Composing Character: From Surface Detail to Deep Structure
In a recent group composition lesson with two very different composers, I realized over the course of the lesson that both composers were grappling with a similar concept on different levels of the compositional process: composing character, either on the surface of the music in one composer’s case, or in the other composer’s case, at the deeper structural level.
Let me explain.
The first composer was trying to create a wordless musical drama for two string instruments that captured two contrasting characters (from “rival kingdoms,” to use her words) that evoked a sort of Romeo and Juliet quality, where two star-crossed lovers cross paths and collide in the form of a danceable string duo.
The second composer presented a series of excerpts from a large-scale 2-hour opera, and wondered if the piece “worked.” Granted, in this case, listening to summarized version of the piece left many questions unanswered, but what I could perceive was an attempt to make connections across large spans of time to support the overarching narrative developments in the piece.
In both cases, I felt the composers could create more detailed conceptions of musical character, which is an idea obviously borrowed from storytelling. What I mean by detailed conceptions of character is simple. When a writer, filmmaker, playwright, or whoever creates a character, there are many aspects or questions they aim to answer. Where are they from? How do they speak? What are their darkest secrets? What kind of personality do they have? How do they interact with others? What kind of food do they love? Or hate? Do they take their coffee black? And on and on. These things might seem trivial, but the small things add texture and identity to the character. It makes it easier for the writer to develop the character and flesh out arcs or journeys that keep the reader/viewer engaged, connected, and invested.
What does that mean for composers? Well, it means you should understand everything about your music:
what register an idea lives in
Which particular notes
Rhythms
Timbral tendencies or avoidances
There are an infinite number of variables, but once you start to narrow them down, it becomes easier to write the piece.
So how can you compose “character” so that these questions, either on the surface or the structure (or both!), are resolved?
Here were the suggestions I made.
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1. “Preparing the Palette”: Think Like a Painter
One recurring theme was the need to step back and explore materials before jumping into composing left to right, bar-by-bar. Especially for newer composers, this helps develop confidence and intentionality.
“One of the first stages of composing I refer to is ‘preparing the palette.’
I draw a lot of connections from the visual arts. When you study how painters paint, or if you’ve painted yourself, you’ll notice that many times, artists will mix their colors before they actually paint. We can do the same thing as composers.
That might mean making a list of extended string techniques, potential rhythmic patterns, or timbrally-oriented sound masses or textures. By building this bank of gestures and sounds, you give yourself a richer palette to draw from, even if (or maybe, especially if) you don’t use everything.
If the heavy-lifting is done earlier on in this way, it’ll be so much easier to compose the piece.
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2. Let the Instruments Speak Their Own Language
For composers coming from a piano background, it’s common to think vertically—melody in one staff, accompaniment in the other. But that mindset doesn’t always serve instruments with their own mechanical/muscular logic.
The first composer’s violin–cello duet leaned heavily into piano-style voice-leading and patterns. I observed that and offered this suggestion:
“There were moments where it felt almost pianistic—like right hand melody, left hand accompaniment. It sounds great, but what would happen if you considered the two instruments as individuals?”
It seems like a trivial question, but in this particular instance, it exposed the composer’s compositional process as a bit reliant on pianistic tendencies. When you consider the possibilities of the string instruments themselves on their own terms and shape your palette around them, you open a lot of doors you might not have previously considered. That doesn’t mean completely abandoning your strengths—those piano-like moments still sounded great!
The solution isn’t to avoid your piano instincts, but to layer them with the unique strengths and personalities of each instrument, in those details are what add depth, texture, and character to a piece.
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3. Rhythmic Conflict = Dramatic Tension
If you’re writing a piece about rival kingdoms, musical friction doesn’t just come from harmony. It should live in the rhythm too. As one composer learned:
“The rhythmic domain is so rich with potential in this piece. What happens if you stop thinking in bar lines and just follow the energy of the idea?”
I notice this with many composers in the early stages of their journey. The bar line, the size of the page, the size of the computer screen—these impose subtle unconscious constraints on the composition. This can be a feature or a bug, depending on your approach. Feldman used to embrace the page size having an influence on the rhythmic proportions, but it doesn’t always work. One way you can break free from these boundaries is by experimenting with tuplets, complex rhythms, hemiolas, augmenting or diminuting rhythms, etc.
In my own music, I often write shorthands, which help to think of time outside of music notation. Since the goal in one composer’s work was to create two characters from rival kingdoms, I suggested exploring how different people would dance or express themselves corporally, and define that rhythmically. A prince from a triple-meter world dancing with a princess from a duple-meter kingdom? It might sound cheesy but it can quickly create interesting musical tensions and drama.
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4. Free Your Cadenzas
Near the end of the duet, the music edged toward cadenza-like freedom—but stopped short. I felt that it was a missed opportunity.
“It feels like a moment where you really want to break out from any sense of rhythm… so just give them a chance to fully express what’s been suppressed.”
Don’t be afraid to remove the safety net of meter. This is where improvisation at your instrument or with your voice can really shine, and you can compose lines and contours that break free from the rhythmic grid—32nd notes, trills, glissandi, sudden silences. This could be the moment of emotional release, not just a technical flourish, that stems from the original programmatic nature of the duo.
Listen to your favorite soloists’ cadenzas. How do they integrate qualities or motivic elements into their cadenza while also expanding the rhythmic palette in exciting ways?
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5. Sonic Storytelling Is Structural, Not Just Textual
Even in abstract or instrumental work, narrative can drive form. But for it to work, structural echoes can be a powerful driving force—foreshadowing, contrasts, callbacks. One advanced composer showed excerpts from a large-scale opera with dense textures and complex transitions.
I offered these thoughts:
“Try to imagine what would happen if you took one powerful idea and kept recomposing it… follow what seems to be the right version of that character as the story progresses.”
That might mean developing a vocal texture throughout an opera, first just sopranos, then with electronics, then with added altos and tenors, then basses while everyone else drops into their lowest registers—you get the idea. Or, alternatively, simply repeating materials to give listeners a thread to hold on to—even if they don’t consciously notice it.
Which leads me to the next suggestion…
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6. Repetition Isn’t Just Repetition
Too many young composers avoid repetition, fearing predictability. Repetition is one of the most powerful assets we have as composers, and it’s not as transparent as it might initially seem to be. It is a complex phenomenon that has MANY functions… but I’ll get into that in a future post. Repetition can be a powerful way of creating a large-scale tapestry that feels cohesive and keeps the listener engaged without overwhelming them with a constant barrage of new ideas (which can also work if that’s the goal):
“It’s like the difference between having 100 friends and two really good friends. You understand them on a much deeper level.”
That’s what I meant by developing a vocal texture. You replace “vocal” with whatever you want, but when you see all the subtle nuances of each transformation, you gain a multidimensional understanding of the idea. Strategic repetition—of rhythms, textures, motifs—can give your audience something to remember, to feel grounded by.
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Final Thought: Ask Provocative Questions
If you’re trying to build musical characters, learn to ask provocative questions that trigger your creativity, no matter how ridiculous or silly they might seem. The answers will shape your music in ways that extend beyond notes on a page.
“Asking these kinds of questions leads to more interesting musical situations.”
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If you're hungry to deepen your craft—whether through structure, expression, or storytelling—I offer one-on-one composition lessons, group classes, and custom feedback sessions designed to meet you where you are.
Explore my current offerings and see how we can work together:
👉 mathew-arrellin.com/lessons
