Emotional Geographies

I've just made the scores for three of my classical chamber works available as free downloads. These pieces—Hotel Ecstasy, Non-lieux Ties, and Barbican Complex, 2008—explore themes of place, identity, and our emotional connections to the spaces we inhabit.

Originally, I had hoped to release these works on an album of my classical compositions (working title: Emotional Geographies) and had some exceptional players lined up to perform on the record. I applied for Creative Scotland funding twice, jumped through hoops, reached the final round both times, before being kicked into touch like a battered old rugby ball. Ultimately, no cash meant it was a no-go. While disappointing, the process did clarify something: these three pieces seemed to belong together, forming some sort of cohesive statement about themes that have preoccupied me as a composer.

Hotel Ecstasy (2004) for saxophone quartet attempts to conjure the strange, liminal world of budget accommodations. Inspired by Daisann McLane's writing (and accompanying photos) about the peculiar comfort and discomfort of temporary lodging, the piece tries to capture that sense of being neither here nor there—the traveller's eternal search for home. The saxophones breathe together like an old harmonium, creating melodies that seem to wander through half-remembered dreams.

Non-lieux Ties (2011/rev. 2014) for viola and piano takes its title from anthropologist Marc Augé's concept of "non-places"—those transient spaces like airports and motorway services that lack genuine community or belonging. The viola, itself something of an orchestral outsider, reaches across vast expanses to connect with the piano. There's a raw, unaccompanied cadenza at the heart of the piece that reveals a moment of vulnerability amid all the searching.

Barbican Complex, 2008 (2009) for solo flute attempts to map the emotional geography of London's concrete maze. The Barbican embodies everything paradoxical about modern urban life: cultural richness alongside stark utilitarianism, exciting encounters shadowed by crushing anonymity. The flute's virtuosic flights try to trace the psychogeography of the city, exploring those threshold spaces between public and private, familiar and strange.

Arriving at a decision around which pieces to include in this project was relatively straightforward. Hotel Ecstasy was an easy first choice as it was the first composition I felt genuinely satisfied with—looking back now, there's surprisingly little I would change about it. This led me to select two other chamber pieces of comparable scale, and that explore similar territory, aiming for a cohesive sonic and emotional statement.

All three works grapple with questions of belonging and displacement—themes that have shaped my life since childhood. Growing up with frequent moves, boarding school from age eight to twelve, distant then ultimately estranged parents, a period of homelessness in my early thirties, and only recently discovering my Danish heritage through my paternal grandmother, I've developed something of a fixation with how we construct a sense of home in an increasingly fragmented world.

These pieces also engage in a meta-musical dialogue with classical tradition—another common preoccupation of mine. And like much of my work, they are also somewhat irreverent with the canon. Borrowing here, stealing there. Highbrow one minute, lowbrow the next. Sometimes playfully distorting familiar techniques, sometimes awkwardly quoting figureheads like Bach or Stravinsky. But I'm also genuinely intrigued by where and how the contemporary composer fits in the wider context, perhaps even the absurdity of writing classical music in the 21st century. Non-lieux Ties and Barbican Complex deal with these themes head-on, while even the reluctant hocketing in Hotel Ecstasy is a nod to a more recent giant of the genre, Louis Andriessen.

In a way, these works have already served their purpose; I write music primarily as a way of untangling and regulating the world around me. Nevertheless, I hope others find in it something that resonates with their own sense of searching or belonging. To that end, I'd like them to be heard, to be recorded and performed. In the meantime, the code (i.e. score) is there and, in a real sense, my work is done.

The scores are available on their respective pages here on the site. They're free downloads because, well, I don't know anyone getting rich from selling scores, least of all for niche chamber music!