Rick Baitz

Also published on ETHEL's blog.

Rick Baitz is a composer with an extremely diverse range of influences, but consistently focused musical intentions. This summer he began a great new piece for ETHEL entitled Chthonic Dances.

On October 15 ETHEL went to the studio to act as "resident quartet" for Rick's excellent "Composing for the Screen" workshop. We recorded several versions of the same film cue - a scene from the film Zodiac. You can see the final cues at the "Composing for the Screen" Facebook page.

We have enjoyed spending time with Rick this fall - rehearsing with him and performing his music. It was cool to see a different side of his personality as he worked with the students. A couple weeks ago I sent him some questions:


Dufallo: Can you name a few of your musical influences?

Baitz: My musical influences are extremely varied. I grew up listening to rock music -- incessantly -- but my father was a classical and jazz pianist and there was a lot of classical music in the house. As a teenager and adolescent I spent time living in Brazil and South Africa, where I had powerful musical experiences, so I'd have to say that Brazilian music, in many of its forms -- samba, choro, forro, bossa nova -- is one of the strongest influences, particularly in terms of its rhythmic syncopation, complexity, and drive. South African music, especially the hybrid African and rock form known as "township jive", has had an infectious influence as well, with its powerful juxtaposition of African dance rhythms and real-life, everyday lyrics. I think that my early exposure to music of the world triggered an innate curiosity about different kinds of music, because I have spent lots of time absorbing various ethnic forms, most prominently North Indian music. Despite the ethnic influences, I consider myself a composer squarely in the Western tradition: I like to process materials that may have dance-like or folkloric origins into larger forms. I have a particular affinity with the music of Mozart and Beethoven -- especially the fieriness of Beethoven -- and of Stravinsky. I'm deeply versed in the 20th Century classical tradition and have a touch of the atonalist in me, although I'm a pretty tonal composer. But having studied with several 12-tone composers, including Charles Wuorinen, Mario Davidovsky, Ursula Mamlock, and George Perle, I'd have to say that I'm interested in all the ways notes can work together, and Perle in particular inculcated a sensitive ear to contemporary harmony.


Dufallo: What are chthonic spirits and what made you want to write a piece about them?

Baitz: I think I was writing about chthonic spirits before I'd named the piece Chthonic Dances. In fact I have a confession: the name came to me in a kind of free-associative state, when I wasn't even trying to think of a name for the piece. And I wasn't sure I knew what the word meant, at least consciously, but it was somewhere in my unconscious lexicon and made its way to the surface. When I researched the word I found it fit my intentions perfectly. "Chthonic" is a rare word in the English language, and refers to subterranean deities: spirits of the underworld. But this is a metaphor for the earthier elements of our own subconscious -- those impulses that may be considered "low", such as lust, envy, sensuality and rage. In a psychotherapeutic sense, chthonic spirits are the parts of our selves that when integrated with our "higher" impulses, such as love and generosity, create a balanced, healthy soul. My music, and in particular this piece, is a kind of reflection of such integration. I was struck by the cathartic force of dance in such places as South Africa, where the music may sound joyous and irresistibly motivate the body to dance, whereas its lyrics may speak of the unimaginable challenge of daily existence. The act of getting up and dancing has healing properties -- not to escape one's emotional reality, but to experience it. Dancing unlocks feelings trapped in the bones and muscles. The catharsis of dancing one's pain is a force in transcending it.


Dufallo: Can you describe your creative process for Chthonic Dances? What came to you first and how did you develop it? What are your plans for the rest of the piece?

Baitz: I began by compiling a set of themes that I'd been thinking about for a while -- some for years. I had sketches of a piece for solo flute that I'd written on a beach in the Florida Keys almost 20 years ago; this became the main theme for Chthonic Dances, Part 1. It's based on a kind of refracted "baião" rhythm, from Bahia, in Northern Brazil. A second theme -- a kind of pure "mbaqanga" (South African township jive") has been reserved for the upcoming Chthonic Dances, Part 2. During the creation of the intro, to lead into the "baião" theme, I started hearing a series of rapid, repetitive 16th notes, and after a while a kind of harmonically ambiguous but rhythmically driving melody emerged on top of that ostinato -- you could call this Theme 1. Theme 1 is really where the George Perle influence comes in, consisting of a 4-note tetrachord that can be twisted and turned to imply various, temporary tonalities.

The entire piece will be in three large sections without pause: one long movement. Its structure is a kind of fractured sonata-allegro form, in which the traditional model of presenting several contrasting themes, followed by their development or variation -- and then returning to their original configurations -- is subverted. When the "baião" theme first appears, it is as a development of its original shape -- which won't appear until Part 2. The transition from Part 1 to Part 2 consists of a development of the "mbaqanga" theme, which won't be heard in its original form until later in Part 2. In both cases, the development occurs before the theme. So in Chthonic Dances, I take the parts of a traditional structure, put 'em in a bag and shake it up, changing the order of events. Eventually all themes return, transform, and interact, merging in Part 3. I'd like to think that this non-linear deviation from conventional structure will ultimately present a deeper listening experience than the classical mold of exposition, development and recapitulation.


Dufallo: You are quite an accomplished film composer. Has writing for film changed your approach to concert music in any way? Can you discuss your role as director of BMI's "Composing for the Screen" program?

Baitz: I recently ran into Ralph Jackson, head of concert music for BMI, and he asked me if it was difficult to return to concert composing after 15 years of composing for film. Thinking about it honestly, I had to say that it was, at first. Writing for film, I gained a fluency and immediacy that was necessitated by deadlines; more profoundly, film has served as a medium for me to express a lot of the music stored up inside that may not have had other means of expression. I've done a lot of ethnic documentaries that call on my ability to embody the music of another culture or period, from Schubert to Native American to Indonesian gamelan. In addition, film composing caused me to become very fluent with technology, and to learn the skills of a music producer, arranger and engineer in addition to those of composer. I was able to bring all of this to the table in returning to concert music.

The primary distinction between film and concert music is that the structure of film music is generated by the external force of the film -- its drama, dialog, editing, sound, and rhythm -- whereas the form of concert music is self-generated, emerging from the materials of the music itself, like a seed sprouting into a flower. Coming back to concert music, I needed to re-capture the reflexes of creating music that could self-generate, and re-think who I was writing for. Speaking of unconscious forces, we all, as artists, have deeply hidden super-ego images floating around in our brains, whether of our parents, colleagues, or old music teachers -- and every artist has to come to grips with these (sometimes judgmental) voices and images, whether to accept them, reject them, listen to them as old friends, or absorb them into a greater esthetic whole. Writing Chthonic Dances has enabled me to re-enter that process with new tools under my compositional belt, but not without a bit of soul-searching. I think my sense of structure and clarity is more honed from having gained the communication skills required in film composing. And returning to concert music has caused me to re-visit my own artistic impulses, and clarify them to myself with the maturity of time, distance and experience.

The "Composing for the Screen" program is a workshop for emerging film composers who want to explore and strengthen their craft. So for six weeks I lead a group of fine young composers through an exploration of film music. A primary focus is on how music works as signifier: what connects meaning to music, whether it's a reference to something previously heard, or if meaning is created by virtue of a theme's attachment to an image on the screen, like a leitmotif. We study how different composers of the past and present achieve different effects, from love scenes to action sequences. We look at the compositional techniques of 20th Century classical composers, from Stravinsky through Bartók, Ives and John Adams, and study their effects on such film composers as Bernard Herrmann (Vertigo), Don Davis (The Matrix), Thon That Tiet (Scent of Green Papaya), Tan Dun (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) and David Shire (Zodiac). We take a detailed, analytical look at actual scores, both of film and concert music. Every week the students have small composing assignments, culminating with writing a cue for a live ensemble. This last year I had my students compose a string quartet cue for the film Zodiac -- recorded by members of ETHEL -- and David Shire himself came in and gave us the benefit of his Academy Award-winning expertise and wisdom in helping evaluate the students' cues.


Dufallo: Do you have any advice for young composers?

Baitz: Follow your instincts because they know a lot more than you do. Don't be afraid to write what you want and what you know. Challenge your teachers when you feel they are quashing your creativity, and honor and revere them when they give you the skills to teach yourself. So much of the world revolves around relationships: write for your friends and colleagues, and be out in the world, connecting to people and events. Try to adhere to a schedule and don't let the world stop you from composing, even when it wants to. If you're interested in composing for film or theater, again, it's about relationships: try to meet people in those fields and do a few gigs -- if you believe in the project -- for free. And always: be yourself.