In anticipation of his 75th birthday, Sydney Chamber Choir and Synergy Percussion will come together this August 4 in tribute not only to Ross Edwards the composer, but Ross Edwards the human being. With a heartfelt interest in deep ecology (an environmental movement and philosophy that reintroduces the idea that we’re all equal constituents of a complex global ecosystem) Ross knows as well as anyone that he is not entirely sui generis. He owes a great deal to Australia’s musical ecosystem and — as we all do — to the continent’s extraordinary biodiversity, which, now more than ever, is under threat.
So when we celebrate Ross this Saturday, we also celebrate and give thanks to all those with whom he has crossed creative paths through the course of his life. We speak to him about some of these people, touching upon the personal history and philosophy which underpins his work.
Ross, your history with Sydney Chamber Choir and Synergy Percussion goes back a long way. What do you love about working with these ensembles, and how do you feel about their joining together in tribute of you and your work?
My history with both the Sydney Chamber Choir and Synergy Percussion began at the time of their formation in the 1970s, and I think it’s fair to say that we grew up together. It was an exciting and optimistic time: a new and distinctive repertoire of choral and percussion music was being created by Australian composers supported by the recently authorised Australia Council. To have highly talented and enthusiastic ensembles eager to perform your compositions is, of course, every composer’s dream, and looking back now I see how very fortunate we were.
It’s no exaggeration to say that I learnt how to compose for both voices and percussion in those early years, and had I not had such instructive and exhilarating formative experiences, my work in both areas would have been tentative and underdeveloped.
As it is, I revel in each: in fact, the two pieces I’ve so far completed this year – one of which will be premiered in December by our own Song Company, another great source of inspiration to composers; and the other for a major international ensemble – have both been for voices with some added Australian-style (yes, there probably is such a thing) percussion. The two media have become for me almost inseparable since Nicholas Routley commissioned Flower Songs (for 16 voices and percussion) from me in 1986.
It’s a joy to have this revitalising opportunity to work once more with the SCC and Synergy, and for this I have to thank my old friend and colleague Richard Gill, whose idea it was to put on a retrospective concert of my work which includes music by some of my younger colleagues. I insist that this concert is also a tribute to Richard and his truly outstanding and inspiring life’s work as performer and educator.
Your music has long been characterised by its vitality. In your program note for Mountain Chant, one of the works performed at the concert, you speak of Australia’s ‘need [for] spiritual regeneration’. Tell us about what this means for you.
As a student in the 1960s and early ‘70s, I was brought up on music that was largely abstract, experimental, and bent on severance from Western traditions, which had for centuries sustained and nourished, but which a new generation had rejected in the wake of shattering wars and social disruption.
As the bold impetus of modernism rigidified into arrogance and started to disintegrate, the unbroken spiritual traditions [found within some Eastern cultures] became attractive to many artists seeking a life-affirming freshness. When I returned to Australia from Europe in 1972, I found myself disoriented and unable to compose. My own spiritual regeneration gradually came about from listening closely to the voices of the earth; the shapes, patterns and interactions produced by organic life – birds, insects and frogs (I love the sounds of frogs) of my own environment. These wellsprings of music – distilled from vast complexity – gradually became the basis of my own musical language, which today accommodates references and allusions to a diversity of Eastern and Western cultures while remaining in harmony with the deep drones, cries and sighs of the earth.
In this music of awareness, gleaned from the workings of nature, I found a degree of salvation from an out-of-kilter society desperately needing to recover a sense of spiritual wholeness necessary to sustain well-being and the continuity of life.
As a composer who has cited Indigenous cultural traditions and the environment as ‘life-affirming’ sources of inspiration, do you view your music as a political project? If so, on what kind of scale do you believe a political shift is required for your envisioned ‘spiritual regeneration’ to occur in this country?
One of my mentors when I was a post-grad student in England expressed the view, disturbing to me at the time, that all music is in some way political – and today I don’t doubt that there is truth in this. Of course, ‘political’ can have many different meanings and be applied in many different ways. Ignorant and dishonest politics flourish freely in music as in any other sphere.
I think it’s self-evident that an honest political shift with any lasting effect must go right back to grassroots with a reappraisal of much of the world’s traditional wisdom, including those universal tenets at the core of the great religions, and a stripping away of the often-dangerously stupefying ‘political’ overlay that clouds and distorts them. Hard to imagine it happening in this mad, Trumpish world; but let’s dream a little and suppose that one day, by some miracle, Australia’s political leadership might come to recognise the importance and value of music as opposed to the ubiquitous muzak that plagues the lives of sensitive people.
This recognition would need to be accompanied by a respectable amount of funding for making and propagating music, and for promoting its wider understanding.
In this country, we have intelligent commentary on literature, art, politics and social and scientific issues in certain enlightened periodicals, but so-called ‘classical music’ (a ridiculous misnomer) is neglected. This is partly the fault of musicians themselves: unlike our American counterparts, we’ve not been active in promoting our work, and those writers who may be sympathetic to our cause are sometimes hesitant to comment on account of their inability to read music. Of course, you don’t have to be able to read music to appreciate it any more than you need to be a qualified motor mechanic to drive a car.
We have a much wider access to music these days, but commercialism still reigns, and what is served up in the media is too often directed at mindless consumption. An essential part of music education – which should surely begin in kindergarten and continue into adulthood – is learning about the varieties of music and their place in social and cultural contexts the world over. The study of ethnomusicology can open minds and help promote international understanding and appreciation of other ways of living – a painless and enjoyable way to overcome prejudice.
In our society, many of the traditional functions of music have been glossed over and treated simply as entertainment, or more insidiously, used to endorse products and brands. A lullaby, once sung by a mother to bring sleep upon a child, might now accompany an ad for melatonin. Harmless enough, I suppose, but the list of questionable uses of music is endless.
I could go on and on, but I’ve probably said enough. To conclude: I compose in the hope that through my work I can in some small way allow myself, the performers, and audience a chance to participate in, or at least glimpse, the universal sacred dimension of music, and welcome back into our consciousness the inherent mystery of all things.
Celebrate Ross Edwards’ 75th birthday with Dance Chant, featuring the Sydney Chamber Choir and Synergy Ensemble, 7.30pm August 4, City Recital Hall. Works will be conducted by Sam Allchurch, Paul Stanhope, and Nicholas Routley.
Check in for our interview with emerging composers Josie Gibson and Olivia Swift, whose works will also be world premiered at this performance.
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Image supplied. Credit: Bridget Elliot.
