Young Musicians: The Ambassadors of Tomorrow
This article originally appeared on the SÓN eWaste project blog. It takes the form of a Q&A with Robin Browning – composer, workshop-leader and project manager – right when the final performances we’re just around the corner.
Now, just over a year later, as we’re all emerging from lockdown around the world, the global environmental issues concerning Electronic Waste unfortunately hasn’t lessened in the slightest. The giant mountain of old phones, miles of cables, dangerous tv parts and smashed computer spares continue to litter the globe – particularly in developing countries – and we seem powerless to do anything about it.
But we can. We can all play even a little part, as these youngsters showed. This project impacted their lives just at the stage when they were arguably most open to it, and has carried real change moving forwards.
A follow-up post to this one is coming soon, complete with stats, facts and demographics resulting from the project. Scroll down and you can see the showreel from the final events and surrounding interviews.
Plans are afoot to continue the legacy and the mission – watch this space!
Why eWaste?
Like a lot of people, I’ve grown concerned about environmental issues over recent years and struggle to feel like I’m doing the right thing, let alone anything of real impact. I’ve seen huge changes in people’s attitudes towards the planet, and towards recycling in particular. I’m not an ardent campaigner for global change, nor a terribly political animal, but reckon I’ve been doing my bit and aim to hold myself accountable for my actions.
Having said all that, the concept of electrical and electronic waste wasn’t on my radar at all really – apart from being dimly aware of things like a growing kitchen drawer of old phones, a basket of speaker cables, wondering what to do with that old lamp over there, etc. Then I met Ian Williams, one of the UK’s leading environmentalists, and Professor of Applied Environmental Science at University of Southampton. Discussing all sorts of possibilities, Ian opened my eyes to the scale of the global eWaste problem – why it was occurring, how it was worsening, and how few people seemed to be aware of it.
This was a matter of months ago, so right at the time when Greta Thunberg was widely known, plastics in the oceans a news topic of real significance, and Extinction Rebellion making a big impact. Yet I was shocked that electrical waste – despite figures showing it as the number 1 waste stream throughout the world – received far less media coverage than it warranted.
Conversations with Ian convinced me pretty quickly that this was an issue in need of far greater exposure, and that – between us – we had the means to do something about it. To cut a long story short, the ‘TRACE’ Project was born, supported by University of Southampton’s EPSRC Impact Accelerator Account. ‘TRACE’ stands for Transitioning to a Circular Economy, and aims to make people aware of how much change we can all make by reusing, re-purposing and simply fixing items – as well as sharing them – rather than discarding and replacing.
The youngsters in this project have made it all happen. They can be proud that it all came from them.
Why was it so important to make it an education project?
Once funding was secured, we worked in tandem with artist Susannah Pal – who specialises in a visual artist’s response to eWaste – and began plotting the vision for TRACE over the next few months. Anca Campanie – SÓN Associate Director – and I worked together to agree our part of the project, and brought the SÓN team on board to push things forwards.
From the get go, we had clear ideas about how best we could impact lives, catalyse change and bring about some really lasting environmental awareness. The project, to my mind, had ‘education’ written all over it from the moment it began. Rather than commission a new piece for the formal concert stage (for example), we devised and began delivering a large-scale, 4 month education project, designed to culminate in a powerful, final performance of music that the youngsters had all played a key part in writing.
It’s worth stressing this fundamentally important aspect here: the students have real ownership of the entire thing, and they can be proud that it all came from them. In essence, it’s their response to a global issue, it’s their message and it’s their way of telling it.
"Yo bro, Go Pro, no go Nintendo"
Some amazing rap lyrics ... written by 7 & 8 year olds. What a response ... from the ambassadors of tomorrow.
So how did you begin catalysing such a response from young students?
We liaised with the staff at Otterbourne Primary, Hampshire, and began working with over 80 of the 3rd & 4th year students (ages 7 and 8). They’ve been as inspiring as any of us, and the teachers have been simply brilliant throughout, supportive, flexible and totally engaged with the project.
We began regular visits to school with Ian Williams and Alice Brock – a postrgrad research scientist at University of Southampton – to explain the global eWaste problem to children curious to know more. We invited the kids to bring in loads of their own eWaste, which we rummaged through, discussing where it might end up, what dangers it might present, the chemicals that could leach out of it, the injuries a broken case or screen might cause, and why this stuff is such a problem.
At the same time, we began workshopping ideas, stories and concepts for our final performance. We got the youngsters writing, singing, and engaging with the whole idea of waste electronics. ‘Bob the iPhone’ was born and the story expanded – where had he come from, why did he break and – crucially – where did he end up?
With workshop leaders such poet and songwriter Ricky Tart, SÓN Education Officer Ollie Downer (also a gifted choral conductor and trainer), and myself, we catalysed a catalogue of songs, rounds and raps. Alongside ‘Bob the iPhone’, another story was written about unwanted Christmas presents ending up on the scrapheap come Boxing Day due to disappointment.
And there’s more. ‘Dead Computer’ took shape from a punchy sequence of kennings – two-word micro-poems, an old-English and -Norse concept, connecting nicely with our own name of “SÓN” which is old English for “Music”. Here, the students began to personalise any electrical items they could think of, shifting them from being meaningless gadgets to having a real personality – a life, if you like.
So, a fitbit is a “step-counter” and camera a “photo-bank”. Chanting them, powerfully and rhythmically, we pitch them against another set of kennings, but this time representing the same items broken and no longer fit for purpose. A shattered phone screen becomes a “finger scratcher” and an old tv, lying in a ditch, a “soil-slopper”. The imaginations of these students, and the keen guidance of Ricky in steering it all, was incredible.
Some ended up on the cutting-room floor because we couldn’t quite make them work in the whole. One truly fabulous line from a potential rap was “Yo bro, Go Pro, no go Nintendo” – remember, this is from 7 & 8 year olds! ‘No Go Nintendo’ was, for some weeks, my working title for this whole project.
And what’s next – what happens to all these songs?
We fuse it all into one whole piece, intertwining ambient sounds (which we’ve sampled from live electronics, some from junk the students brought in) with our string soloists, percussion and keyboard / synth players. This all links into the songs, with passages of spoken words – written and read by the children themselves – about what it all means, why we wrote what we wrote, and at the very end, what kind of world they want to grow up in.
I’m spending the next couple of weeks locked away in my studio doing probably more musical creative work than I’ve done for years. I’m really excited to create all sorts of sounds which we can weave around the children’s fabulous songs, so we can tell this very important story with maximum impact. I’ve got soundscapes coming out of my ears – now I’ve got to get them all down on paper (or Sibelius, because who uses paper these days to compose?). I’ll be using Ableton, too, setting-up rhythm tracks which the youngsters can rap over, built from both standard percussion samples and a load of more obvious, noticeably electronic sounds. So, for example, ‘Dead Computer’ will actually be built on a complex, yet flexible rhythm backing of old computer bongs, iPhone lock sounds, keyboard clicks, doorbells, car alarms, Mario Cart, speak-and-spells – that kind of thing. Funky and a bit retro. With 85 kids chanting rhythmically over the top.
But we’ve also got lines for strings and live percussion, all mixed in with these electronic sounds. Plus more standard songs involving simple choral rounds, where we divide the choir in two, as well as a really powerful final rap, a kind of grime hip-hop track, about a massive robot made of old discarded junk who befriends and rescues all his sad, unused electrical friends. It’s called ‘Monster Electric’ and features lines such as “He turns Dr Dre Beats into beatbox mics, fairy-lights into Ferrari lights”, featuring 6 rapper MC’s from the school. Brilliant!
Finally, what will become of the project beyond the final performance?
We’re mid-way through the making of a film of the entire project – from initial sessions at the school where they first heard about electrical waste, through the brainstorming of words and building up of songs, to the final rehearsals with orchestra and eventual performances. We’ll have a film that tells the whole story of the SÓN eWaste Project through the eyes of the youngsters themselves, right up to when they’re all nestled together on the concert stage, doing something they’ve never done before – singing and rapping in public about a subject they’ve begun to really understand.
We want to continue this way into the future, and ultimately treat this wonderful experience as a pilot for something far bigger, far more impactful, and capable of changing even more lives.
Mahler - and a bit about Life
Not everyone "gets" Mahler. Whether they're musicians, or not.
Some people can't spend a day without it. Remember that scene in Educating Rita, where Julie Walters is met at the door by Maureen Lipman - complete with Mahler 6's finale blaring away behind her? Indelibly etched upon my memory of childhood was the phrase "wouldn't you just DIE without Mahler?"
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And then there are plenty of musicians who can't stand the stuff, avoid it like the proverbial, ask for time off the orchestral schedule whenever it's on the programme, that kind of thing. I'm most definitely not one of them. I suppose there must be people out there who are placidly indifferent to Mahler, although quite how that's possible is beyond me - Mahler is all-involving and consuming (if you're doing it right), and remaining dispassionate is, well, I just can't imagine. Mahler is like Marmite: you either love it, or you hate it.
I've just conducted two performances of the 6th symphony, and have No 5 coming up the weekend after I write. Here's a little audio-glimpse into the recent performance (a film - with some longer extracts, rehearsal, and interviews - is planned for later in the spring.)
These Mahler 6 performances were with the fantastic young musicians of Southampton University Symphony Orchestra. All 109 of them, on stage, for an 85-minute epic. What strikes me now, only days later, is how many of them feel the gaping hole in their lives, now that Mahler isn't filling it. I know this because of that eternally-accurate arbiter of fact and knowledge: people's facebook statuses. Many of them write as if they've lost something, or even someone. Gloomy and despondent. Truly a post-Mahler malaise.
Thing is, for the vast majority of them, it was their first experience playing Mahler, any Mahler. Imagine never having really heard Mahler before, let alone played any - and suddenly being hit with the ferocity of emotion that is Mahler 6. At the first rehearsal I told them that this will be a journey - and at its end there will be tears, and longing for more. Few, if any, believed me at the time, but I know how poignantly many of them will be feeling it now.
And here's the crucial point - this is only the START of the journey. There are another 9 symphonies, of course, and songs, Das Klagende Lied... In turn, Mahler will lead to Berg, Shostakovich - and over the shoulder to Bruckner. It can unlock all kinds of things. Imagine the harmonic possibilities suddenly unleashed inside a Mahler-fuelled brain... Or klangfarben, as vivid and intoxicating to a musician now as it would've been to (say) a young Schoenberg, or Bruno Walter, a century ago.
Deep down, some of the players will now be different musicians than when they began this Mahler journey. Somehow, they will approach their craft differently. And not all the members are studying music, either. Few things warm me more than reading that a medical student has listened to the entire symphony twice more in two days, and that a geographer can't wait for her next fix of Mahler. They'll flock to the Proms this summer - always plenty of Mahler there. Who knows.
It will have changed lives - only a little tiny bit, perhaps, but it all counts. This is the power of music, and of Mahler. 109 young musicians may be wandering around like lost souls right now, but it'll pass. What is most vital is that they'll remember it for the rest of their lives, no matter where they're destined, and however high they climb as musicians.
Mayhew and Marvelling Young Minds
Just recently, I was lucky enough to share the stage with the fabulous James Mayhew. Every year we work together, preparing, rehearsing and performing our incredibly successful series of Family Concerts. These are a highlight of the de Havilland Philharmonic season, attracting huge crowds - largely, but not exclusively, made up of youngsters with their parents in tow. Grown-ups come along with their kids - and end up loving it. And the children adore it too: a telltale sign of this is how quiet they are, particularly during the music. As a conductor, even with my back turned to the auditorium 99% of the time, I can always tell when an audience is really listening, deeply tuned-in to all the activities on stage.
Undeniably the star of the show is artist, presenter and master story-teller James Mayhew. He has a quietly engaging charisma, drawing audiences into his fantastical world, whether through speech (often delivered as verse, and always adhering to the true character, plot and drama of any classical masterwork) or through those wonderful paintings.
Thanks to the technical marvels of 21st century HD-cameras, coupled with a clever technical crew and a well-appointed concert hall, James is able to paint on a massive canvas. All his work is projected super-size above us all at the back of the stage: just watch the film above to see it all in action. There's even a glimpse into the technical box, mid-concert, during our performance of Superman.
James is not only a deeply expressive, brilliant artist, but a warm, involving speaker and presenter too. Like me, he cares deeply and passionately about classical music... about its depth, colours and delivery. James and I won't compromise, abridge nor water-down any of the orchestral "classics". We feel that children, and adults, not only can but should experience a full-size symphony orchestra performing classical masterpieces. Either in their entirety, or as close as we can get. No trimming. No sanitising. No dumbing-down.
And we trust each other implicitly. Having performed together so often, we know what works for one another. "I think we make a great team, Robin and I," says James. "He is that rare thing - a conductor with a sense of humour. The sense of fun is palpable to the audience and our concerts together are the highlight of my year." Thanks James - that's praise indeed!
He, too, is a joy to spend time with - whether talking about comic timing, brush strokes and speed of delivery on-stage... Or where he gets his sheriff's badge from:
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Of course, James and I don't simply play the music. All I do is rehearse it, conduct it, perform it. That's my whole (wonderful) career in a nutshell. Sometimes I speak to the crowd, introduce James, or act as a temporary stage-prop. Together we pace the concert - me syncing with him - like accompanying a good soloist. He uses verse, commentaries, little asides - whatever the drama needs, and I time the music to the cadence of his text. In turn, James times his artwork neatly and deftly with our music-making. Watch the showreel above (or any of the footage here) and you'll see this very thing in action: look at the very end of Superman, where James times the final swoosh of the superhero's flowing cape elegantly in sync with the final musical cut-off.
Classical music is the most extraordinary experience for young children and their families. If our concerts make just one youngster pick up a cello or trombone with increased fervour, or pushes a young lad or lady to revisit a half-finished composition, then the whole venture has been a success. No question. Anything that connects youngsters with their inner, musical pilot-light - making them yearn for music, to make music, to experience music - can only be a good thing.
With the axe about to fall on music services across the UK (as I write, Bromley, Redbridge and Wiltshire are facing this - they could easily not exist by summer: what a TRAGEDY that would be) - anything which gets the power of music over to youngsters is desperately needed. We all need to work on cultivating the audiences, and musicians, instrumentalists, singers, of tomorrow. All of us need to do this, starting now. Like we mean it. With passion, integrity, and humility. I'd like to think that James and I do our little bit in this regard, but I'd love to do much more.
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"Working with Robin is the highlight of my year," James says. "I couldn't wish for a better colleague for this mission we both share." And I feel exactly the same. The reason we both do this is because we love what we do: getting the magic of music across to people of all ages, particularly youngsters. When we each watch the youngsters marvel at what they witness unfolding on stage, we know it's the single best drug there is, for professional musician and professional artist alike. This is why, no matter how many books James may write, and how many Mahler symphonies I may conduct, our projects together remain a cornerstone of my concert life, and of James' artistic work. And it's why both of us long to do many more - so we can see those marvelling young minds, first-hand, loving every minute of the music and the art.
And thank you James - for all our concerts together. Here's to many more to come. Long may it continue!
"Heroes & Villains" Family Concert
complete repertoire:
Copland - Billy the Kid Suite
Grieg - Peer Gynt (Morning Mood, Death of Åse, Solveig's Song, Hall of the Mountain King)
Rossini - William Tell Overture
Williams - Superman Theme
this is a waltz (honest)
So, my dear friend and collaborator James Mayhew has been doodling again. This time from the back of the hall, as we rehearsed on Thursday last week. (For more on this - at least from James's perspective - switch blog channels and read all about his Dancing Paintbrush)
I was on stage, rehearsing. Sorting things out for the de Havilland Phil concert this weekend (see flier below, featuring a very well-known pianist). There must've been an awful lot of waltzing in there somewhere, because there's a lot of waltzing in the programme. So I imagine there's a lot of waltzing in this picture, too. Stands to reason. Ok, so there might be a bit of La Mer in there too, which could just imbue his artwork with a certain aquatic quality, but I like to think that he's captured a waltz here, in all it's glory. Good on you James, and thank you - this is a truly beautiful painting!
So, it's a waltz. Perhaps. Or so I like to think.
Now - the lovely problem is that, of course, capturing a waltz in such a perfect, frozen-in-silver(-rose) kind of way such as this makes it seem so elegant, so light and so simple. Which is the way waltzes are. Or should be. Conducting them like that, hard as it is (ok: it's near impossible) is what I strive for.
But like I say, it's hard! Breathtakingly subtle. In gently trying to inflect them, to turn their myriad corners and bring their inevitable rubato to life, one can trample all over their tender shoots, or snap them completely. Yet, do nothing, and the music dies - as if killed by the dullest of routiniers. Uninspiring, unimaginative. Boring waltz-killers. There are plenty about!
And of course, as a conductor, one has to make the most musical music within a waltz-beat. In other words, in one. Make the music flow, the lines sing, the contours melt and dance - all within just one beat. One fluid motion, containing all. Can't do too much, shouldn't do too little. And you're always on a knife-edge between the two. Yet it shouldn't ever appear like that, or else, again, you'll kill the whole thing. Waltzes + fear don't mix well! I firmly believe they should be compulsory in every kind of conducting competition - not the Danse Sacrale, or some piece written yesterday, but waltzes. Plenty of them. There are, after all, plenty of them...
Well, I'm going back to nursing my inner waltz, in preparation for the concert tomorrow. I'll leave you with one of the few true masters (no, I don't mean Strauss). Please don't miss the point and think "it's nothing to do with him" and "the orchestra do that anyway"! There is truth in that, but it's far from the whole story. And if, after watching all of this, you still feel that way, then I suggest a diet of Zen koans (because they sum up the endless secret of good waltzing). Or maybe some polkas.
Oooh, and before I go, here's that flier. I'll tell you how the waltzes (not to mention the great Emperor with John Lill) go in my next post. There may even be a photo from my dressing room
