Contemplation is essential in the musical thinking of Mexican composer MARÍA GRANILLO. Mexican composer MARÍA GRANILLO (1962). (1962).
In his work Vuelofor example, he describes with sounds the skyline of the frigates off the coast of Oaxaca.
Music about birds flying at night in an exciting and liberating journey represented by the supple tenor saxophone.
The Sinfónica de Minería will perform this work during our Mexican program (September 9 and 10 at the Nezahualcóyotl Concert Hall), with the soloist participation of Rodrigo Garibay and conducted by Raúl Aquiles Delgado.
On the occasion of the concert, we spoke with María Granillo to get a closer look at her musical thinking.
Approach to the musical thought of María Granillo
1.- Flight was born from the contemplation of the flight of the frigates in the coasts of Oaxaca. How was that experience and what concrete gestures (timbres, rhythms, melodic directions) did you transfer to the musical language?
Birds that fly very high usually appear to be suspended, either gliding smoothly in the air currents or sometimes circling against them. This type of movement is represented by glissandos and slow glissandos on the strings. Although there is also a more turbulent and climactic section in the center of the work.
2. You describe the piece as “the sonic metaphor for an exciting and liberating night flight.” How do you create that sense of freedom and nocturnality (range, textures, harmony, dynamics, silences)?
It is difficult for me to explain precisely how I build the sound image. Generally it is a process that alternates between the imaginary and intuitive and the rational, because although it implies a craft and technical knowledge regarding the sonority and possibilities of the orchestra, it must be imagined in detail before moving on to its realization. It is like building a house: first you have to imagine it, then make sketches, and finally this leads you to know clearly what kind of materials you need to get down to work.
I asked myself how does a flight sound, and the work is my answer. Transforming an idea or an image into a musical discourse is the sound metaphor.
- Why did you choose the tenor saxophone as a soloist to represent this flight? What qualities (color, flexibility, projection, extended techniques) did you find ideal and how did you avoid the clichés associated with the instrument?
This work was commissioned by Rodrigo Garibay, who commissioned works from various Mexican composers for his instrument, so the timbre of the tenor saxophone itself was something pre-established. On the other hand, the most present reference for the sound of the tenor saxophone was for me John Coltrane and the context of jazz. I think that this jazz influence can be detected in the character of the soloist's melody and also in some segments where a rhythm similar to walking bass appears. I don't know if the latter means that I have fallen into a cliché, but in any case I don't care.
4.- You opted for a small orchestra-no trumpets, trombones or tuba-with 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, bassoon, contrabassoon, 2 horns, timpani, percussions (rain stick, cymbal, simantra, tom-toms), piano and strings. How does this template affect the transparency of the texture and the dialogue with the soloist?
I chose the instruments because they were the ones I needed to generate the sound I was looking for. Perhaps the absence of brass was simply because the musical idea I had in mind did not require these colors.
- What formal and expressive freedoms did this choice allow you and how does it deviate from the tripartite logic and cadenza of the classical concerto?
In addition to the saxophone as a specific instrument, the commission of the work had a specific duration of about 10 minutes. Concertos in three movements usually have a longer duration. For these reasons and for the poetics of the worksummarized in its title: VueloI decided to make a single movement, a single trajectory. In my imagination, the saxophone is a character that flies and all the sounds that surround it are the atmosphere through which it travels...
- You have indicated your interest in deriving technique from musical poetics and sound imagination. How does poetic imagery come into being and how does it become rhythmic, harmonic and orchestration decisions? If you can, illustrate this with a passage from Flight.
Well, first I would like to say that the musical poetics is everything that inspires, originates, detonates, informs, the work to be performed. On the other hand, music being such an abstract art, the listener does not necessarily perceive the work in the same way as the composer does. In fact, each person is free to associate the work of art with different emotions or images. Personally, I like to give a kind of "hint" in the title of my works, which is sufficiently suggestive and broad, rather than strictly programmatic or specific.
Many years ago I saw in a film about Camille Claudel, a scene where the sculptor was carefully looking for a stone from a hill of stones and finally chose a stone with a pyramidal shape. Later in the film, we see that she has carved a foot in that stone. What I thought at the time was that she already had the foot in mind and had chosen the right stone to carve it. This is what I mean by deriving techniques and materials from musical poetics; there has to be a sound image in my mind, clear enough, to dictate to me the sound materials I need to shape it.
- From Dances of the animal spirits a Animaliawhat attracts you to these themes and how does it translate into compositional procedures (symbolic motifs, transformation processes, dramaturgy of timbre)?
I am attracted to these themes because they awaken many sonorous fantasies in me. In the case of Dances of the animal spiritsis a work that deals with emotions. The philosopher Descartes describes emotions as a result of the journey of the animal spirits. animal spirits through the body, and this work has four dances: exultant, anxious, furious and erotic.
In the case of AnimaliaConcerto for bass clarinet, its four movements are entitled 1. Wind and water beings and 4. Exoskeletons, claws and thorns. As you can see, I am interested in creating sound worlds from the emotions or images that these themes arouse in me.
- From London (Guildhall), York and Vancouver (UBC) to your work in Mexico: what marks did these schools leave on your language and how do they coexist with your identity as a Mexican composer?
Studying abroad gave me a solid postgraduate education, as well as many formative and life experiences. I think that spending a few years outside of my country gave me a broader perspective on my identity as a composer on the one hand and as a Mexican on the other. I have never deliberately tried to make my music "sound Mexican", rather I think that nowadays, artists are traversed by multiple factors of a very diverse nature and I feel that voluntarily ascribing to a certain school, aesthetic or technique, can be very limiting for the personal imaginary.
- Since 1993 at ENM-UNAM and today at the head of the Academy of Composition, how has teaching composition in Mexico changed? What challenges do you see in the new generation (listening, technique, technology, professionalization)?
I believe that one cannot teach how to compose, just as one cannot teach how to dream or imagine. What is acquired in school is the craft, the knowledge of different techniques or procedures of different composers, of different periods and aesthetics, of different repertoires, of how the different instruments and their combinations work and how they sound, in short, the education of the ear. It is a long and absorbing process that requires having an absolute passion and also a tenacious spirit to tolerate frustration, and to keep going. These things have not changed.
I believe that today there are many more opportunities for young composers than there were in my youth. When I finished my bachelor's degree there was no postgraduate degree in music and so I sought to go to another country to continue studying. Today there is a postgraduate degree at UNAM largely thanks to those of us who went abroad to obtain those degrees and returned to teaching. I believe that an important challenge for the new generations is technology, which should be a means, just another resource, but for many it ends up becoming an end.
- With eight concertante works in your catalog-from recorders to bass clarinet-what instruments or formations intrigue you now (timbral, electronic, chamber-orchestral mixes) and why?
At the moment I am writing for the San Diego Children's Choir and the St Louis Chamber Chorus, with whom I will be working as an associate composer. These groups have commissioned the works for me. Vocal music is another important aspect of my work. I would also like to write a concerto for cello in the future, simply because I like its sound and expressive capacity so much.
- You were a student of Federico Ibarra and went through the workshop of Daniel Catán, Julio Estrada and Mario Lavista. What principles of those masters continue to guide your writing today?
I learned very different things with each of them. Federico Ibarra was my teacher during my four years of undergraduate studies and with him I learned the craft and discipline through continuous exercise with different materials and traditional forms: we had to compose a small piece and play it on the piano every week, analyze music of different authors and periods daily, be able to express constructive criticism towards our classmates and ourselves. I was influenced by Julio Estrada's intelligent, original and rebellious thinking, his concepts about the imaginary and its representation in a score. With Julio we used to make collective sound fantasies lying on the floor, forming a circle with our eyes closed, or we also made the score of the sound of an avalanche of potatoes. These conceptions are perhaps the origin of my ideas about sound metaphor, which is so important in my work. With Lavista I took two analysis seminars: on the Vienna School and on Debussy in which his detailed and subtle approach to the works opened me to the perception of that very thing, the detail and the sonorous subtleties. Daniel Catán gave me very good advice when I was looking to leave Mexico to continue my education. Regarding the question, I don't think that the principles of these composers guide my current writing, I think that as with parents, there is a moment when you have to leave them to find your own paths.
