Daron Hagen

Moving Classics and Daron Hagen in conversation. Q: What does music mean to you personally? A: Music is a way of life, a calling, an avenue “in” to life the way that the “McGuffin” functions in a play—as an object or device that serves as a trigger for the plot. Q: Do you agree that music is all about fantasy? A: This is an interesting question. Music in itself is an abstract art, which I take to mean that, technically, it “means” nothing. Yet it functions in the world of emotions and dreams, so I agree that—in my case, at least—fantasy plays a role in that I “dream” up progressions of emotional and psychological states in music that I feel evokes those states. Q: If you were not a professional musician, what would you have been. A: Without a doubt I would have become a Lutheran minister. Q: The classical music is getting old, are you worried about the future? A: I worry about politics, not art. Art abides and nurtures always; politics is fickle. Art has always taken care of itself. Great Art is timeless. Q: What do you envision the role of music to be in the 21st century? Do you see that there is a transformation of this role? A: Inasmuch as “music”—however one defines it—offers an avenue into the aesthetic, and not just an escape from reality, I don’t see its ultimate function as changing. Its modes of transmission are transforming in amazing and wonderful ways. Q: Do you think that the musician today needs to be more creative? What is the role of creativity in the musical process for you? A: A lifelong engagement with integrating Life and Art is a privilege and a passion. There is no way to quantify whether one has succeeded, so one has to focus on the creative process itself, not the “result.” Q: Do you think we as musicians can do something to attract the younger generation to music concerts? How would you do this? A: The younger generation listens to music all the time, passionately. Increasing the diversity of creative voices is crucial, welcoming every—and I mean that—sort of music into the whatever is currently called “the concert hall” can only be a blessing. Perhaps the idea of what constitutes a concert hall should be revisited. Q: Tell us about your creative process. What is your favorite piece (written by you) and how did you start working on it? A: I don’t have a favorite piece. But I am composing all the time—every waking minute and, when I can remember what I dreamed—when I am dreaming. It’s a reflexive activity, like breathing, and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. For me, every piece starts not with a musical idea but a feeling; then notes materialize that at that moment capture a fraction of that evanescent feeling. Somehow, the pitches and rhythms or timbres seem imbued with a little of the original feeling—at least that is what I tell myself. And so on. Q: Can you give some advice for young people who want to discover classical music for themselves? A: Don’t let anyone else tell you what “classical music” is. Decide for yourself. And then double down on that. Q: Do you think about the audience when composing? A: Inasmuch as I am trying to have a dialogue with them, yes. Q: What projects are coming up? A: I am juggling three projects right now—editing the footage of my new opera film “9/10: Love Before the Fall,” sketching a new Electric Guitar Concerto for D.J. Sparr and a consortium of orchestras; and a 40-minute oratorio for soloists, chorus, and orchestra for premiere at Carnegie Hall in December 2023. Q: Do you experiment in your projects? A: I have always been stylistically restless and musically curious, with the result that it has probably been hard for presenters and publishers to commodify my catalogue. After four decades, I don’t see that changing.