In 2013, having completed my university studies, my professional experience in composition was nil. My jobs until then had been as an ice cream seller and a brief stint at a bookstore making photocopies—part-time jobs to support my university studies but nothing related to music. After returning from my university city of La Plata, I found myself living with my mother again, wondering, "now that I know how to compose, what does being a composer mean? What does this job entail? How does one practice composition daily?"
It was ridiculous that I had been trained for something and never taught how the labor market worked or how to insert myself into it, what to expect for fees, or anything about the commercial world. At that point, I knew how to structure a musical discourse and understood its components, but I had no idea how to apply this knowledge in the real world or how to make myself useful to society. So, I turned to the one place any desk-loving geek would go: the internet. I posted in choral music groups on Facebook something crude like "I am a composer, I love choral music and believe I have talent for it; I would like to contact conductors who have experience working with composers and talk." In that message, one thing was very evident, my social and communicative abilities were much inferior to my musical ones. I had been studying music since I was five but never communication.
By some twist of fate, an angel put a conductor in my path, and I received a message: "Santi, I'm the director of the municipal children's choir, come to my rehearsal and then we'll talk, see you Saturday at 10 am." That was my now friend, Martin Caloustian. I remember that first meeting. I was very nervous—it was my first time in front of a choir director—to make a good impression I brought three dozen empanadas (an Argentine snack), most of which I ate myself. Meanwhile, he told me about his collaborations with other composers. He showed me works he had commissioned, and I thought I was nowhere near capable of producing works of that caliber. Moreover, he worked with a children's choir aged 5 to 7. Do you know how challenging it is to manage that instrument? One must have a deep understanding of vocal development, inter-vocalic connections, and vocal ranges to write for that instrument called "children's choir." I assure you, it's very difficult to write for them. I would later learn the first lesson: Writing easy is really hard.
During our first meeting, Caloustian mentioned that the number of children was dwindling. They simply got bored and left the choir. The problem for me was evident, the first 10 minutes of the rehearsal he made them do warmups with scales. Do you know how boring that is for a child? Moreover, do you know how long 10 minutes is in the life of a child? That's an eternity! And above all, that was the first thing the children had to do. Can you imagine with what energy they would start the rehearsal if the first part was absurdly boring? Something had to be done, and I believed I could help him improve that part.
Martin knew how to recognize the small strengths of each person and turn them into greatness. For some reason, he saw dynamism in me and thought I was, according to him, a fun person. He thought I could bring that to his choir. So, he entrusted me with creating warm-ups for children. I was to write warm-ups that would make children have fun at the beginning of the rehearsal. That was my new job - from my perspective - I was finally starting to be a "professional composer," i.e., I received payment for solving a problem. That sounded professional. How naive!
Do you remember that my social skills were somewhat limited? Well, there's something I omitted at the beginning. I learned to speak properly at 15. Before that, I had enough defects to keep me quiet, but I still went to a speech therapist. And I studied a lot about the phonatory apparatus. I knew perfectly how to make transitions between vowels, had an understanding of which consonants combined better, the relationship between vowels, vocal range, and resonance. I had educated my phonatory apparatus with a lot of awareness, and that allowed me to think very well when creating warm-ups for children who were awakening their phonatory apparatus. It was knowledge that was very fresh in me.
So, this first stage consisted of simply creating cells that combined with others, going to rehearsals, and seeing what worked and what didn't. Where the kids were having fun and where they were struggling against the exercise. It was a laboratory for me; it was trial and error. In the meantime, I always worried about the vocal health of this instrument. After three months of this beautiful work, we paused and thought, "How do we proceed from here?" And we came up with the idea, the one that turned me from a fool who thought he worked as a composer to one that would transform me into one.
One morning Martin said to me, "Santi, can you write a piece loaded with cells like those in the warm-ups? Can you transform that into choral works?"
- Somewhat puzzled, I replied, "Of course... but where are you going with this?"
- Look, it's like this... the kids don't have a goal. If we give them an exercise on Monday, another on Tuesday, and so on... and then we teach them that by connecting all those exercises on Friday, we have a new work... wouldn't we be giving them a sense of purpose?"
- Yes, Martin, that would be great, but... wait a minute, does that mean I have to write a work per week?
- Laughing, he replied, "Yes, my little Bach!"
That same day began the real stage of training as a composer. I realized that university had given me great tools but none to work daily as a composer. That was simply something that only life gives you, only the passing and practice.
Every week I wrote a work. I learned to create chords for children, which ones worked and which didn't. I learned how difficult it is to maintain a musical discourse over time. The first thing I did for a long time was make mistakes, and proudly create the worst works ever written. Day by day I discovered that I had made a mistake for which the kids couldn't tune and never could. I permanently modified the works. And so, by force, I was learning. In just two years I wrote a total of one hundred and ten works for children. And obviously those children grew up and a more mature choir was created.
I think the lesson was that in those years I learned how not to write a work, I learned a thousand different ways to make mistakes and create chords that could not be tuned. And the best of all, I learned why those things happen and with it today I can understand what not to do. Of course, not everything was a mistake, today I still have three works from that period published. Complex yet simple works like O Crux and works that have been chosen even by globally renowned choirs like Elektra Women's Choir and Cantala Lawrence University like O Magnum Mysterium. These pieces are the result of having written an immense amount of bad works without fear of failing, with the humility to say "I am learning to be a composer". And after many attempts, achieving successes.
Although we will never stop learning, I am aware that today I have an understanding of how to express myself to obtain solid and consistent results thanks to that great stage of my life. The message is simple, you have to do a lot, do many tests, and then, with the habit, good works will be born. It is impossible to create a good work without having tried thousands of times to write a good work.
Santiago Veros
www.santiagoveros.site
contact@santiagoveros.site
