The Making of KRONOS
/By Brandon Webster, 2021-2022 Hodder Fellow
I’m working on a new musical theater piece, KRONOS, and the process of building the sonic world of this theater piece has challenged me to interrogate how I engage in story-craft.
KRONOS began as an idea without music or words. I only knew that I wanted KRONOS to be an Afro-futurist/Afro-surrealist two-person musical theater piece. As I began developing sketches for KRONOS, I quickly learned, given the piece would be both Afro-futurist and Afro-surrealist, that if I were to accomplish anything remotely coherent, I’d have to do more planning of the story than I’m used to.
My basic idea for the story was as follows:
It’s 2040, and most of the world now lives in coastal cities, the only places cool enough to be inhabited by humans since we entered Phase 3 of the climate crisis. Brooklyn remains one of the most populated cities, though it now exists under 12 feet of water, causing to to resemble an American Venice. In this world, unmarried citizens are assigned roommates by the super app KRONOS, and each household is given a compatibility score. If the score ever falls below the acceptable threshold, then the members of the household are permanently reassigned to ensure more peaceful compatibility.
As the play begins, KRONOS announces a breakthrough update that connects current users to people they’ve known in a past life. Lo and Roland, the protagonists of KRONOS, are matched on this basis. Before they can begin to wonder what the relationship between their past selves had been like, their worst fears and insecurities begin to bubble to the surface. As dreams and imaginings turn to nightmares and unavoidable truths, the very fabric of their friendship begins to fall apart, and with it, their household score. “Over a tiny misunderstanding, people will show you exactly how they feel about you.”
For the orchestral score, I wanted the sonic world to feel authentic to two Brooklyn-based Black men of their time. I started by asking questions. What artists are alive now that would influence the music of Brooklyn in 2040? What feels unique about their instrumentation? What colors (musical and literal) are distinctive in this world? And of these characters? Are there acoustic instruments? Electronic instruments? Hybrid instruments? Should this be written with a band instead of an orchestra? Et cetera. So much of this part of the process is trying things and seeing what works.
I usually begin telling stories at the piano. One of the first things drilled into you when you’re first learning to be a composer is that your primary form of artistic expression needs to be musical. For as long as I can remember, though, I’ve always had to find alternate containers for my musical ideas. Growing up, pianos were a rare luxury (and, really, still are), and it was a miserable experience being a kid bombarded with creative ideas while trying to learn. My ideas would often arrive fully formed in a language that I could understand, but not properly use. However, I figured out that I could draw, write a poem, or dance, and I would often do these things while listening to music. I tasked myself with keeping that conversation between art forms going for as long as possible. As a result, over the years, I’ve challenged myself to hold space for storytelling to occur in as many ways as necessary, and I drew on these strategies as I was developing KRONOS.
The sketch below started as a meditation on my main character, Cosmo, during a dedicated free write session. During my free write time (or free play, as I sometimes refer to it), I try to keep pen to paper (or iPad) for as long as possible, regardless of the outcome. This particular sketch was an “aha!” moment for me and really informed the sonic texture of the KRONOS world. It made sense as soon as I drew it.
These “outpourings” have happened before. They’re a deluge of creative ideas in whatever form is most accessible at the moment. I then usually quality check my work. As a teenager, after these “outpourings,” I’d often wait about an hour so I could go back to my work with fresh eyes or ears. Now, as a rule, if I can’t wake up early, revisit my work, and be in the exact same headspace from the day before, then I decide the work isn’t clear, distinctive, or fully formed enough to continue using. To my delight, after I produced this sketch, I was able to confidently re-enter the work and pick up where I left off.
The sketch also provoked a couple of productive questions. I wondered, what if all the music in KRONOS is just Cosmo’s music? In every piece of music theater, I try to figure out a reason for why people are singing in order to protect against the work feeling corny or inauthentic. If this entire story were told in a world where all forms of expression are used to encapsulate Cosmo’s experience, but Lo, the other character in the play, can only accompany or play off of Cosmo’s music, then would the music as the Afro-surrealist element. It also sets up the idea that the thing to get the audience to care most deeply about and root for in this play is the connection between Cosmo and Lo. With that idea in mind, I was able to move forward with composition.
And then there was music:
