This summer, acclaimed American composer Lowell Liebermann returned to the East End with the world premiere of “Chamber Concerto No. 3” at the Bridgehampton Chamber Music Festival. Known for his emotionally powerful works and skillful orchestration, Liebermann presents a new piece written for the unique combination of flute, clarinet, violin, cello, and piano, often called the “Pierrot ensemble,” which refers to Schoenberg’s famous Pierrot Lunaire.
In conversation, Liebermann reveals the inspiration behind this complex new composition.
This summer, two of your works had their world premiere performances at the Bridgehampton Chamber Music Festival, including a piece you composed for flute, clarinet, violin, cello, and piano. Can you share some insights into this new composition and what inspired you to write for this particular ensemble?
The new piece is titled “Chamber Concerto No.3” and is scored for a combination of instruments that is commonly referred to as the “Pierrot ensemble,” because it was famously first used by Schoenberg in his composition “Pierrot Lunaire.” Marya Martin and I went back and forth for a while about the instrumentation before we settled on this one. It’s actually a somewhat tricky combination to write for, because the group of instruments seems to resist amalgamation, and the piece only really started falling into shape when I started thinking about it in terms of a Baroque “Concerto Grosso” (like Bach’s “Brandenburg Concertos”) with the piano and the rest of the instruments often serving as independent entities that would interact in different ways, rather than trying to create a homogenous texture out of the group. I hope that listeners find something of beauty in the piece, but I think the composition of the piece was also affected by my own emotional state during these unsettling times.
You have a broad discography and have been commissioned by top orchestras and festivals around the world. How do you manage the demands of commissions while staying true to your creative process?
Meeting the demands is the challenging part, simply because of time. Staying true to my creative process is something I don’t really have to think about, because I only know one way to write, and that is what I do!
Your works often mix emotional depth with impressive orchestration. How do you find the right balance between expressive melody and technical complexity in your compositions?
I think this is actually the crucial thing in composition, and this is something I talk to my students about constantly. For me, like all the arts, is a form of communication and it is the job of the artist to communicate his ideas, no matter how complex, as clearly as possible. In the case of my own music, I feel that what I am communicating is emotion: abstract emotion, but emotion nonetheless. And I usually answer, if someone asks what my music “means,” that if I could put it into words, I wouldn’t have to write the music in the first place.
In your recent premiere of Flute Concerto No. 2 with the Chicago Symphony, the response was very positive. How did you approach this second concerto differently from your first, and what has been the most rewarding part of its success?
Until I started putting pen to paper (and I do still sketch my compositions the old-fashioned way rather than doing everything on the computer) I was at first somewhat intimidated by this commission, because my 1st Flute Concerto is an extremely popular and often-performed piece, and the thought of writing another Concerto that would automatically be compared to it was a bit scary. But as soon as I did start writing it, I just became engrossed in that piece, and all the worries and baggage of the other concerto fell away. And some flautists have told me they think the Second Concerto is as good or better than the first.
Your Frankenstein ballet has played a big role in your recent work. What inspired you to adapt this classic story into a ballet, and what did you hope to express through the music?
The idea to write a ballet on Frankenstein was not my idea, but the idea of the choreographer, Liam Scarlett. When he first approached me, my first reaction, as I think a lot of people’s reaction is when they hear about it, was “wow, that’s a crazy idea!” But the more I thought about it and talked to Liam and saw what his angle was, the more possibilities I saw in it. And his whole concept hinged on not treating it as a horror story but as a very human story about love and relationships, and that’s what I hoped to reflect in the music.
You have written in many genres, including symphonic works, operas, and chamber music. How does the writing process change depending on the genre you are working in?
I think the process changes not only with the different genres, but with every single piece. With each piece I begin, it seems like I am learning to compose anew, that I am trying to create something out of nothing each time.
You’ve collaborated with famous artists like Sir James Galway and have received praise for your flute concertos. What has it been like to work with such legendary musicians, and how has their take on your works influenced your compositions?
Sir James has been one of the most important figures in my life and career, and we remain very good friends. His championing of my music helped to establish my career, and he was the commissioner of several of my most important flute pieces. When you’re writing for a performer of that stature, there are no holds barred on what you can write, and that is incredibly freeing. He has always been a joy to work with, and perhaps contrary to common expectations, I’ve found that the most prominent artists I’ve worked with have generally been the easiest to work with.
Your Concerto for Alto Saxophone premiered at the Penderecki Contemporary Music Festival in Armenia earlier this year. Can you share your thoughts on composing for saxophone, and what unique qualities does the instrument bring to your work?
There is one aspect of writing for the saxophone that I find challenging (and some will violently disagree with me), and that is that I find that the tone of the instrument is not as capable of variety as some other instruments. Also, the sound of the instrument so instantly evokes jazz for many people, and the commissioner begged me to avoid any jazz references in my concerto. Nonetheless, the writing went smoothly, and people seem to like it! Shortly after the premiere, it was recorded in Poland for commercial release, and it will be performed later this month at the International Saxophone Congress in China.
You’ve composed operas such as The Picture of Dorian Gray and Miss Lonelyhearts. What attracts you to opera as a medium, and how do you handle the blend of music and narrative in these large-scale works?
The scale of it attracts me as well as the combination of so many of the arts (music, theater, visual). In the case of these two literary works, I saw a musical analogy to the literary structure that enabled me to conceive of them as operas. This would take a long time to explain fully, but it’s basically about finding musical equivalents to literary concepts.
The idea of “neo-romanticism” is often linked to your music. How do you see your place in the development of contemporary classical music, and do you consider yourself part of a larger movement?
I think when people use the term “neo-romantic,” many of them mean “tonal,” and what I think they actually mean is “melodic.” I think of my music as being more “neoclassical” than neo-romantic. My music has always been melodically based, whether I am using tonality or not, and my music has always used a variety of harmonic techniques: tonality, atonality, modality, octatonic scales, etc.) But there is a great deal of contemporary music written today, whether tonal or not, that eschews melody.
As both a pianist and composer, you have performed your own works and received acclaim for your playing. How does being both the composer and performer affect your interpretation of the music?
I find it tricky performing my music because, as the composer, it is easy to think that I know the piece better than I do. The knowledge of a piece from having written it is very different from the knowledge of a piece one needs as a performer, and 90% of the latter is muscle memory. So when I am practicing my pieces, I have to take extra pains that I am learning them in the same way that I would have to learn a piece I didn’t write. As a performer, my goal is to try to get as close to the composer’s intention as possible, so I don’t think my approach to interpretation changes whether it is my music or someone else’s. I do not see music as being a vehicle on which to project the performer’s personality; I want to hear what the composer is trying to communicate through the performer.
You’ve been Composer-in-Residence for organizations like the Dallas Symphony Orchestra and the Pacific Music Festival. How do these residencies influence your writing, and how does interacting with musicians shape your compositions?
Most of these kinds of residencies take place after a piece is finished, so I can’t say there is any real impact on the composition process. The interaction with the musicians is, however, always valuable because there is always something new to learn.
Your recent solo album “Personal Demons” received critical acclaim. How did this project come together, and how did you choose the pieces that best represented your musical journey?
That was a product of the pandemic years. When the lockdown happened, all of my commissions were either cancelled or delayed indefinitely. So I had, for the first time in decades, a blank slate ahead of me. So, I decided to do something which I had always wanted to do and never had the time for: namely, record an album of solo piano music that had deep personal meaning for me. The project turned into a 2-CD set of works by Liszt, Busoni, me, and others. It ended up being released on the Steinway label, and since then, I recorded two more solo piano albums.
What advice would you give to young composers today, especially those interested in writing for both orchestral and solo instruments, as well as exploring non-traditional genres?
Be true to yourself. Try to block out the static of people trying to tell you what kind of music you should be writing. Write the music you want to write. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be open to input, intelligent criticism, new ideas, etc. But you need to have a strong belief in the value of what you want to do or say as an artist.
Having taught at the Mannes School of Music since 2012, what has been the most rewarding part of mentoring the next generation of composers, and how do you think composition’s role in education is changing?
The most rewarding part, I think, has been to see the successes of some of my students after they have left and gone on to have their careers. I think it is very difficult these days for young students starting out. They all want to know how they can kickstart a career, and there is no easy answer. I do think it was easier in many ways when I was a student. Certainly, in those days, you didn’t have students graduating with $200,000 debt from a Bachelor’s degree like you do now.
Looking forward, what upcoming projects are you most excited about, and how do you see your music evolving in the next few years?
I’m working right now on a piece for Ancient Greek Lyre, Violin and Orchestra for the Thessaloniki State Symphony Orchestra in Greece; the premiere will be in Estonia in September and will include the renowned violinist Daniel Hope. After that, a piece for Voice and Orchestra for the Rochester Symphony, another Piano Sonata, etc. I look forward to each project as it comes, and each project I’m working on usually obliterates the memory of all the projects before it. But I never attempt to predict where I’ll be in the future or what my music will be like. I think that is wasted time!
To learn more about Liebermann, visit www.lowellliebermann.com.
