The Day I Didn’t Recognize My Own Music
We composers spend so much time obsessing over every note that, eventually, we can lose the forest for the trees. But sometimes, if we are lucky, the music comes back to surprise us.
The Mystery Composer
In 2024, my piece Jmfi was selected as an obligatory piece for oboe at the TEMSIG competition. I remember sitting in the audience for a performance, not having a program in front of me. As the music began, I found myself completely swept away.
I thought to myself, "This is such a beautiful piece... it must be by some American composer." I was trying to scan my memory, wondering which of my pieces was coming up next, because none of the music I was hearing sounded like "mine."
When the realization finally hit that I was listening to Jmfi—the music I had labored over—it was both a shock and a delight. It was a rare moment where I could appreciate the music as a listener, free from the "baggage" of the composing process.
The First Breath: Žan and Božena
The life of Jmfi started with two people I trust deeply. The very first performance was by my talented friend, the oboist Žan Avbelj, and my former piano teacher, Božena Hrup.
There is something full-circle about having a former teacher bring your music to life. They were the ones who taught me the language of music, and now, they were helping me speak it.
The Ultimate Test
Having the piece picked for TEMSIG was a huge honor. There is a specific responsibility in writing an "obligatory piece." You aren't just writing for a concert; you are writing a hurdle for young musicians to clear. You are testing their technique, their breath, and their expression.
Looking back on that day in the audience, I realize that if I could confuse my own work for that of a "mysterious American composer," it meant the piece had taken on a life of its own. It didn't belong to my desk anymore; it belonged to the oboists now.