How do composers sleep at night?

There’s a link I’ve identified between web designers and composers.

Britten’s diaries, letters and various biographies document the emotional roller coaster of the creative process.

I remember first reading about Britten’s inner-most thoughts back in 1997 and feeling slightly voyeuristic. I rolled my eyes at the diminished self-belief and the strained relationships. I rather liked that. I liked the way the comparatively banal detail of his everyday life afforded me the opportunity to puncture the loft reputation post-humously bestowed on the composer.

Just so we’re clear, I’m a Britten fan.

Last night, an unexpected thought. I was looking at a website I’ve been working on over the past few weeks for a client. It has been a hugely pleasurable process. Distracted from the usual office politics, I’ve been able to focus on the articulated need and the detail and complete on the contractual promise.

When the website finally goes live, the feeling is something odd. That’s the moment in time when the ship has left the berth. Sure, I can keep tweaking and correcting (that’s how Web 1.0 works after all), but the moment the website goes ‘live’ is the moment when as a creative individual you feel most exposed.

The paradox is that the period prior to putting a website live – building the website on a ‘test server’ – invariably involves using a web server which is available to anyone who happens to possess (or find) the necessary website address. It never concerned me that people might see what I was doing when I was ‘building on test’, yet the moment it’s moved to a difference public webserver suddenly I’m incredibly self-conscious.

It was late when I looked at the finished product ‘on live’ last night. True to form (at least I’m aware of it) I immediately zoned in on the margins and gutters – there’s really nothing worse than a misaligned block of text – and descended into a spiral of self-loathing.

I mounted a personal intervention and stopped proceedings before clambering out of my pit of self-induced despair and turning my attention to Witless Silence on BBC One.

Come the morning, my view on the very same website was … entirely different. The tweaks necessary were inconsequential and swift, and when complete triggered an unexpectedly overwhelming sense of pride.

It got me thinking about composers. How did they deal with the exact same creative process? Would any of them past or present dare to admit to tiredness-induced self-doubt? Would they dare to describe in such intimate terms the experience of crafting a new composition (in itself a battle of conflicting internal dialogues) and what interventions they mount to right the metaphorical ship? Would they dare to reveal the emotions experienced in the run-up to and during the first rehearsal and subsequent premiere?

There are a couple of podcasts yet to be published with composers about which I have this vague recollection I may well have asked the question. I hope so. Because I think anyone who gets the opportunity to have their work realised by a whole other team of professionals has a far more stressful working day. I’d like to know how they deal with it.

Photo by Spencer Imbrock on Unsplash

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