When Less Is More: Embracing Clarity, Form, and Character in Composition

Recently, I had the pleasure of working with a composer whose piece raised a set of questions I think many of us wrestle with—especially when juggling different musical instincts and backgrounds. We talked about form, orchestration, texture, and confidence. What emerged from that session was a reminder of how clarity and focus often bring out the best in a piece—and how creative confidence is as much about what we leave out as what we put in.

Here are a few takeaways that might resonate with you in your own writing process:

1. Double Down on Your Strengths

Too often, composers get stuck feeling like they have to “catch up” on every skill they don’t yet master: orchestration, sight-reading, theory, ear training—you name it. But the reality is, time is limited. And chasing perfection in everything can paralyze creativity.

Instead, think of your creative life like a video game—you only have so many “skill points” to allocate. Why not double down on your strengths? If you’re a strong melodic thinker, or have a natural instinct for pacing or harmony, invest more in those. Hire or collaborate with people who complement you where needed. There’s no shame in leaning on others to clean up a score or prep parts. That’s not “cheating.” That’s being a professional.

2. Form Isn’t a Formula—It’s a Conversation

One issue we discussed was the return of the A section in an ABA form that felt... uninspired. The reason? The music had built momentum, and restarting the A section as-is felt like a step backward. It didn’t respond to what came before.

Here’s a mindset shift: form isn’t just structure—it’s narrative. It’s a conversation between ideas. The return of A shouldn’t feel like a rewind. It should feel like a response to what B revealed.

One of my favorite examples of this is Chopin’s Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48, No. 1. He lets his B section impact the return of A so deeply that the reprise feels transformed—haunted, even. The original A is still there, but it’s changed by what it’s been through. Like any good character in a story, it evolves.

When in doubt, ask yourself: What did the B section teach the piece that the return of A can now express?

3. If Everything Speaks, Nothing’s Heard

Dense orchestration can be thrilling—but it can also smother the most interesting ideas. Think about this like arranging a conversation. If every instrument is trying to speak at once, nobody gets heard.

One tip I often suggest is to print out your score and highlight the single most important idea at every moment. If you find multiple voices competing for attention, ask: “Can this be simplified or rephrased elsewhere?” Like a great mix in a song, give each idea space—actual space, either in the pitch domain or rhythmic—to breathe.

Also, don’t feel pressured to give every player a unique line at all times. Even composers like Olivier Messiaen—known for dense, colorful orchestration—often have entire orchestras play the same rhythm or texture together for maximum impact. More parts ≠ more expression.

4. Compose Like a Sculptor

Sometimes when a draft feels too busy, the best move isn’t to “fix” it—but to carve away. Imagine your current score as a block of marble. Your job is to chip away at it until you reveal the essential contours.

Start by cataloging the ideas you’ve already written. Identify their unique characters—melodic, rhythmic, textural, registral. Get to know them as well as a novelist knows their characters. Then begin shaping their appearances over time so they can be heard, felt, and appreciated.

The goal isn't to mute your voice—it's to amplify it by clearing away the metaphorical (or literal, depending on the context) “noise.”

5. Revision Is a Kind of Re-Composing

If your form doesn’t quite land, or your textures feel cluttered, it doesn’t necessarily mean starting from scratch. But it might.

Sometimes restarting from a distilled sketch—say, 5 staves instead of 15—helps you reimagine the piece from the ground up. Think of it as a remix or a reboot, not a do-over. You’re still drawing from the same ideas. You’re just letting them take a new shape.

Final Thought: Trust Your Instincts

One of the most encouraging moments in my lesson with this composer was when she realized her own gut had been pointing her toward many of these decisions already. Sometimes, what we need most as composers is simply affirmation—someone to say, “Yes, your instincts are valid. Follow them.”

So if something about your music feels off, pause and listen. You might already know what needs to change. You just needed permission to act.

Keep writing and reach out if you’re looking for guidance on your music,
Mathew

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