This concerto’s mix of a contemporary
invention – the scratching and sampling of a DJ on turntables – with a
traditional classical format exemplifies Gabriel Prokofiev’s musical inventiveness and looks
like a perfect choice to introduce secondary school pupils to the sometimes
mysterious spheres of contemporary classical music.
“I’m thrilled about this – I couldn’t
believe it,” Prokofiev says. “I’d heard about Ten Pieces and I’m a big fan of
the project. It’s worrying that music education doesn’t seem to be thorough
enough – there could be a lot more – and this is a very efficient way of
introducing children to some key repertoire. It’s exciting to see a
contemporary piece in there and hopefully it’s a chance to encourage young
people at the age when you’re developing your taste in music and deciding which
genres you’re into. I’m hoping that this will help to bring contemporary
classical into their list of choices.”
If you see the name ‘Prokofiev’ on a
musical list, you might well assume that it indicates Sergei Prokofiev, one of
the best-loved composers of the last century. Gabriel, who turns 40 this year,
is his grandson – and in many ways he is a chip off the old block, sharing with
Sergei an intent gaze, high cheekbones and a quiet, concentrated demeanour.
In other ways, of course, they are very
different. Although he says he feels a strong affinity with his Russian
heritage, Gabriel Prokofiev seems a Londoner through and through, living in
Hackney Downs with his partner, a French-Congolese academic and author, and
their three children whom he ferries to primary school in a cargo box attached
to his bicycle. His studio in Bethnal Green is in a crumbling 1960s block that,
he says, is facing potential demolition. The urban flavour of his music remains
powerful: a mix of driving rhythms, gritty timbres and outlines, and a lyrical
thread lurking under the surface that sometimes recalls the sardonic irony and
fantastical textures of his grandfather’s works. His Violin Concerto, premiered
last year at the Proms by Daniel Hope, evokes a narrative about the outbreak
of the First World War and included marches with an unmistakably Prokofiev-like
bite.
It’s entirely deliberate, he says: “I grew
up listening to my grandfather’s music. My siblings and I were aware as
children that we were getting some extra attention because of him – and I think
it made me a bit self-conscious. I love his music, he is my grandfather and
there are so many fans that it’s natural people get excited about it. But I’m
quite relieved that there hasn’t been too much comparison.”
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| Grandpa Prokofiev |
The fear of comparison, he says, made him
at first over-hesitant to become a composer. “As a teenager and in my twenties
I was definitely intimidated,” he admits. “Any creative process is hard graft
and though you can have wonderful moments of inspiration, finishing a piece
requires a lot of work. I think I was intimidated to do that. So I focused a
lot more on popular music, making electronic and dance music and playing in
bands. I found another way of making music. But as I got more confident and
ultimately had a strong enough drive to want to do classical music, I realised
I’ve just got to get on with it. As I was writing my first string quartet I
planned that I was going to use a different surname - and the thought that I’d
be presenting the piece not as ‘Gabriel Prokofiev’ actually freed me up a bit.”
Was he not tempted to stick with popular
music – bigger sales, more income? “Sometimes I wonder if I should have stuck
longer at it,” he admits. “But I was trying to juggle everything and sometimes when
I was involved in a project and should have been going to record industry
parties and networking, instead I was in my studio writing a string quartet. Ultimately
I couldn’t help myself: I really wanted to write classical pieces and
eventually I got some orchestral commissions and decided it was an unmissable
opportunity.
“In pop, although you can earn more money,
it’s a much more thankless world. I had run-ins with record labels because
suddenly you had this weird feeling that your creative control is slipping away
– they’d wanted you to make it sound more like the track that had just been
no.1 last week, you had to make sure your music fitted in with certain DJs’
playlists – this whole side holds you back. For a classical commission, they
never give you strict creative criteria; maybe they’ll specify the duration and
the instruments, but there’s more emphasis on being original and doing your own
thing. With pop music, when I started to get into the more commercial area,
that started to bring with it more restrictions and requirements to conform,
and that was creatively frustrating. I’d find that sometimes I’d made stuff I
was really pleased with, but it turned out it was a bit too original or too
quirky, and people would say ‘it’s a bit far-out, what about something like
this?’, and play me something I found mundane and unimaginative. Often I felt
people were making judgments just because something had been successful – it
wasn’t always about the quality of the music.”
Prokofiev’s father, Oleg Prokofiev
(Sergei’s younger son) was a painter and sculptor, a prominent figure in the
movement known as the Nonconformists – Russian artists whose abstract work did
not meet the criteria of state-approved socialist realism. His second wife was a
British art historian who was allowed to travel to the USSR to research; after
she died tragically young; Oleg was permitted to come to her funeral in the UK,
and defected to the West while here. Gabriel’s mother was Oleg’s third wife,
Frances, and he grew up in Greenwich where the family settled,
Echoes of nonconformity pepper the
composer’s musical life too. Not least, a decade ago he started a record label
called Nonclassical, which has evolved into a veritable movement in its own
right. He says the name was largely coincidence as it derived from a pop label
he had been running, entitled Nonstop – “Originally it was going to be Nonstop
Classical, but that was too much of a mouthful,” he remarks. “Then the penny
dropped...” Launching Nonclassical, he was among the first to devise classical
club nights – presenting classical music in a nightclub setting that would feel
normal and everyday to younger people and help to create a new audience. The
organisation now runs a monthly event in east London.
“I’m always surprised how many young
musicians and composers don’t question a status quo that gives them so few
performances and reaches such limited audiences,” Prokofiev remarks. “It’s natural
that we need to find ways of getting our music out there more and reaching our
own peer group. A lot of different things motivate me; one is that there’s a
lot of great contemporary music and it feels unfair that it’s not made
accessible to many people. You can sit back and blame radio and TV, but the
other option is to get out and do something about it.
“Having played in bands, I was used to this
idea that you write a piece, then you gig it and your friends come and hear it.
I felt strongly with my classical stuff that it would appeal to my peer group,
but when it was performed in the traditional classical setting most of the
audience would be twice my age – there’s nothing wrong with that, but it seemed
a real shame that my friends weren’t there. That was a big motivator in getting
Nonclassical going – just thinking you’ve got to present classical music like
other music, in a more day to day approach, and for me that seemed pretty
obvious. If you’ve put a lot of work into composing a piece and rehearsing it,
then to have only one performance is criminal.”
His Concerto for Turntables is likely to
have a great many more performances now that it is on the Ten Pieces list; and
Prokofiev has his work cut out with a string of commissions, including more
concertos – a favourite medium, he says – and more works involving dance and
drama. He has also been asked to add some new musical creatures to the Carnival
of the Animals by Saint-Saëns and is trying to decide which to pick. I’m about
to suggest a cat – when I remember that possibly the most famous cat in musical
history is grandpa Prokofiev’s, in his perennial childhood favourite, Peter and
the Wolf. “Probably a no-go area,” Gabriel smiles.
