The Simplicity Complex

Examining the virtue of simplicity as an aesthetic and creative discipline

This essay was written in early 2020, weeks before everything changed for a while. It was one of the written submissions for my Masters, as part of a module focused on placing our own creative practice in context. Whilst a lot has changed in the following four years, I can see just how important and foundational it was to spend significant time in the 2019-2020 academic year thinking through what is important to me about music; the kind of music I often feel drawn to make and listen to; and searching for an answer to the fundamental question: why do I do what I do?

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In seeking to understand the variety of ways in which musicians, composers, performers, audiences, academics and critics view the issue of simplicity and complexity within music, a number of difficult and problematic issues can arise. Not least because this topic can provoke significant disagreements on issues of meaning, value, worth, technique and the different ways people perceive ability, but also because it is an inherent aspect in the discussion of a musical creator’s artistic output, intention and aesthetic goals.

As a composer, performer and musician, I am more than content to subscribe to the position that ‘the simplest musical devices can be the most fascinating’ (Geisersbach, 1998: 26); and whilst it can also be argued that in general ‘the acts of composing, performing and listening to music are inherently complex’ (Duncan, 2010: 136), I would like to outline some of the ways in which I have found artistic freedom, fulfilment and conviction through a creative mindset built on an underlying appreciation of simplicity. 

I shall do this by reflecting on the approach to composition I have adopted in recent years by comparing these with other composers who have become known for favouring what could be described as a simpler form of musical content, such as Howard Skempton, Arvo Pärt, Steve Reich, Nils Frahm and Olafur Arnalds; all of whom have had varying degrees of influence in my ongoing creative ancestry, alongside a predominantly classical musical education and foundation.

Due to the scope of this essay, I will avoid delving into a protracted attempt to define simplicity and complexity - however, it would be fair to conclude that when I reference simplicity, I do so in a positive sense, and that in most cases, I will refer to it as a form of musical content that adopts the time-honoured principle of “less is more”. I shall attempt to draw a line between the concept of musical spaciousness, compositional limitation and aesthetic conviction in the pursuit of freedom to achieve an artistic goal.

Background & Influence

At this point, it is helpful to first acknowledge the element of genre and musical style. This discussion can easily become a difficult and disruptive process, not least because ‘in both the popular and classical traditions, there is a tendency towards a proliferation of styles and a micro-specificity of sub-styles’ (Lochhead, 2018: 419). This is particularly prevalent in the field in which I work. I have taken to describing my own music (predominantly piano-based, rooted in classical training, background and theory, but incorporating a simpler, more spacious approach to composition and performance) as modern-classical. Alongside this, numerous affixes such as neo-, contemporary-, indie-, post-(classical) have been used to describe a very current form of mostly instrumental music in which the piano is the central instrument, which can often create more problems than they solve. 

Crucial to the increasing popularity of this music has been the rise of the internet, and the ability to stream music. It has in some ways removed the “stuffy” association that classical music has sometimes had, whilst incorporating other elements - dance and electronic music, new methods and environments of performance, and the more generic pop music effect of the performer/composer as an artist, to create a wholly modern, twenty-first century form of music-making, participation and fandom. 

Key to this is accessibility - both in being able to hear new forms of music online via devices and streaming, and in attending live music events, in which traditional barriers to classical music performances have been somewhat lowered or transformed. The composer Anna Meredith has been at the forefront of this in the last decade, and is a good example of someone with what could be seen as a formal, mostly classical education and background who is finding new audiences by presenting her music in new ways. 

In an article for the New York Times, Andrew Dickson (2019) neatly summarises her influence on the current scene:

‘Musical history is full of pop stars who yearn to be taken seriously on the classical side of the aisle, the traffic rarely runs the other way. Ms. Meredith is a rare exception…her music defies the usual attempts at categorisation…Ms. Meredith isn’t alone in trying to change assumptions about where contemporary music should be heard, or how. Just as composers like Olafur Arnalds, Nils Frahm, Mica Levi, Nico Muhly and Max Richter have become fixtures at festivals in the United States and mainland Europe, Britain seems to be in the midst of a boom in so-called neoclassical music.’

The musicians quoted above have had a strong influence on my musical development, with Nils Frahm and Olafur Arnalds the most prominent. In explaining his thoughts on the growing popularity of this form of music, Icelandic composer Arnalds (in Dickson, 2019) states: ‘there’s definitely something happening right now. It’s a mirror on our society; people are seeking the more contemplative style of music’. Indeed, Frahm (in Thaddeus-Johns, 2018) gives credence to this view when ‘he laments contemporary culture where art is lost in the scroll of the newsfeed’, creating a clear view from two of the leading composers in this ‘neo-classical boom’, attributing the recent surge in popularity of this music to audiences finding an element of escapism and relief from the pace and freneticism of twenty-first century life.

In the very recent past, I have been exploring music from the twentieth century which finds a natural home within areas of music that have been often labelled as experimental, minimalism or avant-garde. I have been particularly intrigued and challenged by the work of composers such as Howard Skempton, Morton Feldman, Arvo Pärt, Steve Reich, Philip Glass and Erik Satie, who have all been associated with creating music which has, in some way, been characterised as favouring a simpler (1) approach.

Whilst to date, my music has not had an emphatic stylistic overhaul in response to these growing influences, many of the approaches and methods that these composers have adopted in their work bear an uncanny resemblance to my own, particularly so in that I was not aware of composers such as Skempton and Feldman until recently. I hope to draw on these in developing my argument further.

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Footnote 1: In using the word “simpler”, I am attempting to not be drawn into an exclusively aesthetic discussion on what simplicity in music actually entails, for there are many contradictory opinions. In this context, all of the listed composers have become known for their work which in some cases, have deliberately favoured an overall sparsity of notes compared with a great deal of classical music; used specifically enforced limitation or chance in the compositional process; or in the case of the composers that have come to be known as the Minimalists, music which focuses on rhythmical or textural development rather than melodic or harmonic development.

Spaciousness

Finding space between the notes

The oft-attributed quote to Debussy which grandly proclaims ‘music is the space between the notes’ (Koomey: 2001, pg. 91), has become an important part of my compositional philosophy and the development of my musical voice. Of course, it would almost certainly be wrong to attribute ‘simplicity’ to Debussy’s music, but it is this aspect of spaciousness which I, and others, have found to be freeing.

In my short career so far, I have encountered people who have found the spaciousness with which I compose and perform to be affecting - by spaciousness, I refer to elements such as an unhurried approach to musical development; use of slower, restrained tempi; large amounts of rubato and rhythmical flexibility; capacity for moments of improvisation and fresh ideas to occur “in the moment”.

In an interview, I described my approach in the following way: ‘I want to take people on a journey through their own experience, their own consciousness, their own interpretation of what I play, which of course could be wildly different from one person to the next, but the music allows that space’ (Walker, 2017). Similarly, a review of my piece titled ‘Shelter’ referred to the piece as ‘a tender composition gently pulling apart the fabric of the day to make a space of its own, both poignant and striking.’ (Johnson, 2018). The way that people respond to music is something which I am very keen to reflect more on, however, I feel that it is the circumstances and conditions that people are in to engage with music, to be most instructive in allowing for considered responses to the space that some music provides.

Writing in The Musical Times in 1924, Hamilton Harty (1924: 331) states:

‘I do feel that we are living in a very restless and unsatisfied age, and I have an instinctive feeling that beautiful creation requires leisure and quiet in order that the children of the mind may be healthy and sane. It is hard to be leisurely and quiet nowadays. There seems to be many more things to do in a certain time than there were at the start of musical lives. Everything made by man has become more efficient and works more quickly, but I am convinced that music is one of the things which cannot be speeded up, and that is has been injured by this excessive craving for hustle.’

Quite what Harty would make of music and the world today is something to ponder. However, his argument - and the parallels with the world a century later - make for interesting reading. Music has often been a means of escape from the busy, intense world that surrounds many of us, and it is arguable that it has never been more so than today, with constant access to the internet, devices, streaming and connectivity creating a whole new way of life. 

The composer Howard Skempton is well-known for his piano miniatures, composed in such a way that musical development is often scarce, or at the very least, gradual. Skempton’s (1987: 27) own assertion that ‘the need to create space is of central importance. It is a reaction to pressure and congestions; it is a contemporary need, both in musical and social terms’ is a prescient one.

Writing about Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, whose “tintinnabuli” compositional style allowed for a particularly spacious musical palette, Hillier (1989: 134) contests: ‘[Pärt] uses the simplest of means - a single note, a triad, words - and with them creates an intense, vibrant music that stands apart from the world and beckons us to an inner quietness and an inner exultation’. I would argue that the ‘rest and pauses between phrases, sections and movement, provide the listener with ‘breathing space’’ (Muzzo, 2008: 30), creating the opportunity for listeners and audiences to be increasingly conscious of their response to the music.

Pianist Peter Hill (1984: 11), a leading performer of Skempton’s music, asserted ‘far too much contemporary music is crowded with notes which promise much but signify all too little. Such pretentiousness cheapens and falsifies musical experience and numbs the spirit’. Indeed, Skempton (2019: 43) himself realised that ‘it was a wish to create a space, to make space rather than to fill it’ that was of primary importance to his compositional process.

In a review of a Nils Frahm concert at the Barbican, Guardian critic John Lewis (2018) was left uninspired by the complex web of keyboards, synths, loopers and intricacies of the dance-influenced material, suggesting ‘the results are rather generic, like a preset voicing on a home organ. What works, however, are the piano solos. These are internalised raves; quiet riots; exercises in acoustic acid house that transport you to a higher plane while remaining oddly static’. It is this aspect of Frahm’s work which drew my interest on first becoming aware of him, and I have been captivated by these solo piano pieces on numerous occasions when seeing him perform in a live setting.

A statement attributed to Chopin - himself, a composer whose work can display exorbitant technical complexity, in addition to poignant, eloquent simplicity - proffers ‘simplicity is the final achievement. After one has played a vast quantity of notes and more notes, it is simplicity that emerges as the crowning reward of art’ (Hemphill, 2011: 527). And so, if it is less about the quantity of notes that are played, perhaps it is more the quality, the value and the meaning of those notes which is of primary important. To return to Hill (2019: 179): ‘simplicity demands its own kind of virtuosity: the fewer the notes the more each one matters’.

Limitation & Conviction

Boldness in our methods; belief in our story

In the same way that an implied negativity towards the adoption of a simpler compositional approach exists: ‘[on minimalism]…for the most part, critics have either lavished unqualified praise upon the music simply for its newness and “accessibility” or have derided it for its supposed shallowness’ (Bernard, 1993: 87), the aspect of limitation is an important element to this discussion, both in the processes a composer employs to encourage their artistic expression to emerge, and in an understanding and acceptance of one’s own ability.

Discussing the “tintinnabuli” style developed by Arvo Pärt, Hillier (1989: 134-135) asserts: ‘it is not just a distinctive sound, but a very clearly defined technique…[the] skill lies in creating the appropriate situation for such a situation to work in…what seems to be a restrictive or limited means of composing is shown to be an abundantly rich source of musical possibilities’. In a separate analysis, David Clarke (1993: 683) attests to this view by maintaining ‘without doubt, Pärt has perfected a highly personal style and at his best communicates with an eloquent and moving simplicity’. Pärt’s development of a specific compositional style is clearly something which has helped create a unique musical result, an important facet of which is restricting his compositional process to using ‘the simplest of means - a single note, a triad, words’ (Hillier: 134) to achieve this. Of course, an opposing view exists, which Clarke (1993: 683) alludes to: ‘Pärt treads [a perilously fine line] between simplicity and vacuity, feeding the gnawing suspicion that in his attempt to circumvent a modernist critique he has retracted into an aesthetic world that has little room for manoeuvre’.

It is here we arrive at a key point; one of subjectivity, which will continue to prevail as a means of distinction in an art form as celebrated and loved as music. In a stinging defence of complexity within music, James Boros (1994: 91-92) counters: 

‘Much recent minimalist and "new romantic" music strikes me as monolithic…it is essentially transparent with regard to the purposefully "inflexible and authoritarian" qualities that lie at its core. I often feel that the composer has created a sonic straightjacket by means of which she or he is attempting to force me to employ my perceptive faculties in one particular way. My reaction is thus normally not one of boredom, but of panic, as I scramble to find a mental escape route.’

Furthermore, a minimalist approach has not always had a sympathetic view in academia: ‘many aspects of early minimalism seemed impervious to analysis, and because analysis is often the life-blood of scholarly inquiry, musicologists initially had a generally hostile attitude toward the movement, and in many pockets continue to do so today’ (Potter et al., 2013: 18). There is no doubt a world lacking in subjectivity would be a bland place. However, to dismiss something in quite such a bombastic way as Boros, or to give too much weight or importance to an analytical exercise, does little to contribute to the discussion around how and why composers approach their work in a variety of ways, giving the impression that criticising a simpler form of music for it’s supposed vacuousness is of more importance than to acknowledge its value and meaning, or indeed its impact on audiences.

In recent months, following a recommendation, I have become acquainted with the music, compositional approach and methods of British composer Howard Skempton, for whom ‘self-discipline, restraint and economy of means have continued to be the prime characteristics’ (Parsons, 1987: 16). Skempton’s music - often sparse, piano-based miniatures using a restrained harmonic language; slow tempi; unhurried development, if at all; requiring a soft, delicate pianissimo touch - has drawn my attention and fascination because of the parallels with my music and approach, despite being unaware of his work until recently.

His influence on others extends to fellow composer Laurence Crane, as pianist Philip Thomas (2013: 11) suggests: ‘the concision and brevity, apparent simplicity, tonal elements and avoidance of rhetoric that characterise these pieces are all traits that continue…in Crane’s music’. Crane himself explained ‘Skempton’s music suggested possibilities I didn’t know existed…[the pieces were] completely unlike anything I’d heard before but they were using familiar things’ (ibid: 11). A crucial and pertinent factor in my own discovery of Skempton’s music and compositional voice - and it appears for Crane too - was his ability to use ‘familiar things’ in ways which appear to be completely true to themselves and the compositional and musical outcomes he desired. 

Composing in a period of the twentieth century when a great deal of experimental music was using elements of atonal, or at least, non-functional harmony, Skempton (2019: 35, 39) reflects he had ‘made a major breakthrough because consonant intervals were no longer a threat…I wasn’t embarrassed about using quite consonant chords’. Peter Hill (1984: 171) reflects: ‘[on meeting him, Skempton]…explained composition involved paring his ideas down to their essentials. The appeal of his music to me was that it embodied the principle of “less is more,” in which every sound mattered, instead of being lost in a maze of complexity’. Moreover, I am taken by Skempton’s ability to coax a musical style into existence not just in and by his musical methodology and process, but principally by his philosophy which is dictated by the following principle: ‘the more you pin yourself down, the freer you are’ (Skempton, 2012: 25).

A further aspect of Skempton’s approach is what appears to be a total assuredness and conviction in his work, summarised neatly by twentieth-century music expert Arnold Whittall:

‘Skempton has been celebrated as the master of the unobtrusive yet characterful miniature, with a reverence for the simplest of compositional traditions that is more affectionate than ironic, suggesting a conviction that the best way to be truly serious in matters of art is to avoid ponderousness and over-insistence. ‘Lightness of being’ is of the essence, but so is sober practicality’. (Whittall, 2017: 66)

Conviction in one’s own strengths, ability and ultimately artistic purpose is of primary importance for any composer, and an important element to Skempton’s philosophy can be found in his non-musical influences. The following recollection of a statement attributed to a lecturer of Skempton’s in the 1960s highlights the Greek aesthetic in architecture: ‘perfect parts in perfect harmony to form unity with clarity’ (Skempton 2019, 35), which a young and impressionable Skempton took to heart as an important part of his philosophy. In a similar way to Morton Feldman - a musical influence of his own - Skempton (ibid. 42-43) found inspiration in the visual arts, notably Piet Mondrian: 

I related to the uncluttered nature of the canvas of a Mondrian…he was happy to work within constraints…using a very limited repertoire of elements and creating a whole world…I was very much taken by that and I’m still wedded to finding enough richness within limits.

Indeed, it appears ‘the visual arts gave [Skempton] a certain kind of discipline, authenticity and sense of beautify’ (Head, 2019: 29), leading him to surmise ‘the point is that each of us has our strengths. It is what Britten said in his Aspen Award speech. We do what we can. What is appropriate…he [Britten] didn’t look down at modest work if it achieved its purpose’ (Skempton, 51).

This sense of confidence, certitude and conviction in his own work, with an understanding of his limitations, both in his ability (2) and in his deliberately enforced compositional constraints, has been a great encouragement in my development as a composer in the very recent past, a factor which is demonstrated by others. Steve Reich is notable for being a composer who ‘has moulded a style of personal integrity. His gradual, methodical process of style change has led him…to forge a musical language uniquely his own’ (Schwartz, 1980: 375), whilst Anna Meredith is described by BBC Radio 3 presenter Elizabeth Alker (3) (2019) as ‘bringing her classical training to music that’s reflective of now’, which I would suggest, is an excellent example of personal conviction and being true to oneself. As De Lio (1993: 64) posits ‘what else could be the purpose of one’s art if not to define oneself and do so by rooting oneself in one’s own experience?’

Footnote 2:  as a composer who has carved out a career for himself, despite not receiving even the university-level form of musical education he desired, yet who now teaches composition at Birmingham Conservatoire

Footnote 3: Alker presents ‘Unclassified’, a show on BBC Radio 3, which is gaining in popularity due to the way the music played spans a wide variety of music across numerous traditional understandings of genre. 

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Artistic Goal

Vulnerability & Accessibility

My greatest aim in my compositional process, and in subsequent performances of my work, has been to value openness, authenticity and vulnerability through the pursuit of simplicity - creating spacious music, through the use of limitation and awareness of my limitations, having conviction and confidence in my work to be true to my own artistic goals, and to achieve ‘[music’s] most noblest function…to clothe with sound those aspirations which are too deep and vague to put into words’ (Harty: 331).

The pursuit of a simpler approach can present a psychological challenge to many creators for a number of reasons, not least because ‘sometimes the artist may feel vulnerable and inadequate in expressing a form or performance without ostentation and adornment…many, artists, fledgling and experienced alike, view simplicity as a virtue that denotes a lack of style’ (Hemphill: 530). As I have attempted to argue throughout, an artists’ value is primarily to be found in the conviction they acquire in the pursuit of their artistic goal - as someone creating music not just for myself but for others to hopefully enjoy, I have found the following statement to be pertinent: ‘it is in the vulnerable moments that the artist fully expresses simplicity’ (ibid: 530). Indeed, as Hemphill (530) continues: ‘the artist must develop confidence that any simplicity of expression that engages the spectator qualifies as a complete artistic expression’.

Finally, we return to the aspect of accessibility and interaction between performers, composers and audiences. In the same way that many of the modern “Unclassified” forms of music that I am influenced by value accessibility for audiences: ‘performers are thinking much more about the live experience, and audiences seem genuinely curious…I honestly think they don’t care which category something fits in - or doesn’t’ (Alker, 2019), Howard Skempton was praised by Michael Parsons (1987) for the way ‘that the performer and listener are invited to participate in the creation of musical space. So it is also a matter of social space…your work re-establishes the dialogue which other forms of new music have lost, and creates space for communication.’

Of primary importance in my efforts in recent years has been an attempt to take my music to new and unsuspecting audiences, in addition to venues and performance spaces that would not always have been associated with this kind of music. Myers (2019: 173) states ‘[Skempton’s] is a compositional language of great individuality, often embodying a particular lyricism, which frequently speaks strongly to people with little experience of twentieth- and twenty-first-century “art” music, as well as contemporary-music aficionados.’ I would contend that it is due to an approach which values simplicity, rooted in the conviction of value and artistic endeavour, that has enabled simpler forms of music to increase in popularity. Skempton’s music, as described here by pianist John Tilbury (2019: 175) - and I would maintain Frahm, Pärt, Arnalds, Reich, Meredith and others - allows for the simplicity of spaciousness to ‘create space and release for both performer and listener, providing an antidote to the congestion that blights our lives.’

Concluding Thoughts

A commitment to adopting a spacious simplicity as a compositional approach brings many challenges, not just in the anxiety it creates in fearing how it will be received, but also in the musical component parts - how far should it go? What level of simplicity should one seek?

It requires complete conviction, that the artistic purpose one seeks can be achieved, through an understanding and acceptance of one’s own limits, despite the obstacles in one’s way, either self-erected or imposed by others: ’[Skempton] became a composer because he was “completely committed” to doing so, and he was realistic, working within, and with limits’ (Head & Cavett, 2019: introduction xxiii).

It must be acknowledged that this represents a further challenge - it should not follow or be assumed that creating music defined by it’s simplicity is “easy”. I have attempted to characterise this discussion by rejecting the binary view that complex music equates to clever, refined music, with simple music thus being seen as vacuous, inarticulate music lacking in artistic worth or merit. A key influence on Skempton, Cornelius Cardew (1970: xx) writes: ‘where everything becomes simple is the most desirable place…you have to remember how you got there. The simplicity must contain the memory of how hard it was to achieve.’ My development as a composer has taken a long and winding route, and this is a sentiment with which I can well relate.

To conclude, I am happy to leave the final word to Hamilton Harty (1924: 331): ‘I am content to take my stand in music with those who value honesty more than cleverness, for I am convinced that in this there lies the principle of all that is enduring in our art.’

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