The Creative Process

I hope this article stirs up some healthy debate because, to me, the creative process cannot be separated from some metaphysical considerations that some will certainly want to challenge.

Although not the majority, a huge amount of people believe that what we think and feel is nothing more than a mirage created by chemical/electrical processes in our brain, called synapsis. Our most profound emotions, reflections, insights, are a result of a complex neurological network. In the case of great works of art, some scientists believe that these are a result of brains that have a special configuration. Even though our artificial intelligence devices are still uncappable of creating a symphony comparable to, say, Beethoven’s 9th, it is just a matter of time until they do so.

It is no secret that I am a firm believer in the existence of an intelligent universal source of which we all form part of. One of the main reasons for this profoundly engrained belief is my experience as an artistic creator.

I have written music since my early teens, from rock tunes to classical chamber music, to complex symphonic rock pieces. And in many cases, the creation process has been linked to the manifestation of an intense “condition” that is extremely difficult to describe. It is a sort of trance, where things happen in a dream-like state that cannot be remembered afterwards. I can honestly say that I don’t remember the precise moment when some of my favorite passages were written.

So, before explaining the process that I follow when writing music, or rather, in order for this description to make sense to you, I have to tap into some metaphysical considerations.

My personal view of the Cosmos is relatively simple to explain. Let’s start by clarifying a key term. The source of everything that exists is God. This is quite straightforward even for agnostics or atheists in the sense that we can link the primordial infinitesimal point from which the Big Bang originated, to this “entity”. However, from this moment onwards, the discrepancy begins. In one direction, God is the origin of all physical manifestation but there is no awareness, no intelligence. After the Big Bang, everything happens by a combination of chance and laws of physics. On the other direction, this “entity” is aware of its existence and this physical environment that we call Universe has been created with a specific purpose.

Obviously, I’m inclined to follow the second direction.

Let me go back to what I stated in the first Phaedrus article “Tonality and the Purpose of Life”:

“Let’s assume that there is an underlying energy that brings coherence to the Universe. And, let’s also suppose that there is such a thing as an infinite Creator. An entity that “Is” and that cannot be called an entity because there is no beginning or end to It. Pure infinity in terms of space and time. Following our previous argument, such a “concept” (for lack of a better word) would have zero potential. No voltage. White noise.
What’s the use of being the best pianist in the world if you can never play because you don’t have a piano? Well, this “infinity” situation posed a bit of a problem for God: I cannot manifest what I Am, until I’m not all that I Am. I need contrast and that necessarily means a subset of what I Am.
So, God creates universes (yes, there may be more than one), each a subset of what He is, thus creating contrast, which in turn creates life. The ultimate purpose of this is to allow God to manifest Himself.”

To be able to play the piano…

So, in my view of the Cosmos (shared by millions by the way) God is manifested in everything that we perceive, from a grain of sand to a galaxy. A consequence of this consideration is the concept of “Oneness”. Our separation is an illusion; we are part of the same universal stream of consciousness much like individual waves are part of the ocean.

This last concept is key to understanding my view of the creative process. An inspired artist taps into this universal stream of consciousness and during the creative act, it is nothing more (and nothing less) than a vehicle through which this universal consciousness manifests. We become more or less competent scribes and whatever ends up being the artistic creation is a combination of what came through us, and the contamination created by our technical limitations and our attitude. What I mean by attitude is that quite frequently our mind gets in the way and distorts the idea that surged spontaneously. I don’t want to imply that the rational decisions are negative, quite the contrary, they are an essential complement to what arrives through pure inspiration. But the fact is that we mold, or change, the raw material received based on rational (which includes cultural) and technical considerations.

A fascinating way to link the universal stream of consciousness to the creative process is by observing the characteristics of works of art that we call masterpieces. They are the result of highly inspired artists that had the perfect combination of “receptive disposition” of this consciousness stream (good antennas) and technical competence (proficient scribes). When these works are subject to meticulous scholar analysis we find all sorts of “embedded intelligence”: climaxes that coincide with the “Golden Ratio”, motives that appear in the most unexpected places (expanded, reduced, transformed into harmonic progressions, mirrored, etc.), structural relationships that look more like the work of an architect, illogical but highly effective timbrical combinations, etc. Some of these are purposely included by the artist but a vast amount, are just there. Do you think that all of the details discussed in the musical analysis published so far in Phaedrus were all intentional? I can assure you that they’re not. Let’s take an example from “Close to the Edge”. Conceptually, the piece explores the physical and spiritual aspects of sentient beings, from an initial state of conflict between these two fundamental aspects of our existence, to an illuminated state where both aspects are reconciled. The initial state is described musically by conflicting tempos between the rhythmic and melodic sections of the band. In order to describe the illuminated stage, the rhythmic pattern is trimmed in such a way as to achieve a synchronized rhythm with all the band playing at the same beat. Unless proven wrong (and please let me know if you find evidence in any article) I’m certain that this was not done on purpose.

I could go on for pages on end describing instances of this “embedded intelligence” of which the composers were not aware of. I have a superb example in my own experience:

Sometimes an idea is triggered by a musical passage from someone else. The 4th movement of my “Concerto for Piano and Electric Ensemble” was inspired by the first chord pulses of the “Allegro” from the “3 Danzas Concertantes” by Alberto Ginastera. Compare the initial measures of both pieces:

Allegro from “3 Danzas Concertantes”:

Allegro from “Concerto for Piano and Electric Ensemble”:

Now the interesting, or rather incredible part is that I seemed to tap into the same consciousness stream where Ginastera took his inspiration from. Why? This is what happened:

Most of the 4th Movement of the “Concerto for Piano and Electric Ensemble” is based on this simple motive:

It appears for the first time in the bass:

Then by piano and synthesizer:

Also in the minimalistic section:

And is the main motive in the Coda:

Approximately one year after writing this movement, I was listening to the radio and I came across the “Pampeana #2 Opus 21” by Ginastera which I had never heard before. Imagine my surprise when I heard this:

Of course, this could be just a coincidence. However, I have always been a firm believer in “Ockham’s Razor”:

Among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected.

Let me digress for a moment: I think we all agree that our eyes are highly sophisticated artifacts. Vision in general has an amazing amount of advanced engineering built into it. Among several hypotheses that explain the development of this mechanism, I will choose the 2 main ones:

  • No one designed it. It was created by chance, through millions of years of trial and error and natural selection.
  • It is the result of two forces: a cognitive force that orients molecular organization with a specific design purpose, and a natural selection process that refines and modifies the molecular organization based on the characteristics of the environment.

I believe that the second option is more in line with Ockham’s Razor. It is simpler to assume that a highly-sophisticated artifact was designed, rather than saying that it came out of nowhere, by chance.

So, we have a couple of hypothesis to explain the joint use of such a specific melodic motive, written by exactly the same composer that initially inspired my work:

  • Coincidence
  • We both tapped into the same stream of consciousness

My choice is clear.

With this elaborate metaphysical introduction, I can now explain how I go about writing a piece.

Sometimes a new piece of music is completely developed from scratch. But other times artists resort to their “private arsenal”. What is this? Bits and pieces of musical ideas that are developed and stored waiting for the appropriate moment. They are sudden bursts of inspiration: melodies, rhythmic patterns, maybe even a single chord. You rush to whatever you have handy, jot down the idea, and deposit it in your private arsenal for future use.

With or without an arsenal, the fact is that you sit down with the intention of writing a new piece of music:

I’m in front of a white piece of paper (or an empty Sonar file in my case). What next?

This depends on whether the piece is pure music, or descriptive in some way. An example of pure music would be again the Concerto for Piano and Electric Ensemble. Descriptive music could of course be based on a wide variety of extra musical elements: a poem, a story, a picture, a movie, or even an abstract concept. I have written pieces for some of those. For example:

  • “Hades” from “Fragments of Light” is based on a poem by Nathalye Engelke.
  • “Simurgh” is based on an ancient story as narrated by Jorge Luis Borges in his “Book of Imaginary Beings”.
  • “Mysticae Visiones” is based on the Rosicrucian cosmological conception.

When the music is descriptive, obviously this sets a predefined framework. It is a tricky situation because I don’t like to put barriers to my inspiration. Fortunately, if I have the right mind-set and attitude, the ideas that start to flow are coherent with the chosen extra musical material. Let me give you a concrete example:

When I read the story about “Simurgh” I immediately created a movie in my mind. I imagined the different scenes and let music spontaneously emerge from them. As the plot evolves, one knows beforehand the type of music that would be suitable. In that case, one can go back to the arsenal of previous musical ideas and select an appropriate one as a starting point or, again, let inspiration do its work.

The first note in a new composition may come from one of 3 sources:

  1. My private arsenal (this is how “Simurgh” was started, for example)
  2. I listened to a piece of music by someone else and that has sparked some musical ideas (for example “Mars Pentacle” was triggered by “The Fly-Toxmen’s Land” from the album Rhythmix by Univers Zero)
  3. I just sit there and wait until something happens.

The third case has become the most frequent one because of Phaedrus, since I need to provide new pieces for every Phaedrus issue. I feel like Haydn in the Esterhazy’s Palace:

“Mr. Haydn please, I need a sonata for flute and piano for next weekend because I have invited my good friend who has this daughter who is a flute player. Oh and, by the way, keep the flute simple because she’s not very good at it….”.

When I sit down to compose, I start with a meditation session. I “tune up my antennas” and start to wait for the signal. What happens next is that I follow what project managers call the CPM: the Critical Path Method. I go with the first impulse I have, not knowing beforehand where that is going to lead me. So, if the first thing that comes to mind is a bass pattern, I leave the keyboard and pick up the bass. Or it may be a drum pattern, so I might just sit on the drums and develop the pattern with no harmonic or melodic cue whatsoever. But, since I’m predominantly a keyboard player, the first idea usually comes in the form of a specific melody or harmony.

The next step is what I call the “Fantasy Stage”. I let inspiration do its stuff and I will not question what is coming out of it. In this process, following the CPM, I will move from a melody, to a harmonic pattern, to a bass or drum pattern. In other words, I zig-zag my way through the new composition letting inspiration lead the way until I feel that my antennas have received all they were supposed to receive, at least for the moment.

So, I start the next phase: “Mold the creature”. This is when mind and technical skills start to work for the first time. I look at patterns, try to understand what is happening. If I came up with a melody, I start to see what harmonic structure would be suitable. Sometimes, if what I have is the harmonic structure, I start to develop and refine it, including drums and bass, hoping that it will trigger the melodies that should be attached to that harmony. Fortunately, in most cases, the melodies start to arise spontaneously.

Of course, this is the ideal situation. Sometimes I spend a whole morning working on maybe 15 seconds of music and the next day I discard everything except the initial idea and start the process all over again.

Until I started the Kotebel project, the composition process was artisanal – the old-fashioned way: I would manually write the score using an acoustic piano as my main tool. This is how I wrote all the classical chamber music in the 90’s. However, when I decided to use Kotebel as the main vehicle for all my compositions, I soon realized that using a DAW (Digital Audio Workstation) was far more efficient. I selected back then (year 2000) a software called “Cakewalk Home Studio”. Since these programs are sophisticated and hard to command, I’ve been using that product ever since. I’m currently using Cakewalk’s Sonar Professional edition.

I cannot get too technical but I must explain the difference between MIDI and audio tracks. MIDI (Music Instrument Digital Interface) has been around for many years. Basically, what it does is to record performance information rather than an actual sound. In other words: what note is played, how hard, for how long, did I use a sustain pedal or any other modifier (like a portamento wheel for example) etc. So, you don’t capture sounds but “events”. On the other hand, audio tracks are simply digital recordings of a sound. DAW’s allow you to use both types of tracks simultaneously.

When I compose, I use MIDI tracks. There are several reasons for it:

  • I may not know what instrument to use. I know the melody, but I’m not sure if this is going to be a piano or an organ.
  • DAW’s automatically show MIDI events in conventional music scores. Even though they are not precise, they are readable. Therefore, I can read the music that I just composed in a traditional music score.
  • I can change whatever I want, down to the very last note or event (a sustain pedal, for example).

So, I prepare several MIDI tracks in advance:

  • Melody track
  • Harmony track
  • Bass tracks (MIDI and audio)
  • Drum track

I have everything prepared so when in “inspiration mode” I can quickly change from melody to harmony, to bass, to drums. I have MIDI and audio bass tracks because sometimes I have an idea for a bass pattern that includes physical features like glissandos or a slap. In that case, I directly record the bass performance in the audio track. But other times it’s just a note pattern, so I play it with the keyboards and record the real bass afterwards.

So, you can imagine the first rough cut of the piece in the screen: MIDI recordings that zig-zag along the different tracks leaving empty spaces all around. Inspiration in pure state.

This is when “molding the creature” begins. After listening to this first version, I may start to “listen” to parts of it with a specific timbre. So I start to make my first arrangement decisions: this melodic line is an organ. I set up a MIDI organ track (that is, a MIDI track that has assigned an organ sound to it) and I copy the melodic line to it. I continue with this process, populating the score vertically with different instruments.

The famous saying: “Composing is 10% inspiration and 90% transpiration” holds true in this case. A lot of rational and technical decisions are made in this phase. For example, the instrument’s range must be taken into account. If a melody has notes in the range below middle C, then flute is not an option unless I decide to move it an octave higher.

More often than not, during this process of “populating the score vertically” inspiration knocks on your door and you go back into “intuition mode”. This may imply scratching part of the arrangement or taking the piece into an entirely new direction. I usually follow a rule of thumb: if I receive a very strong idea, I will follow it even though rationally it makes no sense. Because eventually, you will understand that it made all the sense.

The next phase is to determine what portions of the song should become a final product. Some parts might still be a bit fuzzy in terms of the idea itself or the arrangements while others are crystal clear. So, I make final recordings of those segments if they are made up of instruments I play (keyboards, bass, drums). As the other parts become less “fuzzy” I record them as well, leaving everything in its final form except instruments played by other musicians.

By the time the guest musicians record their parts, all the other instruments have been set to their final performance. Some may still be MIDI tracks, but the performance is the one that will go to the final mix.

The process I have just described is more applicable to Phaedrus than to Kotebel. In the latter case, I generate a template as a starting point to work on the arrangements. The template has all the parts that I consider essential to preserve the intention of the composition, but some parts may just be suggestions for the musicians to work on. The difference between the original template and the final version in the album is enormous. The musician’s contribution to the final arrangement is very important.

Another key difference is the use of metronome. All Kotebel albums after “Omphalos” have been recorded live in the studio, with no metronome. In Phaedrus case, since I play the rhythmic section, I have to use a metronome to hold everything together.

Before the final mix, I generate wave files for all the MIDI tracks with the final sound, as if they had been recorded that way directly. Believe me, there is no way to tell if you directly recorded that track as a wave file or if it was previously a MIDI track. Of course, this only applies to digital instruments that use a MIDI interface: sound modules, virtual and real synthesizers, electronic keyboards, etc. Acoustic and electric instruments (bass, guitars, flutes, clarinets, drums, etc.) are directly recorded as audio tracks.

For the mixing process, I use a combination of hardware and software: Sonar Professional in combination with a PreSonus 24/4/2 AI mixer and several processing units (for example TL Audio Fat-1 compressor for the bass).

Mastering is sometimes done in-house or subcontracted. But this is out of the scope of the article.

The process I have described is very personal. As you know, most progressive rock pieces are written as a collective effort. The musicians go to the rehearsal room with ideas that are used as a basis for jamming. From these jam sessions emerge ideas that start to evolve into final pieces. The articles “About Starless” and “Improvisation in Progressive Rock” expand on this collective composition process.

In my case, since I was trained as a classical musician, I don’t feel comfortable with the collective approach. I welcome the collective effort when working on the arrangements, but writing the piece is for me a personal endeavor. Having said this, there is an exception: “A Bao a Qu” from the forthcoming “Cosmology” album by Kotebel. This piece was written by Adriana Plaza Engelke and me, but it was not a collective composition but a sequential one. One of us wrote the piece up to a point, and gave it to the other one who finished it. Later we both worked on the arrangements. It will be interesting to see if fans are able to identify who wrote each part…

There are other aspects to consider during the composition process. They will be described in a future article.

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7 thoughts on “The Creative Process”

  1. robthedub@gmail.com says:

    I am going to add that some artists especially musicians and authors find an intellectual approach when the inspirational approach is missing at the moment. There is nothing wrong with that. It just means one knows one’s craft. But also the simplest answer is, music needs a lot of attention just like most things in life. It really is that simple… if today or 3 or 4 days out of the week, I decide I am not going to practice my technique or musical ideas/writing on an instrument (for whatever reasons), guess what!? I am not going to move forward that day lol, it is almost that basic. Am I very wrong?

    1. Phaedrus says:

      You are right. For example the writer Vargas Llosa said that creators needed to exercise like athletes. So, he writes every single morning, whether he is inspired, or not. If nothing good comes out of it, at least he kept his writing abilities in good shape.

  2. robthedub@gmail.com says:

    That is very logical but also very reasonable for after all how can you excel in one’s craft if you ‘don’t ‘beat it to death’ lol. Look at Zappa he was so good cause he did it everyday as an existence, yes really, it was his life, his passion, the only major thing, god bless you Frank. I truely understood what a real musician was from you. If you think me wrong, do some research on compulsive behavior lol. No I do not like all of Frank’s stuff, but I think he sometimes meant to offend to make a point that was far beyond an average person.

  3. robthedub@gmail.com says:

    Of course my last post was a bit of a joke. But seriously, I also think there is a particular artistic drive that is a very unique phenomenon. You can be a performer or a muscian but a writer/creator is something instilled from the start, the creative process, it becomes a passion. Now my next question is, why does this only happens with some people yet not with others? Maybe it is in the stars, genetics, environmental/behaviorist, intellect, ambition, a freak thing, who knows? I think it is a combination of certain things. It is also a great love… people who are really, really into music. From a personal experience I don’t mind sharing, to me it comes and goes. For example in the summer time now I say to myself, I am not spending my time with developing this music piece, I am going outside, or I am going to see a live show, or I just want to do something else. What I mean is it becomes a very personal experience, but I must say it is a wonderful hobby when one is in the mood and the time is right. If I don’t put out several albums of mine, of my ideas, it’s ok with me. Sure secretly it would be great even if I shared it with even only maybe just some people, but it is not very important to me. I think in Prog people really do well if they have super talent and something different to say.You know why I love Prog? When I started writing Rock, I got very disappointed and bored because I thought it just sounded too much like stuff that has been done before, but with Prog you can strech to no limit. What is also very cool though… everybody has different influences and likes, which means I can write a Pink Floyd/Gentle Giant type of song song… but it will be still my own, if I have the integrity of not coping something way too much, and if you are at that skill level, you know when you are doing that, right? But after all we are only working with 12 notes. Finally! I just think it is a great pass time that can be very fulfilling and happy for all ages, and something creative… one says, “Yes I did this” …no matter how great or small. Any thoughts on this?

    1. robthedub@gmail.com says:

      My last paragraph was just a combination of thoughts sort of outside of the main article but, there is also a very essential and simple answer to creativity that I want to mention that has been in the back of my mind. I think it is kind of very important to anyone who is a musician. It is actually a very simple concept; it is the ability to experiment! Like a lab scientist, with music you can do this for hours and hours. Sure your skill level and the complication of the music will make a difference, and some seasoned musicians become very good at this. But from writing a melody, a chord progression, a riff or a theme this word applies, EXPERIMENT. As listeners we can all experiment with different styles of music too, there are no limits! I hope this makes sense and helps to understand that music can be a lot of fun with pure freedom of expression and experimentation.

  4. vlsanchez@aol.com says:

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mihaly_Csikszentmihalyi When I read about your creative process, I kept thinking of the theory of flow, or peak performance, and absorption with the process, and its relationship to happiness. I KNOW that your creative process is a route to clarity, and happiness, ultimately. This is what I thought as I read your descriptions.

    1. Phaedrus says:

      Yes! Joy and fulfillment are a good description of what one feels when immersed in the creative process!!

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