“I love composing by feeling; aligning my melodies, my harmonies, my chords, based on that feeling. And then making a roadmap, or some kind of idea, that aligns with that emotion.”
Maile Pacumio
Maile Pacumio is a Filipino-Thai composer currently based in California working across concert music, film, and video games. Maile’s music explores themes of representation, identity, love, and lived experience through musical storytelling, drawing from film and video game soundtracks. Maile’s work has been premiered and recorded in California and internationally by ensembles such as Left Coast Chamber Ensemble, Counter)Induction, CSULB Symphony Orchestra, and Alwani Middle Eastern Orchestra, among many others; she is a three-time winner of the San Diego New Music Emerging Composers Competition, and a 2025 fellow at the Alba Music Composition Program in Italy. Maile holds a B.M Applied Arts & Sciences in Music Composition from San Diego State University, and is currently pursuing her Masters of Music at California State University of Long Beach.
For the past year, Maile has been the composer in residence for the Alwani Middle Eastern Orchestra, who are premiering her piece ‘Zilal Fi Al-Noor’ on 20th September in Long Beach, California. Ahead of the premiere, we spoke with Maile over Zoom to discuss cross-cultural collaboration, synesthesia, burnout, and music as a universal language…
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Zyggy/PRXLUDES: Hey Maile! Thanks so much for joining me today. I understand you’ve recently come back from a composition programme in Italy…
Maile Pacumio: The programme was called Alba Music Composition Festival. I was one of the 12 composers that were selected to write and premiere with the resident ensemble, counter)induction. Elliott McKinley is the head of the program and for the next two weeks, we would participate in workshops, masterclasses, private lessons with the faculty composers and ensemble musicians. We would work with them each day.
The town I was staying in — Alba, in Italy — it’s a cute little place. A majority of the festival featured a lot of the classics, like Mozart, Debussy, Ravel, but it was also intriguing to see music that was experimental; especially in a church hall setting. For example, there was a piece written for solo piano performance, but instead of traditional sheet music, there was a computer — and there was someone in the audio booth controlling how the pianist would interpret and improvise the music. I’d never seen that before. Having the opportunity to see how the piece unfolded was certainly inspiring to me.
On the Wednesday (28th May), I had a performance of my work, ‘Danza de Sombras’. I wrote it guitar, clarinet, and cello — which was an adventure in itself for me because I never written for such a unique instrumentation. At the time, I was really getting into reggaeton, and I wanted to explore how I could fuse that style with Arabic music, since there is some common techniques between the two genres. I wanted to give each instrument the spotlight by writing moments that brings out the uniqueness in them. It was fun working with the musicians, especially on the section where the guitarist and I were experimenting with different percussive sounds on the instrument.
After the performance, it was awesome to be able to talk to people. I learned that many people come from around the world to travel to attend this festival, to enjoy the music together. I had a few people come up to me after the performance and while I couldn’t understand Italian, their smiles said it all. That’s why I find music to be a universal language.
Something that struck me about your compositional practice was how you’ve employed a cross-cultural approach to much of work. Tell me a bit about your musical background — how did your cross-cultural ideas first develop?
I grew up with a multicultural background; my mother is Thai, and my father is Filipino. One of the biggest struggles, I would say, is finding that connection with my culture. When I grew up, I mainly spoke English in the household and grew up following the Western traditions, media, etc. As I grew older, I wanted to learn more about my cultures — sometimes I would ask my relatives to recommend music to me or start speaking to me in Tagalog and Thai.
When I discovered the art of music composition, I was eager to know that many other artists like to write and combine different cultures of music. A lot of my friends in my undergraduate exposed me to different dance styles of Latin music such as Cumbia, Salsa, Bachata and Banda; the music was so fun to listen to. I had the idea to incorporate some of these styles into my own piece, ‘Across the Universe’. It originally started as a final project for one of my composition classes, but then was later premiered with the San Diego State University Symphony Orchestra. One of my goals is to expand my ears and listen to music from all around the world — I love learning about different cultures and what they have to offer.
You mentioned this divide between a lot of the music you listened to growing up, and a lot of the “traditional” music you were exposed to through your extended family. What are your earliest memories of writing music?
A few years after I started playing piano, my teacher — Ruth Weber — introduced me to composition. I remember there being a school competition looking for music submissions, and with her help I was able to submit my very first piano piece, ‘The Sunken Ship’. Later that year, I got a notification that my piece made it to the college level and was called to give a live performance of it. I recall sitting in band class completely shocked; I could run a mile of joy! Reflecting on these early memories inspire me to overcome burnout — if I was able to do it before, I can keep going and do it now.
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Speaking of cross-cultural practices, you’ve been composer-in-residence with the Alwani Middle Eastern Orchestra for about a year. How did you first get involved with the orchestra?
My colleague in undergraduate — Randa Jalo — is a piano performance major based in San Diego and started the orchestra around 2023. I remember talking to her one day and before you know it, she invited me to perform and compose for them! I have never explored Middle Eastern music before, so she sent me a list of composers to listen to for inspiration. Her advice and mentoring on how to craft a piece helped me learn about the techniques such as quarter-tones, improvisation and instrumentation such as qanun, ney, and oud. The taqsim, or improvisation, is my favourite part of the genre because their performance doesn’t particularly follow any chords or lead sheet. I find it fascinating to watch the soloist develop an idea without the guidance of sheet music, but with the guidance of their emotions.
In 2024, I wrote my first piece for them — ‘Hourglass’. It’s a simple A-B-A form, it takes a melody and kind of develops as the piece unfolds. I left some sections more for free interpretation, and that’s where soloists can improvise in the taqsim. Completing and premiering the piece became a spark of this new journey of exploration, I guess you could say.
Tell me a bit more about how you approached the technicalities of those instruments, such as the ney or the oud… How did you explore those intricacies?
Being acquainted with Western musical traditions, I start by establishing the role of each instrument. For example, the ney can take the role of the flute, and the oud as a guitar. However, both instruments can switch between the different roles, meaning the ney for example does not have to play melody but can become an accompaniment.
The biggest thing is communicating with the performers. It helps that the environment Alwani Orchestra creates is supportive and nurturing, therefore I can ask questions like, “how does the instrument work, is this section playable?”. Learning how to write for quarter-tones was new for me in addition to leaving room for improv — a big aspect of Middle Eastern music. Most, if not all, traditional songs don’t have sheet music, so that was a big learning curve for me: how do you write music for musicians to read, if some of them [have] never read sheet music before?
What answer did you discover for that question?
Creating audio samples for the musicians to listen and interpret it the way that they want to. This method becomes more of a collaborative effort, “how can we make music together?” rather than “composer writes, musicians play”. I love how this collaboration really feels like a community of musicians where you can feel supported with your work.
How was the process of navigating that for the first time writing ‘Hourglass’?
For the more traditional instruments — the oud, the ney — the strategy was to create a lead sheet that contains melody and instrumental cues. So even if they can’t read the sheet music well, musicians can at least follow along and determine where each section is. This visual roadmap allows the musicians to create their own interpretation and they always impress me with their creativity and ability to adapt quickly.
In middle eastern music, we have improvisation sections called taqsim [تَقْسِيم]. Those sections are left open to interpretation, and you give them a “home base” key to work around: say the key is around A harmonic minor — then the soloist is able to have creative freedom to interpret. For the percussionists, it’s a lot of fun to see them have fun with the music, it is their moment to shine.
It’s a kind of balancing act — like, here’s what we’re laying down, and then you add their own musicality on top of it.
It’s so cool. To me, I interpret it like: I cook the pasta, and then they put the sauce, so it becomes a spaghetti. -laughs-
That’s such a lovely way of putting it. -laughs-
I love cooking the pasta, but I wanna see what kind of sauce you guys make! Don’t make it marinara sauce, make it something I don’t know… Something new.
These musicians are masters at their instruments, right? They’ve been playing long before I was born. -laughs- So they have a wealth of knowledge, expertise, and mentorship I would love to learn more about. I am very fortunate to be in their space — knowing I can ask them questions, learn about their musical background and not have the fear of being judged. I find that is something that is one of the hardships as a musician; having the fear of not being good enough, judged, or feel insecure about your work. But with Alwani Orchestra, I can be my authentic self, bring in something, and work together to see how we can be better together. It’s important to have musicians that support and welcome your curiosity. It’s a rare gem in this industry, but with this ensemble, it feels like home; a place where you belong.
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Another piece you composed for Alwani — ‘Hazeen’ — you also rescored for chamber ensemble. How does that process shift when working with musicians outside of that tradition, or discipline?
It was a different process, because my chamber ensemble comes from a classical background and is acquainted to sheet music. The original version of ’Hazeen’ had an outline: melody, harmony, and the rest was taqsim. When I re-orchestrated it for the ensemble, notating everything helped develop the ideas further, leaning into more classical techniques. It changed up the style a little bit; the chamber ensemble version is a lot more dance-like, whereas the original is more somber and sorrowful. Hazeen [حزين] translates [to] “sad” from Arabic, and I had a splendid time experimenting with the simple, yet complex emotion of sadness.
At the end of the piece, you also instruct the performers to tear up their sheet music — why did you add this technique?
Yeah! In the original version, I wanted the musicians to create a soundscape by producing “wind” sounds with their instruments. There was one particular sound the percussionist created with his frame drum that sounded like ripping paper. It got me thinking: how can I translate that into a chamber ensemble? We didn’t have a percussionist, so I thought: why not just rip paper? It’s a symbolic gesture in a way it feels like you’re letting go of the sadness…followed by silence afterwards.
There’s something I do like about that, as both a sonic gesture and performative one. There’s a piece by Alex Ho I remember seeing a few years ago, where he had the performers tear up the sheet music as part of the piece…
For me, the way I interpret the paper as: you’re ripping up sheet music as a way of letting go of something. As a composer, notating my thoughts sometimes creates limitation and musicians will read what is on the page — you “play the ink” -laughs- — but what I’ve learned from writing music outside of Western traditions is that not having sheet music provides the freedom to connect more with the music. Coming from a classically trained background, to having few notations on the paper… You get to let go of that constraint and go with how you feel.
I guess there’s a question of balancing different cultural and educational traditions, right? And that translates into musical language too…
It can be a tough balance, in a similar light with finding ways to communicate with language barriers. In America, many of the classes revolve around classical and Western music traditions. During my undergraduate, I joined the school’s Javanese Gamelan, which was my first experience working with non-Western music in an educational setting. This class taught me a new style of music while respecting the Indonesian culture and traditions. For performances, we would wear traditional attire such as Kebaya and Beskap instead of concert black. That’s something that’s really great about music; while there might be disconnect in words, but sound and tradition create connection.
There’s a lot of discourse against this idea of music being a “universal language”. Yes, there’s so many different idioms and traditions, but the concepts of performance, of sound, could be universal… What are your thoughts on that?
We’re all listening. If you’re in a concert hall — or if you’re playing a game, or watching a film — you listen to the same thing. What makes it unique is that music can be interpreted differently, but essentially… Once the music is over, it’s gone. It becomes a memory. We’re hearing the same thing, we interpret it different, but that can be universal — that we feel, in that very moment while the music is alive. We know that feeling: knowing that music is alive for that moment, and once it’s gone, it’s a memory. That’s a sense that we all share, regardless of how we interpret it.
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As you’ve explored different musical cultures, and idioms; are there any particular similarities or differences you’ve experienced?
I recently have been listening and studying old Philippine folk music. I noticed that there is a distinction between the north and the south regions. In the northern regions, a lot of the music have distinct styles derived from Spanish and Latin American influences. For example, the kundiman is a type of serenade and ballad that sounds similar to Mariachi music. In the south, the music is mixed with more influences from Indonesia and the neighboring islands. The kulintang ensemble uses the tuning system of pentatonic and heptatonic, just like the Javanese Gamelan ensemble in my undergraduate.
While there are so many different styles of old Philippine music, each era builds on each other, like building blocks. I think as time goes on, composers will continue to draw inspiration from musical traditions and cultures of the past. Maybe it’s also rooted in culture: Filipino culture is very connected, the idea of togetherness and family. Even our food — everyone loves our lumpia and it brings people together. -laughs- That’s something I noticed with Filipino music: we may come from different backgrounds and musical experience, but we share the same resilience and determination. At the end of the day, you always have your family and the people you choose to be your family. I think that’s really cool, seeing that in music too.
I resonate with this so much, as someone who’s part Filipino. While I often feel far removed from the Filipino side of my heritage, those are values I hold so strongly — I’m sure they come out in my music as well. I guess it’s a question of how connected you are to the culture if you’re from the diaspora…
I currently live in Los Angeles, and the beauty about living here is that you are exposed to so many different cultures. A few minutes from where I live is one of the largest Cambodian towns and if you go more towards the city, you will find yourself in Koreatown and the Historic Fillipinotown.
I would say even though I don’t live in the Philippines, there are many opportunities to immerse yourself — since there are many areas in Los Angeles that are rooted with Filipino culture. It is the same for embracing the traditions of Thailand, there are many Thai temples here where you can learn and be a part of the culture. Despite the traffic, it makes Los Angeles a great place to be knowing that it’s a vibrant community that welcomes all cultures.
How do you feel your music responds to that?
A lot of my music is based on my daily life experiences, and those experiences come with discovering — perhaps it’s about my journey of discovering my culture, or maybe about a new recipe I learned, or just about the time I sat at the beach for hours listening to the waves. I like to write about what I have learned from each experience.
For my upcoming premiere with Alwani Middle Eastern Orchestra on September 20th, I wanted to write a piece about finding connection. It’s called ‘Zilal Fi Al Noor’ which translates to “shadows within the light”. This piece was fun to write because it relates to my experience of discovering and casting light upon the shadows that are unknown to me. Seeing how both light and darkness — two very disconnected and different forms of visuals — come together and unite.
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You’ve mentioned that there’s programmatic elements to your work and your compositional process. Where do you tend to start when you start writing — is it from a programmatic idea?
I start with an idea, perhaps a colour: I think of the colour red, I structure how that could feel — and then later add the more “theoretical” aspects; resolution, chordal harmonic structure. It’s kind of like writing a story. I like telling stories through music, and seeing how that plays out, like a film; and once everything is done, you put a title over it, and see how that ties the knot on the piece. That’s a general structure of how I go about things.
Things can be a little bit more abstract, especially when I write non-programmatic music. Those are more of a challenge, because I love writing about experiences; but writing solely music, and letting it [get] interpreted by other people… That’s something completely different. Even with programmatic music, you can write a whole blurb about what the piece is about, but it can still be interpreted completely different — and I think that’s really cool.
Is this process of structuring your music intuitive for you, or is it more consciously structured or thought out?
There’s some pieces that I’ve written that are more “flow-y” — they kind of develop off of one concept — whereas some are more “one section, [then] one section, [then] one section”. It depends on how many themes I want to explore; how I want to flesh out [the] concept. There are some concepts that are more “general” — light and darkness — but if we’re talking about rainbows, it’s very abstract, because there’s so many different colours… -laughs- Based off of that idea, that structures how the piece will flow for me.
In school — at least, [in] grad school — they teach you a lot of the theoretical concepts, which I love and really enjoy. But at the end of the day, I love composing by feeling; aligning my melodies, my harmonies, my chords, based on that feeling. And then making a roadmap, or some kind of idea, that aligns with that emotion. I think that makes my brain work better than using set theory, or something.
Speaking of how you order your pitches, a lot of your music tends towards tonality, or at least to diatonic harmony…
I like to write music that I can resonate with. When I find something familiar, I grasp onto it. In life, a lot of things are very unpredictable. For a long part of my childhood, I’ve moved around 9 times. There was always unfamiliarity — whether it was meeting new people, going to a new school, or getting used to a new environment. When I finally have a sense of familiarity, it’s something that I grasp onto. -laughs- That’s a reflection in my music, too: when I find something that resonates with me, I am inspired by it and then make it into my own music.
Recently, I’ve been trying to experiment more with unfamiliarity and chance. We’re bound to have unfamiliarity, and change, a lot in life. That’s something I want to explore, and being in graduate school has opened many opportunities for me. I am learning to branch beyond what I am comfortable with, and seeing what else could be possible. Perhaps I could find comfort there, as well.
It’s not necessarily getting out of your comfort zone, but expanding what your comfort zone is.
Yeah. It’s like owning a home. I am just adding renovations to the house. -laughs- That’s how I see it.
I feel like your approach to harmonic language is so ingrained in your lived experience, as well — would you agree with that?
It depends on what I am writing about. I like to see what can be connected. Music is kind of like a puzzle — you put everything together — and it’s okay if the puzzle isn’t complete. Like life, if you’re missing a piece, it’s okay you will find your way. I think my approach to harmonic language comes from a mix of my education and personal musical exploration. I hear certain harmonic colours or tensions that feel like home to me. I spend a lot of time listening and studying how composers place their puzzle pieces together; the way they write inspires me to find my own path. I would say my harmonic choices are like a puzzle. They are pieced together and are tied to how I perceive the world around me.
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You’re currently pursuing a Masters at Cal State University of Long Beach — what are you looking at exploring and studying in the future?
Through graduate school, I recently discovered I have synesthesia, and it unlocked so many questions and new discoveries about myself. I thought it was normal to see colours when hearing sound — for example, when I hear a G major chord, I see a flash of turquoise blue. Knowing that I have this, does this sense of seeing colour through sound change the way I write music? There’s another side of me I didn’t know, but now I do. For the Masters programme, I want to write a piece that paints my experiences with synesthesia and how that can translate to something that can resonate with everyone.
Is synesthesia something you’ve explored in your work in the past, or are exploring now?
I didn’t realise using colour to roadmap my music was synesthesia, until one of my colleagues pointed it out. To me, this process is familiar and I thought it was strategy other composers follow too. My teacher, Raymond Torres Santos, actually studies synesthesia — he’s writing a whole book about it — it is intriguing to hear about the current studies of synesthesia while continuing to learn more about this side of me.
Are there any other things you’re exploring at the moment?
At school, I recently joined the Laptop ensemble, which focuses on creating live electronic music using Ableton and MaxMSP. Other than composing video game soundtracks, I have never composed for live electronic music for the concert hall. I am eager to learn how to program plugins through MaxMSP and use them in a life performance.
Throughout the summer, I had a bad case of burnout. My hope is that being in this ensemble will spark some inspiration and overcome. I think this will be a good and fun challenge for me, to compose for electronics and programming how my music will sound.
I get that. When I’ve felt burnt out, I’ve found that trying to do something for fun can help overcome it…
I haven’t really written anything “for fun” as of late. So it’s refreshing to try something completely new because it requires a different way of thinking. When starting a new project, the way I go about it is asking myself questions: what if there was a piece that only used 32nd notes? What if a piece used only the notes A through D? By setting a restriction on the music, it sparks creativity and sets your mind to work. With electronic or chance music, it’s a completely different process. There is a lot of possibilities when using a DAW or MaxMSP because you get to invent something that goes beyond the notes and sheet music.
Not a lot of people talk about burnout. How real burnout is. Sometimes, I feel bad for “taking a break” — but in reality it’s a part of life, so it’s okay to rest every once and awhile. I have come to see burnout not as an obstacle, but as a signal. It comes when I have pushed beyond my limits or have lost touch with inspires me creatively. I see burnout as a reward: that yes, I am deeply passionate about music, but also a reminder to listen closely to what I need in order to grow as a composer.
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Maile’s latest commission for the Alwani Middle Eastern Orchestra, ‘Zilal Fi Al Noor’, premieres on 20th September in Long Beach, California – learn more and get tickets at:
Learn more about Maile Pacumio and her practice at:
