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In conversation with Alec Hall

Find out how Prokofiev, photocopiers, and expressing one’s own weirdness inform Graham Sommer Competition Finalist Alec Hall’s compositions and shape him as an artist.

Earliest musical memory?  

That’s a question that could have a few different answers based on what kind of music. The earliest memories I have would probably be related to the soundtracks of certain movies: the power of constructing a narrative and pulling in the audience to the excitement of the story with Alan Silvestri’s theme from Back to the Future, or being introduced to Jimi Hendrix through the scene at Stan Mikita’s Donut Shop in Wayne’s World, when Garth dances to “Foxy Lady” (which I then listened to over and over again on my dad’s silver Sony Walkman). My mother likes to say that she repeatedly played Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 7, Op. 83 III. Precipitato over headphones that she placed on her belly while pregnant with me, which might explain my penchant for driving rhythms and an aversion to even and stable metric patterns. My earliest memory as the kind of composer I am today, though, would probably be back from when I used to work at the TSO’s Music Library in 2001. The photocopier made the most incredible sounds and I remember thinking how exciting it would be to use them compositionally. 

What are the themes that inspire you most in your music? 

Continuing on from the aforementioned photocopier, samples and field recordings play a huge role in my work, like my 2018 work God keep our land glorious and rich for the Montreal-based saxophone quartet, Quasar, which used recordings I made on a three-day trip to the Alberta Tar Sands, for example. The ideas, places and topics that inspire me generally come from outside of music, from the world of the present, to be overly simplistic. My process relies on a conceptual approach that starts with something I want to explore in greater detail, pivots on how to represent it within a sonic field or musical texture and then compose outwardly from there. 

Is there a moment that brought you to now, being a composer — one that changed your course or confirmed it?  

I’ve lived an incredibly fortunate life so far, one where I’ve worked lots of different kinds of jobs, traveled and lived all over the world, met and worked with some amazing people, and yet after all of these opportunities, I still know that if I wasn’t focused on making art with sound and music, I’m not sure that I would find the spiritual and intellectual fulfillment it gives me. There are moments that confirmed this, many very positive and some rather negative, but it’s almost like a daily check-in, like, what would be the thing that I would do otherwise, would it make me happy (even if it paid better!) and would it challenge me? So far, the answers to those questions have always affirmed my current path, even as it changes over time. 

What are the 5 words you would use to describe your compositional style?   

I don’t have a style. 

If you had a mantra/philosophy/phrase for where you are right now, what would it be?  

You will find your voice as a composer when you begin to make the music you want to hear. 

What do you find the most rewarding about composing? What’s the toughest?  

There are lots of rewards: the feeling of a piece coming into a concept, the writing itself, having the music flow through your pencil on to the page, and hearing it in rehearsal for the first time. The hardest is by far, absolutely, the engraving process. Just a tortuous, days-long ordeal, particularly when you have a big hand-written score that’s got a lot of short-hand notation like “expand this!”, or something along those lines. 

What would be excited to see or hear more of in the field of composition? 

Composers that declare their independence from the contemporary institutions, whether that’s the North American academy or the European festival circuit. I want to hear music that expresses someone’s weirdness, their unique read on history and the contemporary as expressed in an unfiltered way, not by hewing to exogenous pressures, whether direct or ephemeral. 

What would you like the audience to walk away with after hearing your piece in the finals?  

I have a piece for solo piano called A Dog is a Machine for Loving that was premiered in 2019 by Stephane Ginsburgh in Paris. He was the commissioner, and had asked for a “speaking pianist” piece. I obliged by fashioning a piece all about dogs, using text I wrote myself and quoted from canine literature, as well as including audio samples of dogs that I know personally along with samples I found online. Stephane confessed to me early on that he didn’t have an affinity for dogs but that the piece was making him see our furry quadrupedal friends in an entirely new and glowing light. An audience member at the premiere similarly told me before the piece that she didn’t like dogs, and then afterwards very enthusiastically claimed that I had changed her mind. This is the goal for me with every piece, not to have people suddenly love dogs, obviously, but to move them in some meaningful way. 

Any advice (or cautions?!) to future composers out there? 

Don’t listen to people who tell you that there is a unifying narrative of contemporary music, or that there is only that small pool of composers out there that are considered institutionally respectable. Most of the best work is being done by obscure figures you’ve never heard of and you’ve got to find those people for yourself. 

What would winning the Graham Sommer Competition enable you to do?  

I don’t know, I’ve never been in such a competition before! I’ll take my inspiration from sports interviews and just say that I’m focused on showing up and doing the best I can, you know, just staying focused on the game, we can’t think about what happens next week, you know, we gotta play one game at a time, just take it from there and we’ll see what happens. 


Sneak a preview of Alec's entry in the GSC finals, played by the Graham Sommer Trio:

Audio icon Alec Hall | The National Anthem


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