I moved to Philadelphia after graduating from Bennington College in 1976. I wanted to test the world as a composer. There was some question about how I should go about it. My brilliant and renegade Bennington teacher, Henry Brant, had no time for graduate school. “Just write music!” he practically shouted. “Write for your friends. Get it performed. Write more.” My parents, however, encourage me to think about graduate school.
My first job was at the University of Pennsylvania. Working full time, I was allowed to take two courses a semester for free. I wrangled a graduate composition class with a well-known composer. One fall afternoon, I brought in the first piece I had written after college for review, a large piece for full band that I labored over.
The eminent composer gravely considered my composition. We sat quietly, expectantly in chairs scattered around the graduate seminar room. Slowly, he turned the pages. The crisp sheets crackled. He looked without comment, and finally closed the score. Sitting back, he crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. Smoke floated and swirled around his face. “Many are called, but few are chosen,” he finally said.
We were silent; the criticism was implicit. My brain whirled frantically. “Get out of here!” it screamed. “Get away from teachers like this!”
“Many are called, but few are chosen,” says Jesus at the end of the Parable of the Wedding Feast. What does he mean? The word ‘chosen’ implies a selection process. Jesus smiles; he is too full of love for exclusion. Well known psychiatrist and best-selling author Scott Peck deciphers it for me. “All of us are called by and to grace,” he writes, “but few of us choose to listen to the call.”
We are called, we do not listen. We have the capacity; we get sidetracked or confused. Scarcity is a false god. The world is large and full. The ability to create is a birthright. To be chosen, then, is merely to respond to the invitation. We only need believe and surround ourselves with those who say a resounding, infinite yes.
I did not complete the composition seminar that year, nor go on to graduate school. Deciding to take the advice of my teachers from Bennington College, I composed for friends and local ensembles and orchestras. Over the years, the circle widened. The National Symphony, Philadelphia Orchestra, the Kronos Quartet, The St. Paul Chamber Ensemble, and Hilary Hahn.
Showing up, I write the music.
Excerpted from Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer © Tina Davidson, 2022.
Listen: BLUE CURVE OF THE EARTH for solo violin (or violin and piano)
Commissioned by Hilary Hahn and recorded on Deutsche Grammophon in 2013 & 2018
“Grows into a lyrical world that literally seems capable of embracing the horizon. It is a shamelessly lovely piece.” (Communities Digital News)
