“I think being a composer in itself is a bit ridiculous. Like, writing music being a thing you do — in some cases, as part of a living. So why not include that in the music itself?”
Kámea Németh
Kámea Németh is a queer Brummie/Hungarian composer, singer, music director and artist based in Manchester. They are known for trying things differently and often work in a whimsical, maximalist playground; they like colours, chaos and slight discomfort, present in the stories they choose to tell. Their work explores themes of nostalgia, time and dissociation weaved together with elements of Hungarian folk and electronics. Kámea’s work has been performed by groups such as Valette Ensemble, Ventis Vocal Ensemble, PACE New Music, the Manchester Contemporary Orchestra, and Cardinal Quintet, among others. Kámea studied at the Royal Northern College of Music with Laura Bowler and Andy Scott, followed by Larry Goves and Sam Salem for the final year of their undergraduate degree. Kámea performs as part of the experimental electronics performance art group MASSIVE NUN, and curates multi-genre new gig music festival CURIO — for which they are one of the recipients of the 2026 RNCM Creative Innovator’s Award.
Kámea’s installation ‘Garden Escargot?’ was recently highly commended following its exhibition at the 2026 RNCM Composition Artist of the Year Competition. Following their award, we chatted with Kámea over Zoom about scrapbooks, Renaissance magic, paprika-based graphic notation, and compositional whimsy…
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Zyggy/PRXLUDES: Thanks so much for joining me today, Kámea! We’re chatting following your installation ‘Garden Escargot?’ at the Royal Northern College of Music, which took place as part of the RNCM Artist of the Year Composer Final — can you tell me a bit about how this installation first came about?
This year in particular, I’ve struggled with my composition to a degree that I haven’t [before]. I’d been working in different ways that I wasn’t used to, and I felt really restricted; so when making this installation, I was like “I can’t end the academic year making something that I’ve not enjoyed making” — so I decided to make what I want to make, and do what I enjoy doing.
I really enjoy doing things in a maximalist way. I’ve not done that so much this year. It was [my] first [time] working with an installation; I found it a little bit overwhelming, because there’s so much you can do with it — more than writing a regular piece.
I knew the installation was for a specific space. At RNCM, we have Studio 8 — I knew the space, I’d worked in it before — it has three screens. It’s a really cool room, where you can adjust the acoustic as well; you can adjust the settings to have massive reverb. It’s got a bunch of speakers in every wall, and the ceiling — so you can map sounds to specific areas.
You mentioned this idea of maximalism in your practice. ‘Garden Escargot?’ features a variety of different mediums, including sound, video, and audience interactivity — how did all of these elements coincide in the piece?
Throughout the installation, I used an element of play. The installation is audiovisual — it has video, audio, and lots of art objects — and when making the videos, I tried all sorts of different things relating to the concept. I played around with ways of messing around with teacups, I got people to eat cake messily… You don’t get to go around doing that for music, especially. Which also links into social constructs.
Another thing I really enjoy doing is getting the audience involved in the music, somehow; I feel it makes it easier for them to connect to it. I do feel like in a concert setting, there’s sometimes a disconnect between the audience and the actual music — because they’re there to watch it [from a distance].
In the space, there were 4 teapots, one in each corner. In these teapots, all of them had a bluetooth speaker, and it included myself singing Hungarian folk songs. The audience were encouraged to lift the lids of the teapots whenever they felt like it, or put lids back on. Quite a lot of people got involved with that.
It’s a much more intimate way of conveying music to an audience, right? Tell me a bit more about the concept of ‘Garden Escargot?’ — I understand it’s linked to explorations of social constructs?
This year, I’ve been exploring themes of nostalgia, time, and dissociation — which is what’s made writing music challenging, because that can be restrictive in some cases. I want[ed] to do everything to a specific theme, because I’d not done that before. The title, ‘Garden Escargot?’, [comes] from a childhood memory; I think I’d learned what escargots are, and I saw a snail in my garden, and I tried to eat it. I didn’t — my mum stopped me — but that’s where the title came from. I was talking to one of my friends about this story when I first met her, and she was the one who used the phrase “garden escargot”.
Growing up, I watched a lot of television, a lot of cartoons. I really liked Alice in Wonderland… The concepts behind that “tea party” scene really stuck to me. It’s already bizarre in general, watching it as a kid, but when you think about it more, I find it quite funny. The entire of Alice in Wonderland is a commentary on society, I guess; [but] it really spoke to me, because they expect her to know so many things, and it’s “the norm”. That to me feels really personal: growing up, being someone who uses they/them pronouns, being possibly neurodivergent as well. Having all of these expectations that people expect you to know, and you just don’t know… [I thought] including that in a piece of art would be a really nice way to round off my year.
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You’ve mentioned these themes of nostalgia, time, and dissociation as particularly predominant pillars for you this academic year. Coming out of your final year at RNCM, how did you find this process of distilling your practice through these themes — did you feel it focused you more?
Often when I’m working, I don’t think about why I’m doing things, or realise why I’m doing things. My teacher’s been trying to get me to do that more this year. -laughs- Working with those themes, at times I found really challenging — because I felt like I have to make something that links to these themes in an obvious way. They are themes that I have used throughout my work previously; I just haven’t focused on it so extremely. But I am happy I did it. I found it rewarding.
I knew what I wanted my portfolio to look like. I ended up making a scrapbook, and burning all of the pieces onto DVD’s — which was a lot of fun. When I think about ways of storing media… I watched so many DVD’s growing up, and that to me feels very nostalgic. I did put some electronics on CD’s, as well. And I’ve made scrapbooks growing up, and I enjoyed it — it was a fun way to do a commentary.
You’ve got a performance practice as a singer, as well as a composer. Tell me a bit about your musical background — what first got you into singing and composition, and has your training as a singer influenced your compositional voice?
When I was little, I always sang around the house. I actually wanted to play recorder… I could be a really good recorder player right now — which I am not. -laughs- The head of music at my school saw me singing as part of a big assembly, and told my parents that they should put me into singing lessons — which is how I met my former singing teacher, Suzie Purkis, who I’ve now worked with compositionally!
Growing up, I would transcribe simple things for fun; and that developed into making my own music. Moreso writing arrangements first — vocal acapella arrangements — and that delved into composition, around 14, 15. I mean, the stuff I was composing was very different… But at the heart of a lot of my work, singing is involved; it feels like the most natural thing to me.
When you first got to RNCM, what were those initial musical explorations for you?
One of the first pieces I wrote in RNCM was inspired by the way Jennifer Walshe writes. It was for violin and electronics; I did the whole thing of a timeline. My first year was really [about] opening up to new music. I slowly tried new things. Before then, I wasn’t as open-minded — but I did really like electronics; I was a big fan of Anna Meredith before I joined RNCM. The end of my first year was when I made my first graphic score, which wasn’t something I thought I would have done. I’ve done quite a few more since then.
I understand you’ve also written for Suzie Purkis — I was really struck by your miniature vocal work ‘Bat in Room’. What was it like working with Suzie, having been taught by her in a vocal capacity?
I found working with her a privilege — really, really fun. I know her really well. Throughout my practice, I’ve realised I really like working with people who I know, at least to some degree; because I know them as a person, I really feel like I’m writing for them. Those pieces could be performed by other people — but when I’m first writing, it really is for that person.
I think [Suzie’s] known me since I was nine years old. I’ve seen her perform: and honestly, she’s one of the best performers I have ever seen. So I knew whatever I’d write her, she’d be able to perform well. I didn’t actually give a lot of description on how to perform those short pieces I wrote her — but she ran with it, and it worked really well.
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I’ve noticed so much of your notational practice has revolved around graphic scores, and alternative notations. What do you think the process of creating graphic scores gave to you as an artist?
I like giving performers freedom, a lot of the time. Sometimes, certain performers find that scary — especially classically trained performers, I’ve found. But I enjoy it, and I work with people who end up enjoying it, as well. I feel like it’s a way to get your ideas onto a page that I wouldn’t be able to using traditional notation. It’s a way to get a feeling onto a page that’s up to interpretation. Once you’ve made it, you have to let the performers get on with it. A thing I’ve learned [is] that I can’t force a graphic score onto something. If I want something specific, then I shouldn’t write it as a graphic score.
One project of yours that really stood out to me was ‘Thrice-shelled trickster with a threadbare gown’ — which you composed for Valette Ensemble and Ventis Vocal Ensemble — which uses various kinds of alternative notation throughout the piece. How did you approach working with Valette and Ventis?
I knew most of the people involved, at least to some degree. I’d been to quite a few Valette concerts in my first and second year — any that I could make. I knew I really wanted to write for them. And I really wanted to write for Ventis, as well; I knew the singers involved, they’re all really nice people. When I found out about this project, and that I’d get to write with them… That was perfect for me.
The theme of [the] concert I was writing for was “Renaissance Reimagined”. At first, I had no idea what to do with that — how I could make a piece using that. When I’m writing, I’m not using Renaissance influences in my work, so I was like “how do I relate to this?”. [But] throughout the process, I spoke to them about ideas I had: I told them “can I give you guys physical scores”, I told them about what I wanted to do with the music, [and] I checked to see what they were happy doing — what they were comfortable with. There’s a bit at the end of the piece where all the performers hold hands and go around in a circle, around the massive score all put together. That wasn’t originally how I’d written the score. Originally it was going to be [just] the singers, and one of the violinists was like “can we join in with the singing and hold hands at the end in the circle?” — and then just I added that in.
You mentioned the creative offer from Valette and Ventis of responding to Renaissance themes, or music — how did you approach responding to those themes in the concept of the piece?
I knew I wanted to make some sort of fun piece. I was thinking about how I could link what I would explore in Renaissance [themes]. I wasn’t going to write something that sounds like Renaissance music, or uses that kind of language — I knew it had to be in the concept. So something just clicked, and I was like “I’m gonna research what people thought about magic in Renaissance times”. I actually went on a massive deep dive; there’s one particular website that I really enjoyed. I also was doing research about Hungarian folk and Hungarian dances, because I wanted to include that somehow. That seemed to work with the “magic” concept.
Each movement of ‘Thrice-shelled trickster with a threadbare gown’ uses a different kind of notation — can you tell me a bit about what forms of notation you used and how they fit together with the concept?
There was stuff on a website I found, with an excerpt from an essay called Everything Is Full of Gods — about how people thought [that] magic would open up stuff about the universe — [and] I’d come across these Victorian love letters. The Victorian love letters are origami — they are origami letters that open up — and I’d always wanted to make one. That’s how the origami [scores] came into view. I want[ed] to make the scores so that they open up throughout the piece: the Victorian love letters look very different when they’re in each stage of being opened up. There’s three stages of taking this origami apart, and I wanted to write a three-movement piece.
The second [movement] is text notation, and each score has four different phrases on it. I came up with 44 different phrases, which was quite intense; I wanted each performer to have different phrases. I did a few every day in summer. It was another way of bridging that gap between singers and instrumentalists — having them work together more than “here are the singers and here are the instrumentalists”. It bothers me, somewhat, that there’s such a disconnect sometimes between singers and instrumentalists. The ending also connects nicely to the circle dance — everyone gets involved in the singing.
My original concept of this piece was going to relate to bards telling stories in an inn, or a tavern: like, a cryptic storyteller talking about the ingredients to a potion. All the text is stuff I came up with. I like writing cryptic text that doesn’t necessarily make sense. Whenever I talk to my friends, they say that everything I write feels “cult-esque”… I think that definitely came across in this piece. It doesn’t matter what I’m writing — every piece this year has had some element of that.
I know artists such as Carla Ng see themselves more as “fixers”, or directors, rather than composers in these scenarios. Is that something you relate to when writing work in this way, or do you still see yourself as a “composer”?
I still very much see myself as the composer of the piece. But I think I do see myself more as a director for a lot of my work — especially when I’m able to be in the rehearsals and work closely with the performers. Especially when it involves so much movement. Sometimes it really depends on where I’m prescriptive and where I’m not. For ‘Thrice-shelled trickster with a threadbare gown’, I wrote down stage layouts for each bit, for where they should stand — who should open their score first. But there was still a bit of freedom within that.
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On the subject of graphic notation, your piece ‘pApRiKa BrEaTh literally uses paprika as notation — which is so much fun. -laughs- Can you tell me why you chose to use paprika in the scoring of the piece?
There is a bit of a theme in a lot of my work… I do feel very closely connected to my roots. I speak Hungarian with my parents, and we go back a lot to visit family. I think I involve that somewhat in most of my music. For this piece, I thought about how I find it quite funny the degree to which some people who are Hungarian use paprika in their cooking (I do this as well) — almost in a “cult” sense, an obsessed point. I use so much of it and I go through it quite quickly. -laughs- I wanted to create that kind of effect in the piece.
The piece is very, very block-form. (I’ve also recently been getting back into that). The way in which I structure my pieces is inspired by the way Ben Nobuto structure[s] his pieces — I really like the way he does that, I find it quite fun. But my blocks are often really short, to a ridiculous amount. Each section of the piece was categorised: either cooking-inspired sounds, or paprika graphic notation, or Hungarian folk songs etc. Different kinds of sections [that] were all interspersed. Putting the paprika on the score was the most extreme part of the piece, in a way. To show that point of obsession on the score.
I’m interested in the effect that the paprika on the score had on the performance — how did the performers react to it? Was your intention to capture, or channel, that obsession?
In some ways, both. Whenever I write a graphic score, the way I think about it is really “now I’ve done this, and now it’s up to the performers”. They can ask me about it if they want, but it’s completely out of my hands. For example, the cellist shouting was [their] decision, but the stuff the cellist was shouting was words and phrases that I’d spelled out in the score using paprika — especially at the end of the piece, where it would get more intense. “Feel the paprika, taste the paprika, be one with the paprika”… I think I used my finger to fingerpaint that out onto the score, using the paprika and PVA glue. -laughs-
It feels like you’re injecting a lot of fun into the process. Finding that process of ridiculousness in your own practice, and allowing that to osmose into the performance as well…
In some ways, I think being a composer in itself is a bit ridiculous. Like, writing music being a thing you do — in some cases, as part of a living. So why not include that in the music itself?
Looking at your work, I feel a real kind of whimsiness, play, and camp, in your work — do those themes impact your practice as a composer?
I don’t think I’m necessarily doing it deliberately. It’s just how the work ends up turning out when I enjoy making something. I think a lot of [my work] is concept-based. All sorts of people write in all sorts of different ways — and I don’t tend to work in a way that’s mathematical, in notation. I don’t use particularly tricky rhythms. My music tends to be quite fast to learn — which isn’t necessarily a positive or a negative — but I think that feeds into that element of play, in some ways.
I guess I ask from the perspective of your work ‘Mansplaining the devil is no easy feat’ — which explores some quite serious and heavy topics, while still involving an element of play…
So far, I’ve written two orchestral pieces — that was the first one I’d written. In some ways, that piece sticks out from my work, but in some ways doesn’t. It’s about processing. I was feeling angry when I was writing at that point — and I still feel angry at the way things have often been handled questionably concerning the #metoo movement, and all the stuff I see online. I feel angry about how often I’ve found there’s such a focus on the abusers, people who do the wrong thing, and how harmful certain tabloids can be to the victims, and not so much on what there should be a focus on: healing. I wanted to write a piece to do with that, but didn’t want it to be too “obvious”.
Each movement represents a stage in the healing process: the first one is called ‘The Unknowing’, the second is ‘The Unraveling’: then the undoing, unscrewing, and the fifth title is left as blank. ‘The Unknowing’ is what the title says — not being aware of the situation you’ve found yourself in — and then the second, is the realisation, the third is shame, the fourth is anger and the fifth is cathartic yet uneasy acceptance.
It may seem strange, but I don’t like a lot of my work to be so “on the nose”. I like people to sometimes read into stuff, or get an idea, a vibe, of what’s going on; and I’m more than happy to talk to people after it’s been done — I do tend to stick around after concerts — but a lot of the time in my programme notes, I don’t like giving away a lot. In the sense of keeping it cryptic, that’s maybe why it’s so playful. Maybe that’s why music tends to be playful — because I don’t give things away obviously.
This immediately makes me think of Michael Wolters’ article on “Queering Music” that he wrote for The Sampler back in 2021. This idea of queerness being embedded in the structure or foundations of a work. Is that something that resonates with you?
I resonate with that a lot. I don’t feel like my music is about a “queerness”, but throughout all the work I do, throughout the way it’s playful, it’s intrinsically there. For ‘Mansplaining the devil is no easy feat’, the first movement is quite weird in some ways in comparison of the rest of it: it’s very jazz-influenced, to a point where I’d say there’s an element of queerness in that. The text I wrote for it is weird and oddly suggestive, as well.
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Alongside composition, you also perform in MASSIVE NUN — a group exploring electronics, improvisation, and performance art, spearheaded by composer Rosemary Shapes Tickle. Can you tell me a bit about your involvement in the group, and how you started collaborating with Rosemary?
It was formed because Rosie was like “oh, let’s go on a residency, this will be so fun” — and it’s all with people who are somewhat interested in electronics. At first, there wasn’t really much performance art involved. We went on this residency and experimented for a week with making music together; we stayed in a big house in Llandudno, which was nice. After that, we applied to do a lab week at RNCM: you get to take over a space and work with mentors, and then you do a performance. In that week, we spent our time in Studio 8 as well — working in that space. We’d all brought ideas, and we worked with a theme: one’s bedroom. What you do in your bedroom — playing the guitar, putting on makeup. It turned quite performance-art throughout that week.
It’s very much co-run — the overall leader of a lot of it is Rosie, but we all work together to come up with different projects. We are a band; we’re not a “classical music ensemble” or anything like that. We’re working on doing some more residencies, and building up smaller performances — creating specific shows for specific venues. That’s the plan at the moment. We’re gonna be working more over the summer towards this, especially now as more of the group have graduated.
And you’re also the director and curator of new music festival CURIO, which seems to be starting to make some waves in Manchester at the moment…
The whole idea for CURIO actually stems from MASSIVE NUN. I was influenced by how MASSIVE NUN in itself is a multi-genre band. I wanted to make a festival that reflects that. So every year, in the festival, I plan for MASSIVE NUN to have a set, and everything else will be different.
It’s an eclectic mix of multi-genre new gig music, essentially. I curate the festival, and programme different groups — they’re all groups that I find, some who I’ve not heard live, some I have heard live and I like. The whole concept is inspired by magpies: they collect lots of different things, and because the festival is so eclectic, I’ve been collecting a lot of the different acts that would be involved. It’s very fast-paced — half an hour slots — but still long enough to get inside the world of each group. It’s a range of different acts from different stages in their musical experience; in February there were people like Cee Haines [CHAINES] — who is obviously very experienced — and it also had students involved, as well. That contrast created a nice community.
Yesterday, I was awarded the Creative Innovators Fund from RNCM — that’s towards CURIO, which is nice! That’s a real step towards building it up to be an annual thing every year; that’s the plan.
Can you tell me about what your first edition was like in February?
The first edition was really, really fun. Stressful at points, I can’t lie — especially because I decided to have two groups I was involved with be part of the festival… -laughs- and I didn’t secure any funding, so it was out of pocket. I did it at Aatma, who were very affordable. It was the classic situation of one person doing the sound and the lighting; they were really lovely. Quite a few people ended up coming, which was really nice!
The last day in particular was quite packed. I didn’t think of it in terms of headliners… But it ended up with a Japanese city-pop jazz fusion band called Fushigi, and that brought a big audience. It was a nice way to round off the festival, because it was something fun and upbeat — which is what I’m hoping to do next year, as well.
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Learn more about Kámea and their practice:
- https://kamn034.wixsite.com/kamea-nemeth/
- https://www.youtube.com/@kameanemeth
- https://www.instagram.com/kamea.nemeth/
- https://www.linkedin.com/in/k%C3%A1mea-n%C3%A9meth-94b49b249
References/Links:
- ‘RNCM unveils high tech Studio 8’ (2021), Royal Northern College of Music
- Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865)
- Jules Evans, ‘Renaissance magic and superheroes’ (2020), Medium
- Michael Wolters, ‘Queering Music’ (2021), The Sampler (captured from WayBack Machine, archive.org)
