Interview, Remembering George Walker on his centenary

This year marks the centenary of the birth of pianist, organist and composer George Walker, who made history in 1996 when he became the first African-American to be awarded a Pulitzer Prize for Music for his Walt Whitman setting Lilacs. Among those honouring the anniversary are the National Symphony Orchestra (based in Walker's home city of Washington) and their Music Director Gianandrea Noseda, who recently recorded a cycle of the five Sinfonias which Walker composed between 1984 and 2016; Nos. 1 and 4 are already available digitally, with Nos. 2, 3 and 5 set for release throughout 2023 and 2024 and a physical album planned to mark the conclusion of the series.

In between the release of the first two instalments, I met up virtually with Walker's son Gregory (himself a fine composer, violinist and guitarist) and Gianandrea to find out more about the 'individualistic loner' behind these brilliantly-crafted works, Walker's frustration with the barriers which he encountered as a Black pianist and later composer in mid-twentieth-century America, and some of the people who were instrumental in bringing his music to the wider audience it deserves...

Gregory, I would love to hear a little about your childhood memories of your father – where was he in his career when you were born, and when did you first become aware of his own music?

GW: When I came along in the early 1960s, my father still held out hope that the career as a pianist was going to work out - my earliest memories are of him preparing for European tours, practicing Liszt, Chopin and so forth. But I think it was during my early years that he perhaps began to accept the glass ceiling that existed for him as a Black classical pianist; after a series of moves we ended up in New Jersey where he taught at Rutgers, and that was when composition turned into a focus. What we kids heard was a little bewildering, because there’d be these fragments of musical ideas being toyed with and inverted and deconstructed at the piano down the hall…in a way it was kind of a step down from the lush Romanticism and virtuosity that we’d heard in previous years!

So working at the piano was one facet of his composing; the other thing that sticks in my mind was the desk in his office, where he had reams of this old onion-skin manuscript paper which would rip if you touched it too vigorously! Alongside that he had an electric eraser to make sure that whatever changes he made were as clean as possible, and his facsimile handwritten notation was very small and precise but also kind of wild – a little like his handwriting in that sense. There was an energy in the way that he notated things that we would never have really seen in the way that he presented himself as a father-figure in our household.

As you began to show musical inclinations yourself, how much did he share with you about works-in-progress?

GW: There’s only so much you can expect from small children in the way of empathy, so there would have been a minimum of disclosure in the early days! Certainly he became aware of my own interest in composition at a certain point, but even then there was definitely a reticence to share the inner workings. He was infamous for inserting various quotations deep within his music, and every once in a while there would be a mention of which ones he’d chosen and how he was manipulating them, or the occasional reference to problems in the compositional process that were being solved…

He continued composing well into his 80s – how much did his working process alter in those later years?

GW: And beyond, into the 90s! It wasn’t as easy then as it was in the beginning; sometimes he would look back at what he’d written in his younger years and tell me that he didn’t know how he had been able to generate that kind of complexity. But he was determined to keep going.

In terms of musical friendships and inspirations, who would you say were the most important people in his life?

GW: In some ways that’s a tough question - it’s sometimes hard to appreciate or even represent how much of an individualistic loner he basically was...But certainly if we think in terms of individuals, the people he developed friendships were those who were somehow involved with the realization of his own musical dreams – one being Mickey Thomas Terry in DC, who commissioned an organ work from him and who was a champion for many years. I know that a music publisher named Paul Kapp was really central when it came to offering affirmation and getting his music out there, and Frank Schramm is another name which comes to mind - a photographer neighbor who also ended up collaborating on his final orchestral work, Visions - Sinfonia No. 5.

Then there are the editors and conductors…aside from the illustrious visionary in our presence (!), I must mention the phenomenal pianist and conductor Ian Hobson, who was so heavily involved with the entry-level documentation of my father’s music and was working with very little precedent. Whether or not we think of all these people as ‘inspirations’ in the traditional sense, they are the ones who were able to literally breathe life into Dad’s vision.

You touched earlier on the ‘glass ceiling’ your father faced as a pianist – was that something that he ever discussed explicitly with you, and did he continue to come up against similar barriers as composition became his main focus?’’

GW: I think he eventually realised that it was basically impossible for a Black musician to have a full-time career as a concert-pianist in that era: he just couldn’t get the support from the major managements, and back in the day there were only a few companies that could make a significant difference. I was pretty young at the time, but the way it was recounted to me years later was that these managements were stables that had limited slots for a ‘novelty act’ like an African-American pianist: the philosophy was ‘there are only so many of those that you can sell…’. That was simply how things were in America at that point in the twentieth century, but it was a difficult thing to accept: I think he felt almost embarrassed that he couldn’t be part of this pantheon of great pianists that he aspired to join.

When it comes to his compositional period, there was an interesting twist that occurred through the decades. When you start out in pretty much any profession you’re looking out for any and every opportunity, so in the beginning it was a little distasteful but kind of OK to be lumped into a concert of all-Black music with the other Black composers, who could be considered colleagues even though they didn’t actually know each other that well…But that grew tiresome over time, and ultimately he wanted to be considered as a significant American composer, to be in the pool where the big kids were playing; the resistance there was something he was always very aware of, and he woke up chomping at the bit against it every morning.

Gianandrea, when did this music come onto your radar?

GN: Until 2015, I’d never seen a score of George Walker’s music: I’d heard the name, but that was as far as it went. That September I was in Toronto for a concert with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, and the night before I went along to hear Simon Rattle conducting the Berliner Philharmoniker on tour. The next day we were grabbing some food in a bar and Simon said: ‘Since you’re going to Washington soon, you have to check out the music of George Walker: he’s a Washingtonian, and I absolutely love his orchestral works. So will you!’. And he was right, of course: in fact after hearing him conduct Lilacs with the LSO recently I said ‘I have to give credit to you, Simon, because you were the one who put George Walker on my map!’.

As soon as I started in Washington I asked to look at the scores, and suddenly all five Sinfonias landed on my desk. You know how I figure out if a piece of music appeals to me? When I turn the first page of a score and don’t stop until the end. And that’s what happened to me here. I spent hours poring over these scores - not with the goal of ‘learning’ them as such, just out of pure fascination with how they were put together.

Fast-forward to the pandemic, when we had to postpone a Beethoven cycle which was going to be recorded live and started rethinking our plans. I sat down with Nigel Boon (our Director of Artistic Planning) and Gary Ginstling (our Executive Director), and we came up with the idea of making it a joint cycle of Beethoven and Walker. It wasn’t about celebrating Walker as a significant figure in the pantheon of African-American composers, but (as Gregory said) just as an American composer full stop!

At that point I really started to learn his music in earnest, and I have to say I enjoyed combining the two composers enormously. When you put any of Walker’s Sinfonias alongside any of the Beethoven symphonies it’s incredible how differently you listen to both works, because one composer illuminates the other and your ears are primed and ready to catch other things. Actually, never mind ‘American composers’: after doing this project I think George Walker really needs to be considered as one of the greatest composers of the twentieth century … and onwards!

The recordings of Sinfonias Nos. 1 and 4 are now available digitally: what are the main technical challenges and rewards of each work for you and for the players?

GN: Both symphonies have something in common. No. 1 is in two movements, and it’s very well-crafted: when you look at the score you’re immediately aware of the control over the material after the initial inspiration, and what he wants to say with it. Gregory mentioned his Dad’s fascination with deconstructing musical fragments and examining them from different perspectives: that’s what I consider to be the hallmark of a great composing hand, and George Walker absolutely has it.

It's not an easy work to perform, not least because the rhythmic patterns aren’t obvious: it requires absolute attention and a lot of personal responsibility from each player, as well as great control from the conductor. Sometimes you see such rhythmic complexity in the space of a few bars, but if you just respect the way it’s notated it doesn’t sound so complicated – it’s actually more difficult to read than to reproduce! And alongside that he has such an extraordinary knowledge of how to use the orchestra. Sometimes he puts sections of the orchestra in blocks, like a collage, and sometimes you have these rarefied chamber-like moments - but when everything comes together the effect is really powerful.

No. 4 is more compact, just one movement; there are elements of blues and spirituals in there, but apart from one cello solo they’re quite hidden away. It’s ingenious music, but with soul – it’s not that very abstract, hyper-intellectual type of genius. I know I’ve dwelt on the craftsmanship a lot, but that’s not the whole story: no, there’s a very human, emotional message in the Sinfonia No. 4 in particular. It starts very dramatically, and after that there’s an ostinato element that reminds me of early Stravinsky, but that soon gives way to all these the pointillistic elements flying away from the woodwinds and strings.

I’m very proud of the artists of the NSO, because they really went for it: they loved the music, and they absolutely trusted the process. Because we did this project during the pandemic, it wasn’t exactly a ‘normal’ time to rehearse – but what we did have was breathing-space to dig deep into the music and nail every detail.

GW: Needless to say, an opportunity like this with the NSO is a dream come true. It would’ve been so nice if Dad had lived to see it - but we’ll celebrate his 100th birthday without him!