Musical Identity

Among scholars of globalisation, one question that often arises is that of cultural identity. With so many things crossing paths in our daily lives—often mixed or overlapping—it can sometimes be quite difficult to say what defines us: whether we speak English or Portuguese (or other languages), whether we belong to a national, international or regional context, what kind of food, clothes or music we identify with, whether we are online or offline. Recent studies suggest that the most suitable answer to these questions is necessarily inconstant: we take on, swap and blend different identities according to our interests or needs, and we do not always bother to define them. In most cases, it is difficult to sum them up in a single cultural context. The Argentine sociologist Néstor Canclini refers to this as “untranslatable multiculturalism” and, consequently, asserts that “all cultural policy is a policy regarding the imaginaries that make us believe we are alike.”

Going against this tendency, there is an imaginary that strives to be very homogeneous: the one imposed on the artist or, in the case that concerns us more closely here, on the composer. We expect them to have an identity, that is, to remain true to themselves in the creative act, staying unaffected by market pressures, clichés or the automatisation of music-making. This idea is implicit, for instance, in the phrase “finding your own voice,” commonly understood as the ultimate goal for anyone who creates music.

Yet there are many ways to create, produce, and commercialise music. You may work with scores or rely on improvisation. You may compose in DAWs (Digital Audio Workstations) such as Reason, or you may create in a group with your band. My experience tells me that each of these paths leads to very different results, and most likely, over the course of your musical endeavours, you will mix all or several of them as it suits you. You need different music for different occasions and, more importantly, you go through constant changes (moods, personal goals, experimentation with new things, etc.). How, then, do we define a single identity?

In my own case, I gave up trying to seek that stable identity: I accepted myself as being many Brunos, and we are fine that way, thank you! At the end of the Commissioned Compositions page, you will find a variety of styles and shades, some more experimental, others more pop; some in score form, others electronic; some for the concert hall, others for videos, performances or shows. Curiously, though, when I think about all this variety, I do not feel superficial or that I am “selling out” to circumstances beyond my being. I can recognise myself sincerely in each of these pieces, no matter how different they may be from one another, and this brings us to an interesting paradox: in the end, do I have my identity, or am I divided into many? The answer, for me, involves a shift in perspective. In other words, it is not my “identity,” as something in itself, that will magically pass into the music I create. On the contrary, it is the music I make that, over time, will define and redefine my identity as a composer. Time—the concept we invented to explain how things change—is the key to understanding this dynamic and continuous identity, which may be one thing today and become something else tomorrow, yet still remain the same. Make your music in whatever way it comes, consider the circumstances surrounding your work, and discover, as time goes by, the marvellous identities that you are!