David Balica

“I’ve always felt more secure in having a limitation of some sort — no matter what that limitation is. It can be sequence-related, or drone related, or a degree; but for me, having the limitation gives me more parameters to work around.”

David Balica

David Balica is a composer and bass-baritone based in London, and a current Morag Noble masters student at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance. Originally hailing from Romania, David’s work explores the intersection of art and technology, drawing from postmodernism, spectralism, and Romanian folk styles. David is the joint winner of the 2025 Mercer’s Innovation Arts Award with his ensemble ViDaNova, as well as of the 2023 Daryl Runswick Composition Prize, through Trinity Laban; his works have been performed at venues including the Romanian Cultural Institute in London, Peckham Asylum Chapel, Holy Trinity Sloane Square, Blackheath Halls, and Conway Hall. Internationally, David has premiered works at the CANTEIRO Multidisciplinary Art Centre in Sao Paulo, Brazil, as part of a summer artist residency programme with Residencia foNTE and CANTEIRO Art Centre. David’s experience also stretches to directing, co-directing a cabaret at the Phoenix Arts Club in March 2025.

David is the founder of ensemble ViDaNova — a cross-disciplinary ensemble at the intersection of music, technology, and public engagement, alongside soprano Adrienn Vivien Zoltan and engineer-inventor Anna Silver. ViDaNova’s second headline concert takes place on 9th April at St. Pancras Clock Tower, featuring works by David and Zsolt Balint; ahead of the concert, Zygmund de Somogyi caught up with David to speak about technology, vocal performance, postmodernism, politics, and “controlled chance”…

Zyggy/PRXLUDES: Thanks so much for joining me today, David! We’re coming up to a few exciting performances with your interdisciplinary chamber ensemble, ViDaNova, which you founded with technologist and inventor Anna Silver. Can you tell me a bit about this ensemble, how you formed, and how you’ve tended to collaborate together?

David Balica: Myself and Anna Silver considered collaborating on a project together for about two years now. We initially met at a choir that we both attend — the Goldsmiths Choral Union, who I also premiered a work for at the Holy Trinity in Sloane Square. It’s a great place to meet people of different disciplines. The soprano in the ensemble, Vivienne Zoltan… We’ve been friends for a few years, and have collaborated on recitals such as at the Romanian Embassy. But this was to be our first, “together-as-a-trio” spearheaded project where we felt in charge.

Our goals were aligned from the start. We all wanted to create output that extends past our preconceived limitations. I wish to weave my writing more into modern, fresh technologies, and to improve my ability to respond to the shifting technological landscape. As for Anna, she wanted to have her technology premiered in concerts. I felt that actively working with technology will, in a sense, catapult me to innovate my own practice beyond the “learned” forms of notation — which I had found to be develop[ing] a default place to me.

Due to our very different core specialisms within the ensemble, we gelled together straight away. We were actively learning about each others’ fields, and our own needs, as well as beginning to cross our disciplines and voice our input in each others’ work. It was a nice crossover [at the] beginning.

Your first concert was at the Asylum Chapel in Peckham, which featured an instrument invented by Anna called the digital sine bell — can you tell me a bit about how this instrument works?

So our instrument — the digital sine bell — consists of two interconnected parts. The first being a bell-shaped, 3D printed replica, embedded with a bi-directional actuator and clapper mechanism. The bell box has potentiometers, which are then linked through these wires (of different colours) into a computer running a physical model of a bell — as well as some more complex chaotic feedback loops.

The self-sensing actuator — the device within the bell — is very interesting. It takes the input from the clapper within the bell hitting it and simultaneously emits vibrations back to the human’s hand; a sort of haptic feedback mechanism. This creates an interesting relationship between the actuator and the human player. The bell reacts in dialogue with the human; a co-creative experience of technology and humanity.

I guess it’s like how when you’re seeing something, you’re not literally seeing the object — but rather your brain’s interpretation of light signals from the object. Like, light goes into your optic nerve, and your brain interprets those signals…

Absolutely. There is actually a strong visual element to our concerts, and to this work. I actually began writing for this [instruments] with drawings, determining the density of the orchestration that I envisaged through shapes. From drawings, I switched to experiments — I would shape the output drones through these actuator knobs that are on the outside. This was then notated through different kinds of positions that I found these sensors to arrive in. I notated what each position would correspond to in musical-note forms; and then on the scores, the actual wave drawings — that come up as the sine bell part — I printed copies of the frequency wave monitors that Anna had on her laptop. That was a nice link back to her own contributions, without completely veering off.

Can you tell me a bit about how you approached writing for the digital sine bell, in conjunction with the ensemble? Did you see the instrument as separate to yourselves as performers, or something more embedded?

Personally, as the curator of the works, I envisaged this instrument to not just be a showcasing factor — but rather, I wanted us to limit ourselves in how we see it, so that we see it as an embedded part of a larger setting. We see it as one of our equals, rather than something completely different to us — which is the easy take on it. We wanted to see what affinity we could find there.

I guess it’s like thinking of yourselves as all performers, rather than having that divide between performers and technology.

Finding ways to eliminate those boundaries between technology and humans — which these days, is becoming harder and harder.

So far, I’ve written two well-defined works [for this setup]. I knew that for this ensemble, I would need to have a mix of aleatoricism and conventional notation. When writing ‘Aether Nexus’ — the first piece I wrote for this — a lot of initial steps came from what I call a “controlled chance” environment. I had a blueprint for the sounds I wanted, and I drew them, but the execution was a big variable due to the naturally unpredictable nature of the bell. So I knew I had to develop a form of linguistic notation that would link the bell’s systems with the ensemble output — something the instrumentalists could understand.

You have a background as a performer — particularly with the voice as a bass-baritone — and you’ve recently studied vocal performance at Trinity Laban. Can you tell me a bit abou what you’re currently interested in, musically, and how the voice fits into this?

The voice is a very big part of my work. For me, it started [as] a natural process of fully understanding the roles and needs of both me as a performer, and me as a composer. And that feeds into making my compositions understandable and playable in different settings.

I would also say I often find a subtle Romanian folk element prevalent in my music, even when not intended to [be]. Having been raised there during the beginning of my journey as a musician, these instincts will always stay with me. One of my aims with my vocal works, set to Romanian text, is to create a platform for the many poems and works of literature from our most renowned poets — going beyond Mihai Eminescu and Anton Pann, who are already established internationally — within a musical setting for new audiences, in countries that wouldn’t otherwise be exposed to this art. The scope of material is immense.

I have lately found myself more and more involved in cross-disciplinary installations and active audience participation. I see such formats as vehicles to deliver my message more efficiently; bringing the audience in and blurring the distinction of what it means to be an “audience member”. I feel like in a time when AI is replacing a lot of human interaction — and a lot of the bulk of daily activities is being moved to an online and impersonal format — I want to create moments in time where we, as individuals, feel like we are collectively part of that same moment together.

You’ve said before that music “should be experienced in many ways — not just through listening, but also vibration and touch”. Tell me a bit about your relationship to listening, and how this ethos developed for you?

Even before the projects with the sine bell, I always considered music in itself to be more than simply what is heard. When I see a show, or go to the opera, it’s something that’s felt, perceived, understood in many ways. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a purely sonic experience. For me, a concert is a place where I can connect with my whole being, and feel vibrations and visuals as much as the sonic part itself. I think the established concert-going etiquette of umbrella-term “classical” environments have, in a way, reduced the meaning of our musical output to be perceived purely via sound. But the beauty and authenticity of what we do is to connect with audiences beyond that. One way is to make them involved in the art, another way is to create mediums where they can feel the vibrations of an object that creates a sound.

For the digital sine bell, Anna and I found the perfect way to put that into practice, and try and execute it as best we can. The 3D [printed] replica is made out of carbon fibre that vibrates when held by a human player. So connecting through audiences not simply via sound, but also through this mechanism — in science, it’s called haptic feedback. The bell essentially translates the drone sounds into vibration; and anyone, no matter how they experience life, whether they can hear sounds or not, can experience music.

I’m curious as to if you’ve yet created works where the audience can experience this firsthand?

This was our trial method in our Asylum Chapel show. We left the last 10-15 minutes of the concert open to the audience, for them to come and try out the instrument. What we are looking to develop — and I do hope we are able to put this into practice — is to find a way to create installations where we have the audience come up and interact with the bell in real-time, even whilst all of us [are] playing the piece. That would further drive our point across, and we wouldn’t be worrying so much about the logistical implications.

I get that. Carving out spaces that audiences can feel invited into…

That’s such a big factor, actually — for the audience to not feel intimidated. Initially, the first reaction is to just be passive, and sit back; but then when you create an environment that gives them courage, then that’s what we can create, as well.

Another of the ways that I find helpful is [creating] text scores. Actually, we have many compositional references to this — but they are very effective to break this barrier, and can serve as a nice blueprint for future works. This is something that I’ve developed thanks to my amazing past tutors at Trinity Laban. They’ve really opened up my whole perspective on what it means to be a composer.

Let’s talk a bit about your aesthetic approach. You’ve mentioned to me your interest in Romanian folk music, and you’ve spoken previously about your interest in spectralism…

That’s very interesting — that’s the mindset I went into undergrad education [with], routinely defined in Romanian folk music and spectralism. This was my departure point. As I’ve said before, I think Romanian folk elements will always be prevalent in my music — [albeit] maybe to a lesser extent now. The place where they are very prevalent, because of the premise, is the vocal works, and that will probably stay. I’m sure you relate to this: I feel like my most efficient work comes from when I feel really connected, emotionally — when I feel a personal layer. For [my] vocal works, that different language, that new material, is a very personal way to showcase a part of myself to audiences.

Over the years, I almost want to say I’ve shifted more towards postmodernist approaches… I don’t know if this exists more in visual art, but I do think there’s a crossover there. I do still take elements from the spectral philosophy around music, and music being more than an auditory experience — I think they really think about it in a mathematical, equational way, whereas I tend to think about it from an overall concert-going experience.

I think materially more within the postmodern lens — almost neoclassical, with a twenty-first century flavour to it. I do like to take some elements [from] minimalism; I do like to have a bit of repetition, to see how economical we can be with material. It’s so hard, sometimes, to define what my music does…

I get it. Defining your musical language is such a hard task.

Realistically, I do take tiny amounts of elements from multiple things, and kind of create that conglomerate for myself. It’s why I would say postmodernist, because to me, that gels it together. Everyone’s doing such beautiful things, and you’re so inspired from all places — I’m constantly in awe of what people are creating. As composers, our listening lists are super chaotic… -laughs-

I also can’t hide the fact that opera also plays a big part in my approach to theatrics, my approach to visuals. That’s another thing that is big for me: developing this idea of curation. That matters so much.

On the subject of opera: I understand you’ve recently been studying a MA in Vocal Performance at Trinity Laban. In what ways has studying performance, rather than composition, informed the way that you write, and how these things intertwine?

I think it was the natural continuation for my development as an artist and person. Besides composition, I have always wanted to develop my vocal abilities to a similar degree. Now I often find that both disciplines feed into each other. I’ve always had an affinity for writing and performance alike; I initially grew up as a concert pianist, and when I moved to the UK at 9 years of age, I started to open up my palette to think about composition.

From a compositional perspective, studying vocal performance has helped me better understand different needs of singers and composers. It has also helped me better grasp these theatrical aspects that I always felt I had in me, and that I wanted to add in my works — for me, it feels more authentic. It also helped me understand theories of line, and having momentum in the works.

Let’s talk a bit more about line and momentum — where do you tend to pull from to create these within the compositional process? Is it more akin to melodic or vocal line, or something more structural?

It’s very interesting. I feel like in some compositions, I start with one note, or one degree, that I then want the whole piece to centre around. For example, ‘Linea Temporis’ is one of these works — that particular piece is centred around the E degree, which is also the default output drone of the sine bell. So for me, I always saw the momentum within that [as] the E note, that then acts as the gravitational centre. ‘Aether Nexus’ also has this to some extent, albeit it shifts further away from that centre eventually.

In other works — especially the aleatoric ones — I have actual gestures as motifs, or memorable reoccurring things that come back. But to boil it down to a conclusion, I think the meaning [of the] line itself changes with each composition; but I do always have that feeling of having to have a constant. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t work — but I know immediately when it works for me.

I get this — you’ve got something to build around.

I’ve always felt more secure in having a limitation of some sort — no matter what that limitation is. It can be sequence-related, or drone related, or a degree; but for me, having the limitation gives me more parameters to work around. I am sometimes quite daunted [by] having no limitations, and having total freedom. It goes back to that “controlled chance” that I was talking about earlier.

We’ve talked about “controlled chance” — when you use that term, do you see it as a kind of chance where you’re removing yourself from the result, or removing certain possibilities to further focus in?

If I were to give a full picture, probably both ways happen for me. More often than not though, there is more uncertainty around the end result, and I [then] give myself a certain limitation; because for me, that helps me build a foundation. That’s not to say I don’t have an end point — I still do — but the way to get to that end point is the unknown, and the way I give myself parameters is that limitation. But I also have the reverse sometimes, where I know exactly where I want to finish — I know exactly what I want to achieve as the end goal — and then all that’s left to decide is the vehicle.

One work of yours that I found particularly interesting was your work ‘_ , _ change’ — which you created in collaboration with Ana Geoghegan — that won the 2023 Daryl Runswick Prize at Trinity Laban. Tell me a bit about the collaborative process — what was it like working with Ana?

I’m so glad to be talking about this piece! It’s a very special one for both of us. Both Ana and I [have] now graduated from Trinity in Composition. We started this collaboration as part of the Darryl Runswick Competition Competition, that is organised by Trinity. The task for the 2023 edition was to pair up and create a piece that tackles sociopolitical ideas around climate change, and the impact it has on our world.

We would have two elements: the electronic input — the field recordings, the vocal recordings — and the orchestration. Initially, Ana organised the orchestration, and I took charge of the vocal recordings and the sonic art aspect. One key component in the competition was that the extent of the partnership was never truly defined by them; the brief had implied that we had our clearly defined roles, but what worked so well in our favour is that we both had input in each others’ work. She had input in my use of tapes — the vocal recordings — and I had some input in the orchestration [and] engraving side of things, as well. We just gelled together naturally.

The piece samples recordings of climate change deniers. How did you and Ana channel these themes within the work?

We both took vocal recordings of climate change deniers — people like Jacob Rees-Mogg, people who don’t believe that [climate change] exists — giving speeches at conferences. We chopped up those recordings throughout the piece… Initially, they start clearly as climate change deniers — you can tell — then they get chopped up further and further throughout the piece, until they are deconstructed and broken down, which then end up as one word from each recording. They are then rearranged to form the phrase: stop listening, be the change. And that is ‘_ , _ change’. We then thought about setting a parallel between the vocal side and orchestral side, to make the orchestration in 5/8 — so we would have this clear pulse to go with it. Recently, we’ve come [back] to rehashing this piece and cleaning it up, so we both have it for portfolios. We’re really happy with it.

We’ve touched on this in a number of ways — but do you think we, as composers, have a responsibility to be politically active through our art? Do you think music can, or should, channel that?

Very nice question. I do remember a conversation that I had with one of my good friends, and she said that to some extent, art is always political. It always has a reactionary aspect to it.

My work ‘Genesis’, developed with visual designer Marcelo Amorim at the foNTE multidisciplinary arts atelier, Sao Paulo… Marcelo’s collage tape was collecting archived footage of Brazil before the World Wars, and subsequent political colonisation. It’s become so topical in the year of 2026: the concept of the forced colonisation of Brazil by Western powers after the Second World War. And the installation of a dictatorship to replace another dictatorship — how topical that is for the modern day.

These are all definitely elements that we, as composers, cannot ignore. It is up to us to be a platform for change, and have momentum within our works. I feel like sometimes, we lose that authenticity a bit, in trying to hide those feelings — I sometimes found myself doing that as well. Even if it means you become vulnerable, sometimes it’s very important to find a way to channel it — even if you want to hide it, find a way while protecting yourself. I don’t know if it’s responsibility, but it’s definitely attraction to political issues, which is a byproduct of our world.

Nothing exists in a vacuum, right? Especially now, with social media, I’m not sure if there’s an excuse for ignoring how interconnected all of our issues are.

I think what is also happening is that some political establishments try to censor that link between art and politics — try to present art as a totally separate thing. Which, of course, it never is. Even in times of overall “good” things happening — as it used to be in the past, let’s say — even then art didn’t exist in a vacuum.

A few years ago, I had a show at the Romanian Cultural Institute. It was in the summer of 2022 — the Ukraine war [ed. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine] began on the 24th February 2022 — and so far, it is my only piece tackling that aspect, which for Romanians, affects us every day. The war is right next to us, and we receive so many threats from Russia… They existentially threaten us, as well. I composed a string quartet for that recital, that was inspired by a famous Ukrainian song called ‘The Moonlit Night’. It was performed at the Institute as part of this summer concert series, and the end of the event was dedicated [to] Ukraine. It was such a special moment. I feel like “raising awareness” is a limiting term in itself. You’re not just raising awareness: you actively want to get people to emotionally care about it.

That’s the power of music, right? Capturing people’s emotions, and being able to share that with the world.

There can only be more and more of that in any subject. If you told someone ten years ago that voicing your opinion would be transgressive, they wouldn’t believe it — and yet here we are. I look at what’s happening in parts of the world that is very dangerous for us, as artists. We have to look out for each other.

Let’s bring this back to your group, ViDaNova. Your next outing with the ensemble will be on the 9th April at St. Pancras Clock Tower…

So after having had two shows with ViDaNova — the Peckham Asylum Chapel in October, and a gala concert in December at the Ratiu Foundation — we are now having our third concert, and second headline one, at the St. Pancras Clock Tower. We are super excited; I always felt like the Clock Tower is a special venue, and the owner is so, so nice, as well. We will be performing ‘Aether Nexus’ and ‘Linea Temporis’… which will also be released soon! In that concert, we are also going to have a mix of my new works, and some songs — either some English song or some repertoire from the singers — which for me is a really nice way to combine my two worlds of vocal performance and composition.

Looking more in the distant future, we are also planning a bigger-space concert towards the end of this year, but details on that are TBD. We actually have a new device in the works, which functions through live drawing: you, as the audience, can draw a line, and Anna will create a sensor that turns it into a note.

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ViDaNova’s second headline concert, featuring new works by David Balica and Zsolt Balint, takes place on 9th April at St. Pancras Clock Tower, London – learn more and buy tickets at:

• https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/vidanova-the-digital-sine-bell-the-second-chapter-tickets-1984403686846

Learn more about David Balica and his practice:

• https://www.davidbalica.com/
• https://soundcloud.com/david-balica
• https://www.youtube.com/@davidbalica9900
• https://www.instagram.com/david.balica/

Learn more about ViDaNova:

• https://www.instagram.com/vidanova_ensemble/