NYC Young Composers 7

As this year’s Composers, the brief we were given for our pieces was open to pretty much anything: we could pick any text, on any theme. The only limitations we were given were for writing up to 8 parts, and to meet the deadline. With so much choice, you have to start making decisions to narrow down the infinitely wide field of possibility – otherwise you end up wallowing in thoughts of ‘what could be’ indefinitely.

I find instinct fascinating: knowing something, irrevocably, without knowing how you know it. For me, learning to trust my instinct has been a big part of my personal and professional development over the last few years, and whenever I have free rein over a text to set I always pass that free rein over to instinct. Sometimes this means spending days looking until something feels right: poring over poetry books, asking my Mum for recommendations and despairing over my own lack of talent for writing poetry. However, when something does hit the spot, the satisfaction is all the more for having waited, and for not having settled on something else in the meantime.

With this in mind, discovering two options that had caught my attention so quickly felt like an early win. The difficulty was in deciding which text to set. First, I ignored my dilemma for several days, allowing my subconscious to work out pros and cons without any help from my prone-to-overthinking brain. Then I went on a composing walk: my answer to composer’s block. I took both texts with me, written out by hand and tucked safely into my pocket, alongside a trusty pencil. When I reached the fields near my home I withdrew both texts and read them aloud (to the bemusement of the local sheep). With the movement of walking taking away my tendency to overthink, I allowed ideas to rise up from my subconscious, unrushed, to take root in my acknowledged and conscious thoughts. Fortunately, it quickly became clear which text I would set. With one, any ideas suddenly seemed forced; but with the other, I was soon scribbling all over the paper - a rising phrase there, a rhythmic explosion here, a golden sense of elevating and heart-bursting joy there.

Esther Bersweden, December 2025

I started working on the first piece during the spring residentials in April. It was the first time I heard any National Youth Choir singing and honestly, just being able to observe the young choirs for a week was a great learning opportunity for me. The atmosphere and the weather were so lovely and the fun energy of the courses was a huge inspiration to the piece that I ended up writing.

Then we had our first draughts workshopped by a small group in the beginning of May, conducted of course by Nick Chalmers and it was really, really helpful to hear their feedback in that session alongside 1 to 1 mentoring with Joe Marsh over those few weeks. 

Finally we got to hear and record the full pieces in the middle of the summer by the 18 to 25 choir, which by the way, has over 100 singers and that was absolutely mind blowing to hear such a big group sing your own piece. They had an incredibly packed schedule over that week and they still did a fantastic job with the pieces and honestly, I cannot wait to share that one with you.

Now, the second piece, I started writing during the composer's residence in Aldeburgh where we spent a week thanks to Britten Pears Arts. It was a great privilege to be able to spend dedicated time with three other composers in a beautiful and peaceful environment where Benjamin Britten himself has composed many of his great works.

During the daytime, we each spent separate time working on our pieces - either writing music or text and in the evenings, we spend a lot of time swimming in the sea, eating from the local chippy, taking walks, singing together, eating roadside blackberries and even flying a kite.

Those pieces were then recorded by the Fellowship Ensemble at the beginning of October in the School Farm Studios and yes, these studios are literally on the farm. It was a long successful day and everyone did a brilliant job - from the studio team, Ben Parry, who was producing, conductor Emily Dickens, and of course, our wonderful Fellows.

I had the absolute best time during this year, getting to know the National Youth Choir, my fellow composers and writing pieces for all of them - I cannot wait to share the full album with you!

Kornélia Nemcová, December 2025

There is something to be said about the power of play, about the importance we ascribe to the mundane, the fun, the silly. We all took turns with the kite on the beach, battling to get it to stay up and float, often watching it career into the stones below, twisting and spiralling.

As adults we are often expected not to engage in play. But music, and creativity, is so much about play and freedom: you have to be prepared to make things up, to throw unknowns into a space and to trust that other people will catch them. By chance, lots of the music that will be on this disc has themes of childhood: we’ve all connected to it in some way – both the lightness and some darkness too.

We played make believe games in the evening, passing around a magical imaginary box full of strange objects: a tortoise, a ball, a butter knife, a teapot... It was interesting that within this game, we often returned to rules, finding ‘instructions’ within the box and passing them to one another “oh these are in French, you’d better translate” – it’s hard to inhabit a world that’s completely free. Thus something is always eroded by the walls of adulthood.

Fraz Ireland, December 2025

Recording Permission to Play and Obeah as part of the Young Composers 7 album was a deeply affirming experience, not only because of the works themselves, but because of the people who brought them to life. Both pieces sit at the core of my practice, which is concerned with agency, embodiment, and music as a shared act rather than a fixed object.

Permission to Play grew out of my interest in early childhood play and how curiosity, repetition, and invention shape early learning. Working with the Fellowship Ensemble in the recording studio felt like a natural extension of this idea. Over long recording days, with illness and fatigue setting in, I witnessed the performers continually rediscover energy and focus within the music. Although both of my pieces were recorded at the very end of demanding sessions, there was a strong sense of commitment and generosity. Each performer retained their individuality while contributing to a collective sound world that felt alive and responsive.

Obeah engages more directly with questions of history, power, and cultural memory. Recording this work with over one hundred voices aged 18-25 was profoundly moving. To hear a large ensemble engage so attentively with the material, navigating with intensity, fragility, and care, reinforced my belief in music as a space for learning and collective responsibility. I am excited to share these pieces with a wider audience through beautiful recordings that document these live, embodied practices.

Across both recordings, what stayed with me most was not perfection, but presence. These sessions affirmed music as a living process shaped by bodies, breath, endurance, and the willingness of performers to invest themselves fully in the act of making sound together.

Ryan Morgan, December 2025