Composer and cellist Hans Huyssen’s musical activities encompass a wide range of fields, including early and contemporary European music as well as traditional African music and music education. His ongoing relationship with early music - as a Baroque cellist he is member of various period instrument ensembles - led him to a very personal approach towards contemporary music. With concert engagements at the Darling Music Experience and the Fugard Theatre very soon, as well as a performance of his Proteus Variation by the Cape Philharmonic Orchestra as part of the 6th International Summer Music Festival this week, we put his artistry under the spotlight in this profile.

At which stage in your development as a musician did you start composing and decided that you wanted to pursue it?

HH: I first began putting little pieces together as a school kid. From that developed a tradition of writing occasional music (usually canons or little motets) for birthdays, weddings and baptisms in the extended family, where such festivities would become natural performance opportunities and vice versa the musical contributions would for the most part have a ceremonial purpose. I didn’t receive any formal tuition initially, save for some theory lessons, and was always more encouraged to become a cellist. I can’t remember ever to have consciously ‘decided’ to pursue composing but I was always at it, considering it to be a self-evident complementary part of music making.

Only very late, when I had already established myself as a free-lance cellist in Salzburg, did I meet Hans-Jürgen von Bose, who finally ‘confronted’ me with the option of professionally composing, as opposed to just doing it on the side. As a true insider and (then) a firmly established, performed and published composer, he must be credited for having done far more than teaching composition at the ‘Hochschule’ - he initiated me to the profession.

Calling yourself a composer seems a very daunting “label” – were you convinced from the start that you were on the right track and that your compositions were good enough?

HH: I fully agree that it has – unfortunately – become a highly problematic descriptor, as the profession is in a deep crisis. The difficulty arises from the deeply conflicting connotations the notion of ‘composer’ brings with it: on the one hand with the unsurpassably revered masters – Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, etc. – on the other hand with these grimly modern, irritatingly humourless figures, overtly hated by orchestra players and the old ladies in the audience alike for the preposterousness of daring to call themselves composers as well. And to put it bluntly: Everybody needs a plumber, a doctor, a grocer, even a taxi driver occasionally, but surely nobody ‘needs’ a composer!

The profession, in the sense of delivering a viable and valuable service, does not exist anymore and to a certain extent the practitioners themselves are to blame. An attitude originating way back to the early 20th century, whereby ‘serious’ composers resigned to pursue their craft without an audience, still prevails in many circles – with fatal consequences. Music doesn’t ‘happen’ when nobody listens to it!

Not for an instance am I implying that a composer should foremost seek to be popular in order to have an audience – this is fully self-defying as the ultimate value of any musical expression lies in the integrity of its expression and thus requires courageously individual contributions. The matter is far more complex than the extreme either-or positions suggest and a compositional approach beyond the traditional schisms of popular versus serious, entertaining versus edifying etc. is long overdue.

I would argue that the focus needs to be shifted to the communicative aspect of the art of composition once again – to the use of this art as a language instead of its practice as l’art pour l’art (art for the sake of art). The point is not to please the audience, but to never exclude it or leave it in the dark. The listener must by definition be included in the compositional equation, no matter how complex the musical elaborations might wish to be. This can possibly best be achieved by letting go of the notion of creating compositions as musical objects or masterpieces in the sense of reified things, existing independently from performers or listeners, and instead perceive composing as triggering a process of complex human and artistic interactions through which the composition will emerge as a musical experience, depending and even relying to a large extent on the contribution of others involved in the activity. In that sense the composer would be more of a catalyst, rather than the final authority – a role that would be far more pleasant and acceptable for all involved in the process.

And finally: This approach would also free us of the uncomfortable need to try and objectively assess whether a work is ‘good enough’ – a task which only very few could muster and which would yield the kind of result that nobody would care to be told, unless personally hearing and experiencing those apparent merits. Instead it would be much more fruitful to gauge the success ( or significance; meaningfulness; functionality) of a composition by its relatedness, its contribution to what is relevant and at hand. Compare composing to talking (communicating) and assume the self-assured instinct anybody has when discerning whether someone talks nonsense, says something appropriate, meaningful, interesting, speaks wisely, considerate or friendly.

We don’t leave that to critics or highly qualified specialists to assess – we naturally and immediately engage. On a crucially important level a composition should evoke that same kind of immediate responsiveness, and in doing so instil an artistic element in the human sphere while imbuing the artistic sphere with a human element. If it does that, it is certainly ‘good enough’.

You spent quite a long time in Europe (14 years). What took you there and what brought you back?

HH: Thinking that I was a European, while I grew up in South Africa – discovering that I’m a South African, while living in Europe!

Of course the complex truth is that both identities are making rightful claims, especially as German is my mother tongue, and I have some very close friends in Europe. The solution so far has been to keep working on both continents…

When you returned from Europe you were seeking an apposite South African form of contemporary music. Do you feel you have found this?

HH: I believe that I have occasionally succeeded in expressing uniquely local qualities representative of a specifically South African vibe in some of my pieces. I would not claim to be able to put my finger on it, but hope that my musical responses will become increasingly perceptible as idiomatic to their given context.

Spelling out such a goal is a long-term programme, a decision for a certain direction into which one sets out and continuously probes ever deeper. It describes an ongoing quest, rather than a single magical formula, which, once found, would presumably be applicable to solve all problems. What I refer to is an awareness and a certain alignment to the intricacies and complexities of the local cultural fabric, assuming that certain musical endeavours will be more fitting (or meaningful; purposeful; relevant) than others. This will of course always depend on specific circumstances and occasions, given South Africa’s vast historical, cultural, religious, linguistic heterogeneity. But it might just boil down to this: to always keep this complexity in mind, never yield to the temptation to reduce it to simplified models and to guard against one-dimensional responses to this multi-dimensional context.

Which composers have inspired you or been role models?

HH: Various composers have been inspirational at different stages (Bach, Brahms, Monteverdi…), but the strongest role model has time and again been that provided by Benjamin Britten. Several aspects of his biography and artistic approaches have always strongly resonated with me.

I could mention his continued advocacy of occasional music and the repeated involvement of children and laypeople in musical projects – even at times when such concepts were diametrically opposed to main-stream avant-garde notions. Or his interest in early music and folk music, resulting in numerous arrangements and performances in both fields, as well as the deliberate and often strikingly effective assimilations in many of his major works.

Furthermore I strongly sympathize with his pursuance of an evocatively speaking musical idiom, which he employed and plied extremely effectively and skilfully, more than amply compensating for the point of criticism, that it was only moderately modern.

But I have also always been especially intrigued by the biographical account, of how he came across Crabbe’s poem on Peter Grimes, somewhere in a Californian bookstore and suddenly realized that he could not live – and even less work – in exile and conclusively knew that he belonged to his home county of Suffolk, regardless of the dismal circumstances in war-torn Europe, which he had just recently left for America with its seemingly better career opportunities.

Not only did this lead to his return to the little fishing village of Aldeburgh, where he would reside and work for all his life, as well as establish one of the world’s major music festivals; it also resulted in his magnificent first opera, in which he congenially integrates highly personal auto-biographical elements with universally valid expressions of emotion, while sealing his deeply felt connection to a specific place, landscape and way of life.

I have always severely envied him for his rootedness, the strong links and almost tangible resonance of his music and the Suffolk landscape’s specific atmosphere. Since experiencing this remarkable congruence, during a cello course at the Britten-Pears School, I have always been on the lookout for my very own musical landscape. I would wish to have found it in the Cape (with its Fynbos and mountains and the coast) – just that I have not yet succeeded to grow substantially deep roots here…

You received the Helgaard Steyn Award, South Africa’s most prestigious award for composition in 2010. What did this award entail and mean for your career as composer?

HH: The award came as a very welcome – and handsomely tangible – token of recognition to a compositional approach, which has also often been met with a substantial degree of scepticism if not resistance.

Practically speaking the Award unfortunately had had very little consequences. Neither the music industry nor society at large seemed to take much note of it, as it does not entail the showcasing (exhibition or performance) of the prize-winning work. It would possibly be advisable to the administrators to consider doing so, in order to better fulfil the intentions of the founder to not only boost a lucky winner, but to tangibly elevate the societal ranking of the respective art forms (alternately literature, architecture, visual arts and composition) accorded with the prize.

Nevertheless, it is of course most fortunate that such a lavishly endowed award does exist in South Africa.

The CPO will be playing your Proteus Variations as part of the 6th Cape Town International Summer Music Festival on 21 and 26 January, which you composed in 2006 and also recorded. Please tell us more about this composition.

HH: The work was commissioned by Germany’s foreign radio service Deutsche Welle for the SA National Youth Orchestra, who had been invited to tour to Germany and perform at the Beethoven Festival in Bonn in 2006. Conducted as an annual collaborative project, numerous youth orchestras from all over the world have appeared at the Festival over the years, always bringing a new work from their home country with them. With these commissions the organizers call for compositions, which contain or represent typical or characteristic aspects of their respective country of origin.

With the King Protea as South Africa’s national flower an immediate link would be given, but of course there were considerations underlying this choice. I have always been intrigued by the stark beauty and even more by the extreme age and diversity of the Proteacea (it counts as one of the most ancient flowering plants dating back more than 300 million years and abounds – only in the Southern hemisphere – with about 1500 species, with 360 species found in South African of which 330 are restricted to the Cape Floristic Region). Having not only survived for so long, but flourished to such an extent is phenomenal and in its own right deserving of cultural reflection and recognition, such as this attempt of a musical tribute.

Moreover, there is the fascinating story unfolding around the – remarkably fitting – mythological name chosen by the Swedish taxonomist Carl Linnaeus in 1735, after the first plant specimens had been sent to him from the Cape colony. Responding to the incredible variety of size, forms, colours and structure – the inflorescences appearing either as capitula, racemes, spikes or combinations thereof – he made the association with the demigod Proteus, who would mischievously mock those trying to consult him for his prophesying faculties, by constantly changing his appearance.

Against this background the subtitle of the set of variations reads, somewhat floridly:
Proteus’ floriferous tempers exemplified in a musical portrayal of selected South African PROTEACEAE. Taking its cue from the subject matter, the musical processes are mainly concerned with diversity and variation, reconciling highly diverse musical material (including some subtle references to traditional African devices) into a unified expression and elevating the very strategy of variation to that of main theme as it were. Just as there is no most important single Protea plant, of which the others would be variants, there is no musical main theme, to which the others would be subordinate. The essential musical idea remains implicit, it is never spelled out per se, but rather allowed to emerge from the assemblage of specific individual emanations – just as the essential identity or character of the Protea family can only be perceived by recognizing the complexity and the entirety of their manifold and varied appearances.

(Programme notes on the work may be found at: http://www.huyssen.de/ProteusEngl.html)

Have you made any adjustments to the score for the CPO’s performance?

HH: I had to correct the parts, which were set rather hurriedly back in 2006. Fortunately, I found that only very slight alterations were necessary in the score itself. The composition has not been changed at all.

Your compositions have been performed by numerous major European and South African orchestras and ensembles. Of these performances, which stand out for you?

HH: For a composer the actual performance of a work marks but a minute instance in a usually rather lengthy process of conceiving and creating a work. Moreover, it is that very moment, when the composer is factually cut out of the process and others take over. (Sometimes, when things aren’t quite going as they should, this can be a very dark moment in the process, as though one’s intentions are being misinterpreted and one’s hands have been cut off…)

What often remains much more vividly memorable, is the striking moment of first glimpsing the idea for a new piece, or the lengthy process of negotiation until a commission gets confirmed, or the biographical circumstances under which specific pieces have been written, or of course the toil itself – being pre-occupied and bound by an unfinished work, with no possible release from that state of imprisonment other than to pull through…

But – to return to your question – there have been some very gratifying performances, when things would ‘come together’, the communicative link between composer, performers and audience tangibly established, all being encapsulated into a resonant sphere (literally and figuratively). I recall such instances with the first performance of the Lent Cantata Unerlässliches Leid in the Markuskirche in Munich, conducting Audite Africam! with the Bremer Kammerphilharmonie in Dachau, the premiere of the The Songs of Madosini with the Sontonga Quartet in the State Theatre in Pretoria and, more recently, with the Eistau-Trio in the packed Schauspielhaus in Zürich.

As a musician you have a wide field of interests – you are passionate about baroque music, but also have an in depth knowledge of contemporary European music as well as traditional African music. These are very diverse styles of music. What tickles you about each one?

HH: All of these seemingly disparate fields are for me connected through a single, common approach: they result from the study and close perception of musical contexts, with which my biography confronted me and which I had to reconcile.

Most European music that we study and perform as classically trained musicians is historic, even ancient, dated, old-fashioned. Unless it is understood on its own, specific, historical terms, as the novelty it once was, and this quality is translated into a contemporarily credible and speaking feature, the mere reproduction of such antiquated material seems to me quite pointless. If, on the other hand, it becomes a preoccupation to recognize novel means of expression in different historical contexts and reinterpret them as such, the step of doing the same for music of one’s own period is not very big. And as historical emanations are always linked to geographical places the awareness for geographically and thus culturally distinct idioms will soon follow suit.

Performing (mostly early music), composing (inevitably new music) and doing so on two continents should suffice to explain how I would have arrived at my specific cocktail of musical preferences.

Why are you so passionate about Historically Informed Playing when it comes to baroques music?

HH: This approach, to bring early music back to a contemporary life, was the single most important discovery of my whole European sojourn, the proverbial kick in the butt. I had the privilege to meet and study with Nikolaus Harnoncourt in Salzburg and his method of ceaselessly referring musical and stylistic features and traits to general cultural, historical, human, psychological and other (even speculative and imaginative) contexts has been deeply influential to me.

In a truly pioneering way he had, since the 1950s, applied this probingly inquisitive approach to regain access to the realm of early music and the pertaining historical performance traditions, of which – quite unimaginable now – hardly any knowledge existed at that time! His method subsequently proved so successful, that ancient music has since been firmly reinstated into contemporarily performed repertoire and period performance practice (also referred to as historically informed performance practice – HIPP) has become a globally accepted school of thought.

But, its application does allow other extensions than those into the historical realm. It has raised the awareness for many other musically determining contextual factors. In my quest of adamantly advocating HIPP in South Africa, these further dimensions are always implied. For me the method encompasses what I believe to be the very essence of making music generally speaking: doing so in a contextually aware, responsive and responsible way, seeking to make musical references, rather than mere musical presentations, deliberately relating music to the musicians, the place, the audience, the occasion involved. Most importantly for the South African context, I believe that HIPP as a method holds the key to most effectively tap into the vast and widely uncharted realm of indigenous African music – one of the country’s as yet largely unexploited cultural assets…

How many cellos do you have? Please tell us about them.

HH: Over the years I have gathered up four instruments: I still have the Justus Marx cello (Kassel, 1905), which a very dear godmother gave to me as an 11-year old, and which started everything. While studying in Salzburg I had to get a better instrument and after endless searches found a Lantner cello from Prague. Also in Salzburg I found a rarely beautiful, small and battered no-name 18th century instrument, which I had restored in its historical setup and used as Baroque cello for many years. Only recently did I purchase a newly made copy of an English Baroque model (built by Rüdiger Wolf in Wiesbaden in 2006) for its more robust sound.

In addition I have access to Bill Robson’s beautifully restored 5-string cello piccolo from 1707, a rare gem of a period instrument, which is eminently suited for the 6th of Bach’s solo suites, as well as a multitude of obligato parts in Baroque Trio Sonatas.

You will be performing Bach’s Cello Suites No 1 and 3 at the Darling Music Experience in February. What do find most challenging about playing these suites?

HH: If I may say this without sounding immodest: since playing the suites on a Baroque instrument, gut strings and a light-tipped baroque bow, things have fallen in place for me. The inherent musical demands and the instrument’s propensities are absolutely congruent and it has become a sheer pleasure to be able to play these works almost effortlessly. (I readily admit that I did struggle previously, attempting to play them on a modern cello, steel strings and a modern bow.)

For me the clue to the suites rests with the complex aspect of articulation; I believe they should be ‘narrated’, rather than ‘played’. Phrasing, pausing and breathing and placing emphasises in accordance with the harmonic progressions, minutely articulating lengths and edges of notes according to the melodic contours or the rhetoric figures within which they occur, automatically results in a shift from the conventional approach of ‘performing’ them (on the terms of a romantic cello technique), to ‘telling’ them (on the terms of the rhetorically conceived expositions that they are). Then they start carrying you – as any good story carries its narrator.

But yes, unfortunately there does remain a challenge: Nowadays it is the issue of finding the time to play them at all!

You are currently enrolled for your PhD in composition at the US. What is your dissertation about?

HH: The title of the dissertation reads: Composing (in) Contemporary South Africa: Theoretical and Musical Responses to Cultural Difference. It once again raises the self-same questions about the appositeness and relatedness of music, newly created to deliberately correspond with aspects of the complex South African reality – this time in a formally academic manner. The bracketed preposition announces an argument for a reassessment of the importance of composing as a potentially highly significant contribution to a society’s perceptions, its self-perceptions and – by implication – its identity.

The study takes place under the guidance of the musicologist Stephanus Muller. In addition, the Complexity philosopher Paul Cilliers, through whom I was introduced to systems and complexity theory, acted as co-promoter. Discovering the possibilities of this theoretical framework to constructively engage with such disputed notions as those of cultural difference, diversity, identity etc., proved excitingly enabling. Paul’s unexpected and most untimely death last July, just as we were gearing up a working method, was a severe blow to the process. Still, I’m deeply indebted to his thinking and hope to be able to continue on the mutually envisioned trajectory – of thinking about music as an emergent phenomenon, arising from systemically bound complex interactions of numerous and reflexively interdependent role-players (!!) – with the help of his colleague Jannie Hofmeyr.

Do you have any big projects planned for the near future?

HH: Yes, there are many plans…

Concerning new compositions there is a commission for a cello concerto from the South African, but now New Zealand based cellist, Heleen du Plessis, with which I urgently need to get underway.

Closer at home and concerning Early Music, I might mention a series of upcoming concerts with the Cape Consort (at the Fugard Theatre in February, the Oude Libertas Amphitheatre and the Stellenbosch Endler Hall), with which we hope to provide a more continuous presence of early repertoire and gradually increase the awareness for the importance and merits of period performance practice.

And of course completing the PhD looms large on the priority list…

Published 23.01.2012
Interview by Christien Coetzee Klingler