Kenji Bunch
Photo: courtesy of Kenji Bunch

As I prepare for Journaling (part two) I have the great pleasure of interviewing one of my greatest friends and colleagues, Kenji Bunch. Kenji has been a huge inspiration to me ever since I first encountered him as an undergrad at Juilliard. We worked together as students, played in the Flux quartet for five years, and started Ne(x)tworks together (with Joan La Barbara). I have always loved his music, and admired his approach to life.

Journaling (part two) will be taking place at The Stone August 15, 8PM. The composers on the program are Kenji Bunch, Paola Prestini, Joan Jeanrenaud, Daniel Felsenfeld, and Vijay Iyer.


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

Bunch: I developed a serious interest in composing as a teenager, when I discovered figures like Shostakovich and Leonard Bernstein; the former for his ability to express such powerful emotion through his music, and the latter for his eloquence in communicating ideas about music, as well as his respect for and facility with different musical styles. At the same time I was voraciously tearing through the important 20th century scores and recordings back then, I was also discovering the classics of rock and pop history- the melancholic art rock of bands like Pink Floyd, the operatic energy of the heavy metal of Iron Maiden and early Metallica, and the incredible rhythmic and harmonic ingenuity of classic soul and funk of Stevie Wonder and George Clinton were a few favorites. Jazz has always captivated me, with a special fondness for the Swing era of the '40s that my dad grew up with.

Years later, encountering the music of Morton Feldman permanently altered my perspective on both listening to and creating music, the post-minimalist work of John Adams helped develop my interest in stretching harmonic possibilities over groove structures, and the discovery as a performer of American fiddling traditions from Old-Time Appalachian to "Newgrass" had a profound impact on my personal vocabulary as a composer.


Dufallo: You are well known for your ability to capture the energy and character of various kinds of American popular music in your own concert music. Many of your chamber works (pieces like String Circle and Swing Shift, for example), explore aspects of jazz, rock, and fiddle music within structures and instrumentations of "concert hall" music. What are your thoughts on this relationship between popular music and concert music?

Bunch: As a musician, I was raised in the classical tradition, and only came to explore performance in other genres in my adult life. However, as a listener, I never made distinctions between styles in terms of artistic merit. I've always felt just as moved listening to the music I studied (classical), as the music of my surroundings (rock, pop, hip-hop) and that of my parents' generation (jazz, folk, Broadway, country, etc.)

My composing has always been nothing more than an attempt to write down what I hear in my head, and to present it in a hopefully cohesive way that engages the listener on an emotional level. It just happened that a lot of what was stuck in my head was a filtered version of the popular music I encountered and enjoyed. When I first started writing, about 20 years ago, perhaps it was innovative to re-contextualize elements of vernacular music in the concert hall, but now, it's almost par for the course, and words like "crossover" have become antiquated and meaningless- and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. I think setting boundaries between styles (and performers) only serves to limit the imagination of the listener, and I think we're at a really interesting time when all of that is up for grabs.

If I've achieved any kind of distinction for incorporating these vernacular elements into my work, I hope that it would be for the tremendous respect I have for the sources I'm drawing from. Like a chef who strives to honor the ingredients in his dishes, my humble goal is to share my enjoyment of whatever source I'm referencing without screwing it up through artifice or condescending.


Dufallo: Can you describe your new piece, Until Next Time? What was your initial inspiration, and how did you develop it into a complete piece?

Bunch: Like many of my works, I started this piece with the title. I'm drawn to titles that are in some way ambiguous, or lend themselves to several different interpretations. I like the implied hopefulness of the phrase Until Next Time, in spite of the bittersweet suggestion of a farewell. This led me to create the work in the character of an old Scottish aire for solo fiddle. In terms of performance, the title is a metaphor for the short lifespan of a live performance, and how each piece of music only comes to life briefly in that moment, laying dormant until the next one. As performers, we recognize this ephemeral nature of each experience on stage, and tend to look sanguinely ahead to the next chance to play a certain work. To explore this concept, I've left the opening section of the work quite free and open to interpretation, thus ensuring very unique results with each rendering of the music. Lastly, the title is an oblique pun, from one member of Ne(x)tworks to another.


Dufallo: What, in your opinion, is the role of the creative artist in the emerging global community?

Bunch: The emergence of the global community has given the 21st century a completely unique identity, and with today's immediacy of information, as artists, we've never had such a wealth of cultural resources to draw upon for inspiration. These are exciting times, and it's our responsibility to take advantage of what technology has to offer and embrace this tremendously rich, diverse resource.

At the same time, it's more essential than ever before to remain active and relevant on a local scale. With the inundation of influence around us, we still need to look within for inspiration- we need to recognize the unique qualities of our own backgrounds and personal histories, and honor the immediate surroundings that have contributed to these backgrounds. I think this is the way to contribute to that global village- by authentically telling our own stories and representing the places we come from and the people who made us who we are as artists. While it may seem glamorous (and convenient via the internet) to develop an international presence, it's also important to connect with audiences on a local scale and recognize the value of developing an identity with a real, tangible community of musicians and listeners.


Dufallo: Do you have any advice for younger composers?

Bunch: Here are a few ideas:

1. Always be in the right place at the right time.
Even if my music is never heard again and I can't write another note from this day forward, I have to say that I've been tremendously fortunate in my career. I'd be fooling myself to think that my accomplishments are do solely to my talents and abilities. Mostly, they're a result of things beyond my control, like having a catchy name and stumbling into incredible opportunities at the right moment. If I've learned anything about developing a career as a composer, I would say that while we can't predict lucky circumstances, we can prepare for them so when they arrive, we're ready. One maxim I've tried to live by is to always consider myself to be in the right place at the right time, and to embrace whatever situation I'm in as a learning experience. Composing for me means constantly learning on the job, and that takes both the confidence to take on projects you may not feel ready for, as well as the humility to recognize you always have much to learn.

2. Be yourself...
Although it sounds infinitely easier to say than to practice, we have to be true to ourselves artistically. My work is all over the map stylistically- enough so that I've left a few people scratching their heads when they think they've figured out what my music "sounds like," only to be thrown a curveball. I don't subscribe to a school of aesthetics; I simply write what I would like to hear. I think as a young composer, the sooner you can become comfortable being yourself in this way, the more believable your music will be.

3. ...while still being able to adjust.
If I've learned anything, it's that it only helps me to know when to assert my ideas, and when to back off and be open to someone else's input. Simply put, most musicians you will write for are better musicians than you are- they know more than you do about how to play their instruments, and their musical instincts have been developed over years of study and performance. Our goal is to listen to them, and help present them in the best possible way that will showcase what they can do, while creating a rewarding experience for them. Often, I end up changing notes, tempos, articulations, effects, etc. based on the superior ideas of the musicians I work with.

4. Don't stop.
Lastly, I would say the best advice is simply to never give up. One of my non-musical interests is long distance running. Right above my desk in my composing studio is a patchwork quilt of all of my race numbers from various races I've completed. They're up there for me to see as a reminder of projects I've seen through to the finish, even if I had to really struggle at times. Sometimes the races are run in torrential rain, grueling 80º heat and humidity, or once, frigid 10º winter. Still, I showed up, respected to challenge of each race, and ran to the finish. They serve as metaphors for the both the individual composing projects that come up for me over the course of a year, as well as the long-term trajectory of my career.

To use a well-worn phrase, what we do really is a marathon, not a sprint. We see flashes in the pan come and go quite often in the music world, and when their stars are rising, it wouldn't be human not to feel envious of their sudden success, and discouraged about our own seemingly slower development. It can feel like there's no point in trying so hard to accomplish something when it appears to come so easily to someone else. However, when a runner streaks by me early on in a race, he's the one who has to eventually account physically for the expectation his fast pace has placed on his body, not me. In fact, I'm not running against him at all, I'm running with him. To zoom out for a bird's eye view of the race, he and I are both part of a beautifully choreographed organism made up of tiny individual parts, every one of them unique and moving at his or her own rate. I think we each need to be patient, keep our heads down, and keep slowly chipping away at our work, regardless of the attention we attract, or lack thereof. If you do that long enough, before you know it, you've created a body of work that tells your own story, and you've worked yourself into a career.