Joseph Phibbs
It’s important for me to work in a quiet space. I look out onto the garden, but o en get distracted by the birds. My writing is evenly split between working at the desk and the electric keyboard. I’d prefer to have an upright piano, but I’ve always lived in flats where space is at a premium.
I start by working out how to divide a piece’s duration. Then, I create blocks of music which are divided into structures. I start with a certain type of blueprint but will always deviate from it. If you play the piano and your finger slips onto a new note, it can lead you down a di erent path.
I gave up teaching earlier this year. I was working at the Purcell School, but I wanted to give more energy to composing, so I now have a clearer schedule to try and work in a more structured way. Text can become an obstacle, but it’s also a wonderful vehicle for writing music. I’ve o en gravitated towards older poems, because there’s something mystical about exploring the Old English language. I’ve even written
my own text for some songs under a pseudonym because I have a clear idea of a melody and don’t want the words to get in the way. There’s something psychologically interesting about spatially separating a choir. I’ve used that old Benjamin Britten trick from A Hymn to the Virgin, in which he separates the four soloists from the main choir. It becomes a conversation between the choir and soloists. My music is fairly triadic. It is melodically driven, but with an untraditional harmonic language, exploring how triads relate to one another. I really admire the work of Britten, whose musical language is relatively conventional compared to his contemporaries but still stretches the idea of tonality and modality. I’ve got a broad taste in music.
I listen to everything from Spanish Renaissance to Eastern European folk and Bulgarian vocal a cappella, and the disparate influences of music you listen to o en creep unconsciously into your own work.