Week of the composer - Marcel De Jonghe

Where do you draw inspiration for composing? 

Inspiration just comes to me naturally, but you have to know—and here's a little secret I'll share—I constantly have music running through my head. It just doesn't stop. My wife sometimes gets driven crazy by it because I also get a lot of inspiration at night, just before I really fall asleep. Then I'll dash out to the studio and quickly jot down the theme. If I don't do that, I'll forget it by the next day. Sometimes I also compose from my inner life, because something significant has happened that has deeply influenced me. That's what my introspections are the best example of. Composing becomes a way to process the event. And then, of course, there are commissions. It's a matter of thinking about it, and I always ask the client beforehand: what do you expect from the composition? Should it be something light? Something melancholic? Should it be completely atonal or extensively tonal? Or like the late Romantics and early Impressionism? That ensures that the performer isn't disappointed. Ultimately, it's the nature of the commission that leads you to ideas.

Which teachers or other composers have meant the most to you so far? 

Among the teachers: Peter Cabus, from whom I got my first prize in music theory, Vic Legley (my first prize in composition), and earlier at the academy, Arie van den Moortel, the former director of the Anderlecht academy. Arie van den Moortel was also a great composer and is played far too little. He was very wise, and his memory, boys, like an elephant's. He also set me on my way because I dared to show him my first piano sonata: "Oops," he said, "what's this? Young man, no, you shouldn't be writing like this, huh?" My first sonata was purely Beethoven... But I landed on my feet anyway (laughs). Some teachers have really had an influence, for example, Peter Cabus, an eminent gentleman and director of the conservatory in Mechelen. Vic Legley too. He was a bit of a dry comedian. He once said to me, "Anton Webern was the most brilliant mistake of the 20th century." He once made me write one surrealist work. Those were three songs that I cursed and sweated over, boy, and they don't sound good, no, they don't sound good... And as for preferences for composers? Quite a lot, of course. When I was ten, I got a hip disease and ended up in a cast from here (points to hip) to my big toe. I was at home for two months and listened to the radio. That's where it started: I started giving scores to the pieces I heard. The two top ones at that time for me—I was ten—were Mozart and Beethoven: understandable music. That's how I got into classical music. One of my favorite composers is Shostakovich, with his fifteen symphonies, unbelievable. If I imagine his first symphony, that slow movement, I just get goosebumps. I can hear it over and over again. It's just unbelievable what he wrote at nineteen. I paid tribute to him with my Obstination II. His motif is in there: D-E-C-B. (sings)

How did your piano concerto come about and what is the central idea of the composition? 

That was a request from the music band of the guides, but I played it smart by writing a version for wind band and a version for symphony orchestra, to get more playing opportunities. The version for wind band was premiered by a piano teacher from the academy. That was the premiere. Some time later, it was with Filip Martens and with Frascati Symphonic, in the Schouwburg in Leuven. The idea behind the composition is a tribute to composers who have written a piano concerto, from Liszt to Prokofiev. The concerto lasts about 24 minutes and is of extensive tonality, with occasional atonal traits. It's not avant-garde, with, for example, a pile-up of dissonances. It's not that. Then there's the third movement, which reminds me a lot of Prokofiev. How do you incorporate Prokofiev then into the composition? With quotes? No, not with quotes. How shall I put it? I use the motor skills and rhythms of Prokofiev, with short, sharp traits. Prokofiev could do that well, work with short, sharp traits, and the concerto I like best from Prokofiev was his third. Prokofiev can also be humorous, so that people suddenly get startled. Also in my piano concerto, in the third movement, there's such an unexpected humorous trait. If you listen to the third movement, at some point you'll say "Gosh" (laughs).

What is your opinion on the use of new, contemporary music in music education? 

My experience is that you have to be careful about presenting that (atonal music) to children. You have to introduce it gradually because students can be easily put off, and then they're lost for the rest of their lives. So, you have to start with something like Peter and the Wolf, which sort of begins to explore the more atonal. Piccolo and Saxo is also such an example. Twelve-year-olds find that very fun, and it's no longer in the Baroque or Classical style but contemporary, with many modulations. I think if you gently introduce them to it, you'll get them on board because accessibility doesn't necessarily mean difficulty. You can use avant-garde techniques in an accessible way. Think of film music, which can help students find their way to the full range of classical music. Starting immediately with the atonal period of Schoenberg is not something I would do, but working with works that are just before that, like Verklärte Nacht. That's already quite difficult, but when they're 15 years old, then you could start listening to it, with a word of explanation: Why did that composer do it that way? Where does that tone come from? How far have those atonal techniques progressed over time? Do you think it's important for a student in music, whether in conservatory or not, to explore atonality at a certain point? Yes, that must. Both for performers and musicians. For example, I also taught composition to Maarten Van Ingelgem, who explored a lot of atonality. He had started with his first composition: 'Leireken,' the name of the railway between Puurs and Dendermonde. That work was well put together, wow. Hats off, Maarten! For many composers, there comes a certain moment when they make concessions to their own tonal system, making it more accessible to the public. I always think of my audience. If you don't like it yourself, then the audience certainly won't like it. Ultimately, it's about finding themes that stick. If you do that, sometimes the audience will leave humming that theme. In the best case, it sticks for weeks. Occasionally, that requires a concession to the rules you compose with. I myself love strong modulations. That's why I admire César Franck. Vic Legley said about César Franck: C'est une machine à modulation. He can't stay in the same key for three measures, and I like that. That also often happens in my piano concerto.

What powerful musical experiences do you remember? 

Well, my first powerful experience with classical music was on New Year's Day, when we were going from Dilbeek to Ninove, to my uncle's. He was the alderman of education in Ninove, very educated and a fan of classical music. We arrived there, and one of the sons asked me, "Have you heard this before?" And he put on a record, and 'Eine kleine Nachtmusik' was playing. I was eight or nine years old, and I listened... "Wow, that's beautiful." An old memory, but it will always stay with me, that's where it started with Mozart. Another thing that really made me happy was Shostakovich with his first symphony. That slow movement... I get goosebumps just thinking about it. (laughs) Another work that made a big impression was Messiaen's Turangalila Symphony. I heard it once in Tongeren—a work of eighty minutes, in ten parts—with about a hundred musicians. His wife played the 'onde martenot' then. That was a moment, boy. Everyone was watching how she played it. The symphony was also remarkably accessible. Messiaen isn't always like that because he strongly adheres to his rules.

What projects are you currently working on? 

You might laugh. That's a work for accordion and strings. I just finished it for Jef De Haes, accordion teacher in Tienen and double bassist at Frascati. The work is called Transits, so 'passages' in French. After listening to a first version, he thought it was good, but you know what he said to me? "It's not difficult enough." That's for once the opposite, because what I write is often too difficult. So, I added two new, virtuosic parts to make the duration about fourteen to fifteen minutes. Jef was very happy with that. So, that's what I'm working on. Finally, also the piano album, which I just finished, with purely romantic music, all completely tonal and in recognizable forms. It's specifically written for young people to introduce them to classical music. That's the last work I haven't finished, so now I'm temporarily without a commission, and it's time to let off some steam and maybe focus on something that's coming up. Maybe back to the film club to make a feature film. (Marcel is also a filmmaker) That's something else again, and that's how you're active on different fronts. Variety is very important in life.

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