Pursuing Eloquence

For centuries, composers have revised their compositions. J. S. Bach made changes as a matter of course when making a new copy of a work. Chopin revised habitually, even marking changes on published editions of his compositions.

Several composers whose music I love reworked some of their compositions over periods lasting years. Berlioz based his Damnation of Faust on a work he had composed 17 years earlier. Tchaikovsky completed the final version of Romeo and Juliet 20 years after the premiere of the first. Stravinsky made revisions for various reasons, including numerous changes to the details of his orchestrations. Mahler extensively revised most of his symphonies.

Such decisions to revise often stem from a persistent pursuit of eloquence. And, a composer’s concept of “eloquence” may change over time. This undeniably happened in my case, and my changed mindset increased my appetite for revisions.

More Élan

After I began writing librettos and operas, I increasingly approached my work from a dramatist’s mindset. As this viewpoint evolved, I often wished I had composed and orchestrated some of my earlier works with more élan—with more vivid exteriorizing of fervor. If I looked back at one of these earlier scores, I would sometimes find myself spontaneously revising passages in my head. And the direction of these reworkings would always be toward more outward intensity and expressivity.

The differences were often subtle—changes in texture, orchestration, rhythmic detail, and so on. Yet when I imagined the cumulative effect of such changes, the difference in expressive intensity felt remarkable. In some cases, I revised the earlier score to match the music I now heard in my more unbridled theatrical imagination. In a few cases, such changes cascaded into an unplanned reimagining of an entire work.