I like to write symphonic music. It feels like a painter’s palette — woodwinds and brass, strings in every register, percussion. A world of colors.
Not because I belong to that world, but because I like it so much. The orchestra may be the most powerful instrument — in color, in dynamics, in tone, emotion, energy — and in sheer manpower.
For composers like Beethoven, the music lived inside. Even when he could no longer hear, he trusted what he heard within. The score was not a search, but a trace of something already known.
I don’t hear it that way. Not fully, not beforehand. What I write on paper is not what I hear, but what I hope to hear.
That is not a weakness, but a simple fact. I cannot fully rely on what I hear inside. I need to hear it to know if it works. The notes can be right, the structure can hold, but that is not enough.
For me, music only becomes real when it sounds. That is why I listen. That is why tools that make my scores audible matter so much to me.
With a piano piece, it is different.
I have it under my hands. I can hear the music as I write.
Not perfectly, but enough to know if it holds.
I can even record it, to create some distance — as if it were a performance.
With an orchestra, I can’t.
What color to choose. What colors to mix. In what register. How loud or soft. Tutti or solo.
For a long time, that meant working with high-end samples. Building sound from notation, shaping every detail by hand. It works — but it is slow, and it demands constant intervention.
I don’t want to construct the performance.
I want to hear it.
That is why I am drawn to what AI might become.
I can imagine that the makers of those high-end samples will take this further.
Not just providing sound, but shaping how it is played.
Not by replacing the score, but by interpreting it.
I sometimes wonder if I am the only one who likes to work this way.
If not, this may go beyond composing.
What helps me hear the music
might also become the music.
For film. For video.
Maybe even as finished work.
But of course, I hope for a real orchestra. Nothing compares to hearing music in a concert hall.
And I don’t think it is entirely different for any composer. Even Beethoven, who tried to keep hearing the world around him, still wanted to hear his music — even when he no longer could.
So I listen. I write, and then I hear. And only then I know.
For me, composing begins with a sense of sound — a melody, a chord, a rhythm. Then the work begins: composing, arranging, orchestration — adding, cutting.
It takes shape as notation. Notes.
And only when it returns as sound does it become music.
The score is not where the music lives. For me, it is where it begins.
Contact