“I think if you have that DIY approach, a lot of things become available to you. Thinking about what you can do with the means that you have, with the people you know, with the skills that you have — and see where that takes you. Because it can take you pretty fucking far, you know.”
Rebecca Galian Castello
Rebecca Galian Castello (b. 2000) is a French composer and performer based in London. Her work stylistically draws from punk and rock genres, aiming to experiment and challenge conventions; often focusing on parameters of intensity, volume, texture and timbre. Rebecca has worked with performers including the Fidelio Trio, Explore Ensemble, Xenia Pestova Bennett, and Neil Luck; recent projects include a commission by the London Charterhouse Museum, and her self-released debut album of 40-minute multimedia work The Undernetting. She was recently awarded the Frank van der Wal Fonds Commission for orkest de ereprijs, after taking part in their 2024 Young Composers Meeting in the Netherlands. Rebecca obtained her Master’s degree from the Royal College of Music, where she studied with Ed Bennett and Jonathan Cole, supported by the Charles Stewart Richardson Scholarship for Composition; she also studied at Trinity Laban with John Lely, Amir Konjani, and Paul Newland.
Following Rebecca’s awarding of the Frank van der Wal Commission by orkest de ereprijs, we caught up with Rebecca in a café near Waterloo, London, to talk about noise, distortion techniques, channeling folk traditions, DIY ethics, and more…
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Zyggy/PRXLUDES: Hi Rebecca! Thanks so much for joining me today. I thought we’d start by chatting about your most recent project, which I understand was for the Magnetic Resonator Piano up in Glasgow?
Rebecca Galian Castello: Hi Zyggy! I did this scheme working with the MRP with Matthew Whiteside. My piece was selected for the first edition of his festival, The Night With — and the piano player was Xenia Pestova Bennett. She’s such a great performer; she has been very supportive of my stuff ever since we met and started working together. You can trust that she will do everything she can to ensure your piece has a life beyond the premiere; so I know [that] since the premiere in Glasgow, she has played my piece on several other occasions. She’s really trying to make it part of her MRP repertoire. It’s nice, as a composer, to have that feeling… that your piece will be considered as a real piece, and that people want to play it again.
Tell me a bit more about the Magnetic Resonator Piano — how did you go about scoring the piece, and writing for an instrument that doesn’t necessarily have a “standard” notational practice?
It was on graph paper — a handwritten score. I think, in a way, it can be a good thing to use graphic notation, more visual elements, that allow for more interpretation on the performers’ side — especially if you don’t play the instrument yourself. You can communicate your intentions very clearly, and the performer can get a very good idea of what you’re trying to get out of them, without getting into the technicalities or risking writing something that doesn’t work on that instrument.
If you press a key in a certain way, if you “tickle” the key, it will start playing the harmonic series starting on that note. So you get all of these crazy effects, they’re very cool. But I was quite aware of the amount of effects you can get out of it — so I wanted to focus on a few sounds that I liked, and create a unified piece with these as the focal point. At the end of the day, it is an augmented piano, but it’s also still a regular piano you can use as such.
I first discovered your work through listening to your debut album, The Undernetting (which is absolutely fantastic!) — which I understand came out last year?
That album was my final for Trinity [Laban], for my undergrad. It’s quite a funny thing actually… I think that music is probably the least representative of my style, overall. I thought about it for quite a while: is it a good idea to release this as my first full-length, because I feel like it’s so different from everything else that I do? But when you have 40 minutes of music, and you think it’s good, you think it’s worth a listen — then why not release it? Even if people discover you through something that is not necessarily “you”, they’re still finding out about you and they might still be interested. So I had these 40 minutes worth of music sitting on my laptop, and taking up so much storage space… and I was like “I just need to get it out!” -laughs-
Of course — I guess there’s the pressure to alleviate of getting it out into the world if you haven’t yet released it.
I used to spend so much time worrying about these things, and ended up paralyzed by that fear: “Is this what I should be doing? Is this what I put out, what I want to write?” And then I ended up doing nothing. Because I was asking myself all these questions, but that’s not how you progress, you know? It’s pretty inconsequential, at this point. I’m still in the very early stages of my career; in four years’ time, nobody’s gonna remember “oh, that first album wasn’t quite the same stuff you’re writing now, is it?”
Well, people’s styles change all the time, right? You can’t expect someone to stay in one aesthetic lexicon all the time.
For me, it’s kind of a weird thing. As soon as I started writing music, I knew exactly what I wanted my style to be. Of course, it took a few years to really develop that; but I think from the get-go, I had a very clear idea of where I wanted to end up. And so ever since I found the ingredients to make that happen, I’ve really stuck with that sound, with that aesthetic; so whenever I’ve diverged from that, then it surprises people — “that’s not the stuff you normally do!” So I think it’s a funny balance, of trying to reconcile all of these things.
I think throughout everything that I write, there’s always this running thread of “noise” — however you define that. I’ve got my own definition, but other people might have their own. Ideas of distortion: whether that’s acoustic, or with pedals, with effects. A certain rawness of sound. I think this is the running thread throughout everything that I do — which might be more pronounced, or less pronounced, depending on the piece. But I think it’s always there.
How do you tend to approach ideas of noise, and distortion, in the past year — between the release of The Undernetting and now?
I think that I have opened up a lot more possibilities for what “distortion” means. I come from a classical background — I can’t deny that — but what I’ve always listened to was predominantly rock music. That has had a much more significant influence on my writing than any of my classical training. And so for me, when I started thinking of distortion and wanting to write distorted-sounding music, I immediately thought: guitar, guitar pedals, overdrive, fuzz! Stuff like that. And then, I started branching out into more “acoustic” distortion — effects, extended techniques, harmonic devices — anything you can use that will make the sound deviate from that “pure”, clean sound, that usually is the goal when you play classical music. So opening up to these other things you can do to create distortion in perhaps more subtle ways than just attaching a pedal to an instrument.
[I’ve been] thinking about how to maximise the impact of that noise. I’m a very straightforward kind of person… -laughs- I think my music has that, as well. I like simple things; I like a piece when you listen to the first few seconds, [and] you know immediately what it’s about. I really like that immediacy about music, and it’s what I want from my pieces. Now, I still want that immediacy, that simplicity, that clarity of reading and listening; but at the same time, I’m trying to juggle this with more intricate ways of weaving noise and distortion into that. Trying to refine that idea of noise; trying different things and seeing where it takes me.
Are there any recent examples of pieces where these techniques feel pronounced for you?
Recent pieces that embody the “noise” thing… There’s a couple of things that are a bit older. I did this piece when I was at Trinity, it’s called ‘The Woman with the Handbag’. If you listen to that, you’ll see what I mean about a “basic” understanding of distortion, where all the instruments are distorted with pedals… -laughs- But I think that it worked very well.
It was still at a time when I was writing using a kind of [William S.] Burroughs “cut-up” technique. I had this obsession with writing pieces where each bar could be looked at individually; where it would make sense on its own, as its own little microcosm. When you listen to it, it’s quite overwhelming. But at the same time, I think as a listener, you can pick and choose what you want to listen to, while you have this massive sound that’s being imposed on you. Whereas now, I’ve been trying to develop this idea of continuity more — and using less material.
More recently, you’ve been commissioned by orkest de ereprijs, following the premiere of your piece ‘Giallo Jan’ in the Netherlands — how did you approach ideas of noise and distortion working with them?
I had a friend called Jan… I have a friend called Jan, he’s not dead. -laughs- Teachers always used to mispronounce his name, and we started taking the piss out of that. Most of the time, I come up with the title of the piece before I write it, and it serves as inspiration as to what the piece is gonna be.
In a way, this piece is more focused on the energy and the rhythm than perhaps [the] timbral aspect. The energy goes back to the whole immediacy thing… It’s a piece that has virtually no extended techniques — just the occasional slap tongue and growling, which are rather tame by today’s standards. For me, it was really trying to get this energy [across] — a piece that has a constant pulse, a constant drive, that feels like a little machine chugging along. I think it’s got a good drive, and groove, and energy to it. And they [ereprijs] played fabulously; they’re an amazing ensemble, and they did a great job of it.
I guess there’s a lot of interesting ideas there of how we view distortion. What would you say are the differences in your practice between distortion in that kind of “microcosm” sense — and in something that’s more continuous?
I guess different people would say different things about it. On one hand — how I used to think, and perhaps I think a little bit like that, still — you could argue that if you have a piece where distortion is very, very present throughout, [then] you know that that’s what it’s about. You know this is what you get; you can find [it] exciting, exhilarating, or too loud and horrible — depending on your views. But some other people might argue that too much distortion kills distortion! If it goes on for the whole 5, 10, 15 minutes — however long [the] piece is — then you’re gonna stop noticing it. You get used to it, you don’t register it as distortion anymore. If you have a piece where [distortion] comes in, and comes out, then you might notice it more; it might make it more of an event, a real feature, if it’s not “that” present.
I’m still trying to figure out what my own opinion of it is. But I will never not think that distortion is the best thing to ever happen to the world of music. Volume, as well, is super important to me. I get off on it. Volume, and loud sounds, I find to be the most exciting thing ever. When I listen to a piece, and I like it, but I’m not quite “there” yet… I just turn it up a couple of notches, and I’m like “Yes! This is it!” The music hasn’t changed, but just because I’ve turned up the volume and now it’s louder, it’s so much better — for my ears, anyway. I know that I love loud. And distortion is one of the many ways that you can make something louder, or pop out more.
There’s something for sure in recreating that “loudness” in acoustic contexts — or on instruments that aren’t necessarily “loud”.
I think a lot of it has to do with musicians’ approach to the music. “Loud” for a classical musician is not the same “loud” as an electric guitarist — that is probably already deaf. -laughs- I think it’s also got a lot to do with getting the musicians to understand that when it says ff in my score, then it probably means quadruple-f… Just go crazy. -laughs- It creates a whole other set of challenges, if you wanna play loud — and not just loud, but also having fun.
I was a performer for years and years. I wasn’t really destined to do composition. I got to know that field when I started at Trinity, and it was at that time that I thought “wow, this is really what I need to be doing!” But because I was a performer for so many years, I found it very dull when you’re asked to play a piece that’s not fun to play. Whether it’s because the piece itself is not meant to be fun — it’s meant to be hard, you’re meant to be suffering — or whether it’s what you were taught… I always knew I wanted to write music that was fun for people to play.
Of course, part of that is letting go of certain expectations, and certain standards of playing. If you want to play loudly, if you want to have a good time — if that becomes your priority — there might be a few mistakes, but I don’t really care about that. Some of the most interesting moments that have happened in my pieces were when there were improvised sections, unexpected things or when there were mistakes. Of course, there’s mistake and mistake — for example if the main instrument suddenly drops — but there’s also mistakes where it’s like “ooh, actually, what is that? That’s super cool.” I don’t consider my writing as sacred or untouchable, as long as the spirit is right.
I get that. One of the most engaging performances I’ve seen in a while was a friend of mine putting on Anthony Braxton’s ‘Ghost Trance Music’, and seeing the imperfections and “mistakes” still capture the energy of the piece.
Exactly. That’s why we play live music, you know? That’s why we play long pieces — 45-minute pieces [like ‘Ghost Trance Music’] that are quite hard to navigate, and play them live — let’s do this, let’s see what happens. Whatever happens, happens. That’s the point of a live music setting.
The thing that big-C Classical music lacks, for me, is that aspect of “let’s see what happens”. You want everything to be so controlled, all the time; as perfect as possible, a real technical showing-off kind of thing. In a way, showing a lot of restraint. If you compare that with jazz, with rock, with flamenco… This aspect of the live thing. The electricity of the air when live music is being performed. That’s where the magic happens. I want to try and create a space that allows that interaction to happen in my music.
I understand you had a “house ensemble” of collaborators you worked with on The Undernetting — tell me a bit about your collaborative process and practice…
For me, collaboration is everything. Everything everything. It can make or break a piece, you know? It covers lots of aspects. It can be something as simple as: as a composer, when you start collaborating with an orchestra, the first thing you’re told is “keep good relationships with everyone”. It should be normal, it should all be common practice; you want to feel like you’re all working together towards a common goal.
For me, I really prefer writing for smaller ensembles, the kind of ensemble I did for The Undernetting; 7, 8, 9 people. I think that’s really the sweet spot for me. Because you do get to know people on a very individual level. Especially when you do something like I did for The Undernetting, where I really picked the people I wanted for the piece, because I already had a rapport with them. I already knew them; we were friends. I love picking people for who they are, their personal character, [and] their overall artistic vision — as opposed to the instrument that they play. If I know that I get on really well with someone that plays the Wagner tuba, and I’m like “that was never part of my plan” — I don’t care! I don’t mind what it is that they play, or that they do, as long as I know that our artistic affinities are very strong. If we see eye to eye about music, our visions of music, if I know that we can get this good synergy going — then whatever it is, we’ll make it work.
We discussed notation a bit earlier — how does your approach to notation inform your collaborative practice, or vice versa?
I really like notation — nerd alert… -laughs- I was really wanting to try loads and loads of different styles of notation. I had toyed with really conventional[ly] writing everything out, and the complete other end of the spectrum [with] graphic scores, text scores, stuff like that. So [in] The Undernetting, every piece is written using a different notation style. It was an experiment to see what worked better, what didn’t work as well — what mental space different notations would put the performers in.
As a player, if you’re presented with a score that’s very strictly, very precisely written, you’re gonna be like “well, I need to play this exactly as written” — if you see a score that’s perfectly notated, and the instructions are “free, improvisation-like”… -laughs- Then you’re gonna be like, huh? There’s this cognitive dissonance that goes on [between] what you see, and what you’re meant to do. So [in] all these different notation styles, a lot of them used some element of graphic notation, or verbal instructions… Different kinds of stimuli. And I knew I could afford to do that with these people, because they were all very close to me. I knew that these were performers that would really gladly have their say in creating the piece together — have a real input in the composition process, tell me straightforward “this works, this doesn’t”.
I feel really strongly about this. Composition can feel like you finish writing the piece, and your job as a composer is done. Like, boom, double barline, that’s it. I think that’s just when it fucking starts! Because you’ve written a piece and then what? If nobody engages with it in one way or another, then it’s just blobs of ink on a page. It’s when you bring it to life with people that then you’re making music. So for me, when I finish writing a piece, it’s out into the world and people are free to do whatever the fuck they like with it. Engage with it in whatever way seems appropriate.
When I listened to The Undernetting, I remember hearing a lot of influences from different European folk traditions — does folk music still resonate with your practice?
To an extent, yes. The Undernetting [is] a multimedia work — so of course, it was released as an album, [but] you kind of lose a massive side of the live performance; there [were] films that were made along with it. The interludes in the album are interviews with family members, talking about the family history — about their childhood, their parents, grandparents — our history of moving from Spain, to Morocco, and [then] France. So because I wanted to tell that story of moving from Spain to Morocco to France, I wanted to use traditional folk music styles from these places to represent that. Because it would have been the music they were around when they lived there.
There’s an incredible energy and authenticity that folk styles have. I think it’s no wonder that a lot of classical musicians use folk styles in their music, because it brings this incredible aspect of authenticity; this character that says so much about the people singing and playing that music. Something that is so personal, but resonates with [a] whole culture. Folk music belongs to the people, which means it’s not about technique, it’s about the emotional connection — people singing these tunes because that’s what their mum sang to them, what their mum’s mum sang to their mum when they were little. Because of that aspect, it’s music that sounds very raw — straight from the heart. Something where emotion prevails over technical ability.
To an extent, perhaps we could argue that pop music, and pop music styles, are folk music — just because we didn’t grow up with a particular “folk” culture, it doesn’t mean we’re not channeling the same elements of folk when we talk about pop, or rock, or hip-hop…
Yeah. I think they can be seen as folk traditions. Folk music will focus on a certain culture, or certain country, or part of the world — that’s what unites them, a common nationality or cultural heritage. But pop music will also create a little subculture of its own. It’s something that transcends borders; people from many, many different countries, but that will still unite around a set of ideals, ways of life, shared experiences. I think it’s definitely comparable. The same can be said about rock, or punk, or whatever. There’s a certain way of thinking that comes with that — values that are shared amongst people, because it’s the values that are communicated through the music.
Do you see these values as relating to your aesthetic and ideas about noise and distortion, as well?
A very important thing to me is the DIY aspect — which, again, I’ve definitely gotten from listening to punk. The resourcefulness, I think, is so fucking important. We can’t let limitations — pragmatic, earthly limitations — hold us back as composers, because there are always gonna be challenges. It’s great receiving help and support to bring your vision to life, so do apply for schemes and things. People are doing a great job out there providing opportunities and workshops and mentoring and networking, and I’m so grateful for that, so definitely make the most out of what’s available out there for you. But, if you don’t get that one scheme you were really hoping for, or that one bit of funding, don’t let it demoralise you. It’s a good exercise to see what it’s like creating something yourself entirely from start to finish.
I think if you have that DIY approach, a lot of things become available to you. Thinking about what you can do with the means that you have, with the people you know, with the skills that you have — and see where that takes you. Because it can take you pretty fucking far, you know. And it creates an aesthetic. It definitely does. So it’s not just a pragmatic reflection of “what can I make” — but it will also create a very “you” sound, and style. I think it’s a very interesting thing to do.
When I talk about authenticity in music, what I mean by that is the uncompromising nature of it; when you do things yourself, you’re the captain of that ship, you make all the decisions — you and whoever it is that you’re collaborating with. This also limits your work in other ways: it can limit the reach of your work — there’s a lot of DIY artists that had such a prolific output, but a lot of that output just doesn’t exist [as recordings]. There’s pros and cons, as there is with everything. But this idea to try and do as much as you can yourself — because you learn a lot, you push yourself out of your comfort zone, and you develop this attitude of “I can do it, I can make it work.” Even if you can’t, really — then by the end, you can.
Exactly — even if the end result isn’t the one you expected, you’ve still made something. There seems to be a real attitude for DIY ensembles, now…
I’d like to get a little band together — I’ve been saying that for years — and you know, play in clubs and funny places. Probably not in churches, they wouldn’t let us… -laughs- I think people are starting to realise these things; you can’t always get exactly what you want, so you do have to do things yourself, or you won’t end up doing anything at all. There is a thirst for these ensembles, for all this new music — especially when you’re blending genres, and experimenting with different things.
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Learn more about Rebecca and her practice at:
- https://msha.ke/rebeccagaliancastello
- https://soundcloud.com/rebeccagaliancastello
- https://rebeccagaliancastello.bandcamp.com/
- https://www.instagram.com/rebeccagaliancastello
References/Links:
- Anthony Braxton – Ghost Trance Music (1995-2006), Composition No. 255
