The Path of a Woman as a Composer. Interview with Gabriela Ortiz

Ximena Gómez: Gaby, we want to share with our readers your development as a woman in music.
Gabriela Ortiz: First of all, I have to thank UNAM because I would not have been able to have this career without its support. I studied at the Faculty of Music (FaM), and I was also at the National Conservatory of Music, in a workshop with Mario Lavista, who was a very important professor. However, I owe UNAM for the scholarships available for students when I was one of them. When I finished my bachelor’s degree, there were no graduate studies in music, you had to leave Mexico if you wanted to do a postgrad. I first obtained the British Council scholarship and then UNAM assigned me another scholarship. This allowed me to do my PhD in England. It was something really important to me: I started to meet people, to get involved in other environments, doors began to open. That’s something I owe UNAM.

I also owe UNAM for giving me the opportunity to rejoin the FaM when I returned. This gave me economic stability, for which I am very grateful. It’s a very noble institution; is where I work as a full-time professor. When I see my students, I get excited by their professional development; it tells me that my labor in Mexico is still important even though I’m doing many things on an international level.

Carlos Maza: How important is it for a professional musician to acquire international experiences and develop outside their country?
GO: In my time, it was essential because there were no graduate programs; one had to leave. Although musicians in Mexico are getting always better, both as performers and composers, it’s still a young country that can’t be compared with Europe, whose tradition is much older. The competition is greater there, but there are also more opportunities. In Germany, for example, there is an orchestra in almost every little town and there’s a strong musical tradition. That’s why it’s important to go out and have new experiences. Nowadays, we have immediate access to information thanks to the Internet, but it wasn’t like this when I was a student. If you wanted to listen to works by contemporary composers, you had to go to a live concert or read the scores. That’s something you achieved by going out or visiting libraries and shops that sold musical scores. This was much more difficult in Mexico (it’s not so much of a problem now).

And yes, listening to live music changes you. Listening to a great version on a video is not the same as being in a concert hall watching the performer. When you’re out of your country, you appreciate what you have. This meant to me that I had to find a personal aesthetic language that wouldn’t lose its roots, without necessarily referring to 30’s or 40’s nationalist style. I just couldn’t hide that I’m Mexican, that I was born in Mexico City.

CM: This is evident in your work: it is situated in the context of academic music, but in permanent dialogue with popular traditions including those of original people’s.
GO: And not only from Mexico; I also drew influences from Indian music, jazz, and Latin American music, including cumbia. When something sparks my interest, I take it, I absorb it, and I transform it into something very personal. Sometimes, it has to do with political or aesthetic matters; it depends on the project. This is interesting, too. There is a tendency to categorize my music in a niche that is not always the right one: the Mexican niche; “it sounds Mexican, exotic,” people say. But if I incorporate a wild cumbia into my music, it’s because it has to do with the topic I’m dealing with, like in the opera Luciérnaga (Firefly, 2018). It’s not because I want to sound as Latin American, but because it has to do with what is happening in northern Mexico, with drug trafficking and social conflicts.

Another important editorial issue is that we do not publish practically any content if it does not have multimedia elements. We think it’s important that almost everything—90 percent of the content we generate—has audio and video elements.

CM: There’s a moment in this opera that is reminiscent of “Contrabando y traición” (“Contraband and Betrayal”), the famous song about Camelia la Texana. Towards the end, a woman sings the chorus of that corrido as if it were a lament.
GO: Yes, it’s the opera’s finale, where there’s kind of a reference: everything comes from this myth, from this corrido. That project is interesting because it’s complex and controversial. But it has well-defined aesthetic perspectives. I’m about to premiere with the Los Angeles Philharmonic a ballet full of very strong political content dealing with a feminist topic. I have been working on it with Cristina Rivera Garza, author of Liliana’s Invincible Summer (Random House, 2021). I asked Juan Villoro to recommend me an expert on feminism, and he said: “Work with Cristina Rivera Garza.” The project includes, for example, a samba because, at one point, a protest in the streets is portrayed and something similar to a samba, to a batucada that comes from far away, can be heard. I’m not using it because I want to sound Brazilian or Latin American; that would be a pretty shallow first reading. If you delve into what I’m trying to say with this ballet, you can make out why there is suddenly a samba; I like to clarify this position whenever I can in interviews.

Back to the international subject, I think this is how a piece becomes national and universal at the same time. This helped me get through the five years I stayed in Europe: I realized that I could absorb everything, but also that I didn’t want to be identified with the European schools and avantgarde movements developing in Germany. I didn’t identify with all that

CM: What was going on in Europe’s music when you arrived there?
GO: There were many schools. If you went to France, you would listen to the “Spectral Music” of the French school, for example. You could find very specific aesthetics. If you went to Italy, there was a strong influence from Franco Donatoni. In Germany, there were centers like Darmstadt Academy of Music, which had significant avant-garde movements. But I didn’t identify with those languages; this helped me find my own place. In any case, I can identify more with the United States because their situation is closer to Mexico’s situation. In Europe, they have all this baggage derived from their schools, which weights over them; it’s an age-old tradition that they can’t ignore, but, at the same time, it’s also a burden. During the 19^th century, our composers imitated Italian composers. We speak of a stronger Mexican language in the 20^th century, and I identify myself more with the United States because of that; because, if you analyze what kind of influences exist in the United States, you find influences from immigrants: it is an entirely multicultural music; what they’re doing is experimental, and that attracts my attention much more because I identify myself with that greater openness.

Europe, of course, has opened a lot in time, but in the 90s, when I was there, they were much more closed-minded. I’m starting a career in Europe now, but I actually started my international career in the United States, which is still the country where I work the most.

CM: You have been commissioned to compose for at least ten important orchestras from the United States.
GO: Mainly by the Los Angeles Philharmonic; I have been working a lot with conductor Gustavo Dudamel and the environment there has given me a boost. The very same orchestra, as an institution, has encouraged me a lot, which has resulted in very positive consequences for me.

CM: You are on sabbatical leave at the moment (October 2023). Are you working on a particular project?
GO: I have several projects; I’ve been traveling a lot. I took up a residency program at the Bellagio Center in Italy, and I’m in a bit overwhelmed because I’m going to Bradley University at Boston, and other institutions that have big resources. A fantastic concert hall is being opened at Brown University, and, for its inauguration, there will be a concert in which personalities like Itzhak Perlman, as a soloist, are going to play one of my works. I say this with great pride: a work of mine is programmed to inaugurate the new hall. Then, I’m going to Michigan, returning to Mexico City for five days, and back to Los Angeles.

SOUND IS LIFE. MUSIC HAS THE POWER TO HEAL, TO TRANSFORM

CM: Your work is a politically committed proposal. You talked about that when you were appointed as a member of El Colegio Nacional (The National College). This commitment educates audiences through the topics you address, like the Student Movement of 1968 depicted in Luciérnaga. You have also explored the Wixárika culture in an outstanding piece for chamber orchestra, Kauyumari, and the African heritage in Mexico with Yanga. Should art be a vehicle for these ideas of political commitment, claim, and awareness?
GO: It isn’t necessarily so; if you take a look, for example, at the work of Stravinsky, there is no political commitment, but it is wonderful. Not all of my catalog is politically charged, but many of my works are indeed, because I need to do it that way. From my perspective and from where I stand, I know that changing things won’t be so easy. For example, I’m working on a piece evokes reflection on climate change, but it’s obvious I won’t solve that problem by myself. It’s a very complex global topic; we’re all involved, but it’s also a topic that affects me, that concerns me.

We’ve just premiered a documentary about my piece Fractalis, directed by Adrián Pallares and recorded and produced at UNAM (2023). It’s an important testimony because there are few concert music activities in Mexico like this one. As for the reflection on climate change that inspired this concerto for piano and orchestra, we can raise awareness and promote change by doing our part and contributing in whatever little way we can. Besides, reflecting on these problems also unleashes musical ideas. I have a piece called Arrecife (Reef, 2020, for string orchestra) that also deals with the topic of climate change. It was inspired by an article I read about experiments carried out in coral reefs, which are very fragile ecosystems that become completely silent when polluted. Researchers introduced underwater loudspeakers in order to play the sound of a healthy reef, and the animals started coming back; this damaged ecosystem began to heal with sound. This is an extremely powerful metaphor because, for me, sound is life. Music has the power to heal, to transform. That’s the power of art, not only of music but of art itself.

During this sabbatical, I’m working on a cello concerto for an extraordinary cellist, Alia Weilerstein, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. It will be presented both in Los Angeles and the Carnegie Hall, in the United States. For this piece, I began to research and found a documentary about the cenotes of the Yucatán Peninsula. It has to be said: they could end in tragedy because of the Mayan Train, which puts at risk the karstic system, particularly in the fifth section. This documentary shows, in the first place, the beauty of these systems, the subterranean rivers that supply Quintana Roo, Yucatán, and all of the peninsula with water, which constitute one of the largest underground river systems in the world. I expanded my research with historical and archaeological information about the importance of cenotes to the Mayan culture.

I had already written a piece, Baalkah, for which I received the guidance of Federico Navarrete, a historian of UNAM’s Faculty of Philosophy and Literature. This piece was commissioned for the Kronos Quartet and soprano Dawn Upshaw; it’s sung in Mayan. The texts are based on the Chilam Balam de Chumayel, an ancient book addressing Mayan cosmogony; how the world is conceived as being divided by four cardinal directions with a ceiba tree at its center representing humanity. While researching, I found out that the pyramid known as The Castle of Chichén Itzá is built over a cenote and surrounded by four other cenotes: it wasn’t an arbitrary decision for the Maya to have chosen that place. This is fascinating to me, and I’m returning to that world by researching for this piece that will probably be called Xibalbá—the name of the Mayan underworld—because, in order to go to the underworld, the Maya had to pass through a cenote. These things trigger my music; they are not only a source of inspiration but also help me think of what I can do on a musical level. And, incidentally, they touch a topic that involves us all: water. This is one of the projects for my sabbatical.

XG: Gaby, let’s talk about the topic of women in music, what is their current state? As a woman composer, have you come up against a world dominated by men?
GO: I never thought of it that way. When I began composing, I always thought that what had to speak for me was the quality of my work; I didn’t think about gender issues. But they exist… It isn’t possible, for example, that it took the Metropolitan Opera House decades to schedule the work of a woman composer like Kaija Saariaho. I can’t ignore the fact that this has happened throughout history. But in my own experience, it’s not only the fact of being a woman but also being a Latin American that has resulted in limits for me, particularly in Europe. Europe has established the rules of what must and mustn’t be done, especially concerning music. Europe has decided what the future of contemporary music is. So, I was categorized as an exotic composer or was scheduled for Latin-party-like concerts. It cannot be like that! To be seen as a composer of dances and amusements when I’m developing an opera that has nothing to do with that kind of thing. I had to work hard to break those stereotypes, so that Latin American music would be taken seriously.

I WOULD LOVE THAT THE TIME WOULD COME WHEN WE WOULD NOT HAVE TO TALK ABOUT GENDER EQUITY, BECAUSE IT WOULD BE ALREADY A PART OF OUR REALITY

Another example can be found in common reference books about 20^th century music theory and the history of music, from publishing houses like Cambridge and Oxford University Presses. On one occasion, I was looking for information about Latin America in a book about contemporary music after 1945, and do you know what I found? “Conga, a Latin American instrument.” That’s completely reductionist, a whole continent reduced to a conga. That’s how you realize there has been much ignorance in Europe. During our education, we do have to learn the whole tradition and know who Bach was—which is wonderful, right? We can’t ignore Bach or Beethoven; we can’t ignore all that precedes us; it’s a tradition that also belongs to us, but they can’t be bothered trying to find out who Alberto Ginastera, Carlos Chávez, Silvestre Revueltas, or Heitor Villa-Lobos are. That has annoyed me more than the fact of being a woman, because it has been challenging to break that barrier and pave my way on an international level.

But the topic of gender equity and diversity is essential. This is changing, particularly in the United States. Any musical institution that doesn’t contemplate gender equity on the agenda is simply lost; these topics are mandatory—diversity and gender equity—in their programs. And I’m currently seeing a greater number of women conductors on stage; the number of women composers played by orchestras has increased a lot. Why? Because society, women composers, and even women performers have strongly promoted greater receptiveness. The same happens with diversity. In the United States, people talk about composers of color. Initially, this bothered me because, as a result, I was considered a composer of color. Now, it can’t be helped; I’ve got used to it. It’s a significant opportunity that we have to seize, and then we have to do our best: if these doors are opening up, let’s take advantage of that and do our best. I seize the opportunity. At the end of the day, your work and artistic quality will speak for you. What I would love is that the time would come when we would not have to talk about gender equity, because it would be already a part of our reality. That’s the goal: that it becomes normal and that we can focus more on artistic quality.

I THINK LIVING LIFE, DISCIPLINE, AND AN ABSOLUTE LOVE FOR MUSIC ARE ESSENTIAL

CM: You are also a teacher, not only at UNAM but also at Indiana University. What would you tell your students—of any gender—if they wanted to develop in the music world?
GO: I taught for a year at Indiana University, and it was very interesting, but I’m not attending there anymore. I’m currently in charge of an international composition workshop as part of an exciting initiative, the OAcademy Music Conservatory, which is held once a year (https://oacademy.live/composing/; see box). But my labor as a teacher is at UNAM.

First of all, I think that new generations of composers have to feel passionate about music because, if that’s not the case, it won’t be easy. This happens with any career: life isn’t easy, but if you hold on to it with enthusiasm, you can make it. So, there has to be, first of all, a true passion for music. You have to be sure that this is your world. I always say that music chose me; I didn’t choose it. All of a sudden, I realized that I was making music all day long. This is what I have to do in life because it’s what I like. The other part is absolute discipline, hard work. Of course there are challenges. I have racked my brains: sometimes I’m stuck, sometimes I want to cry, sometimes I want to break the computer or the piano… I may get into a creative crisis, but I have been constant. One has to be constant. It’s like a high-performance sport; you’re there all the time.

And you have to be very sensitive to life. Anyone who wants to become a composer, a creator, has to live with a lot of intensity; if you don’t, what are you going to talk about? All of this is going to nourish you as a creator. So, I think living life, discipline, and an absolute love for music are essential.

CM: Regarding the multidisciplinary character of the operatic creation work you have developed, in which you have to work with people with different professions, coming from many disciplines, do you think that is the future of music.
GO: The work of a composer happens in isolation; you work with yourself. I spend hours and days working, and all of a sudden, it’s the weekend already, and I’m getting crazy, I want to see people. When I’m focused on a topic, I lock myself up, but after a while, I end up asking for help! I need to be in touch with the world and what happens outside the studio. Interdisciplinary work is reassuring because it allows you to establish a dialogue with other artists. It’s a very rewarding process.

When you create an opera, you have to work with a series of people who will influence the final result. I find this process of feedback with other artists very rewarding and amusing. But it can also be distressing and end in a tragedy. It’s a doubleedged sword; I have lived things of all kinds.

CM: Are you currently working on an opera?
GO: I have two operas in the oven. One of them was scheduled with the Santa Fe Opera but, unfortunately, was canceled due to a lack of resources. It made me very sad because the scenic team was extraordinary, and I wanted to see a different staging. It’s very expensive to make an opera. And it’s one of the most challenging tasks for a composer. It’s complicated at this moment: there are very few resources to make an opera, not only in Mexico. So, for the time being, everything is on hold, but I do have two opera projects, one that I have already produced as a kind of choral work for the opera Yanga.

I really wanted to talk about this character who is little known in Mexico. The subject of Afro-Mexican heritage is more present now, but it was absent before. I’ve been revolving around this topic for many years. I find Yanga’s story very interesting, although we know little about him: he was a prince in Gabon and was brought to Mexico, to Veracruz, as a slave. He escaped and formed these palenques (villages founded by escaped slaves) with other maroon slaves and began to survive by robbing Spaniards traveling on the Royal Road to Mexico City. What is surprising is that Yanga was able to negotiate with the Spanish crown and got their community declared as the first free town in the entire American continent (of course, a limited and negotiated freedom): San Lorenzo de los Negros (today called Yanga), very close to Xalapa, Veracruz. The story caught my attention because it completes the three roots that, in my opinion, define folk music in our country: the indigenous, the European, and the African. This third root is present in a lot of things. In Veracruz, Guerrero, and Oaxaca, you can see it very clearly, especially in the music of Veracruz, in their instruments.

Besides, it’s something very important to me, because it also defines a lot about who I am: daughter of the founders of Los Folkloristas band, something that marked my childhood and is impossible to ignore. I grew up listening to the music they played, going to Tlacotalpan with Salvador El Negro Ojeda, and seeing Inti Illimani and Víctor Jara—who went to my house someday. The first time I saw my father cry (I had never seen him cry before) was when they called him on the phone to tell him that Victor had been killed and that his hands had been cut off. I remember this scene perfectly: I was seven years old, and it was a huge impact for me. I remember the political discussions at home, Los Folkloristas’ rehearsals, the tours (the first time I went to Europe was a Los Folkloristas’ tour). I studied in an active school; that was also important; it was a really openminded realm. All of this left a mark on me and is part of who I am. Of course, all these things come out in what I do.

---