An Unusually Long Bio
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Personal
            I was born in Maracaibo, Venezuela, in 1957. My mother, Alice Lorraine Ross (née Skeith), was born in 1922 and raised on a farm near New Dayton, Alberta, a relatively isolated community. She was the only girl amongst five siblings, and grew up under difficult circumstances during the depression. Her father, Thomas E. Skeith, had at various times been a lumber worker, general store operator, farmer, postmaster, and Justice of the Peace, as well as serving on the local school board. He also played piano and organ. Her mother, from St. Paul, Minnesota, was a graduate of the University of Minnesota. See box on the right for more information on the Skeiths.
            My mother graduated from the University of Alberta around 1945, after which she became a schoolteacher. Although she stopped teaching when she married in 1948, which I believe was fairly common back then, her background as an English teacher was frequently in evidence during my childhood, most notably on the numerous occasions when I, like, demonstrated faulty grammer or poor sentence construction. You know? But I also have many fond memories of my mother teaching me how to read before I began school (I remember the "Dick and Jane" storybooks), and of the regular help she gave me with my school work before we moved to Peru. I suspect that much of the way I teach comes from her.
            She was an avid reader; it seemed to be her favourite pastime. When I came home from school I could usually find her in the smoke-filled living room (she was a chain-smoker), with a Dixie cup of gin nearby, reading so intently that it seemed she often wouldn't realize that most of another day had gone by. She loved playing piano when we had one, but we moved from Venezuela to Peru when I was nine, and after that we never had a piano again, which always struck me as rather sad, especially since it seemed to correspond with the beginnings of her fondness for those Dixie cups of gin, which she insisted were actually filled with water.
            Any musical talent I have seems to have come from her side of the family. Both my brother and I learned piano from her as children. My brother (Douglas, b. 1953, New Jersey) is a very successful lawyer living in Seattle, and while I don't believe he plays piano anymore, he tried to keep his skills up by taking piano lessons in his early years as a lawyer, and he still enjoys and appreciates music. He has two sons (Aaron, b. 1985, and Daniel, b. 1988), and I have three children: Julia (b. 1990), Andrew (b. 2001) and Alexander, (b. 2004).
            My father (b. 1920, Lethbridge, Alberta) never attended university, but he too read a lot, and seemed to retain everything he read (which I found rather intimidating!). After high school he worked at a variety of jobs, including apprenticing to be an undertaker, but he didn't have a strong drive towards any particular profession so when Canada became involved in World War II he took the opportunity to join the Canadian Air Force , and was trained as an radar mechanic and then stationed in London, England.
            It is my understanding that he experienced something of a crisis following the war, as he found himself in his late-twenties without a profession. He thus became an exceptionally highly-motivated accounting student (much of his training was through correspondence), and became a chartered accountant very quickly. He subsequently worked for Price Waterhouse in New Jersey (briefly), and Venezuela (16 years). Around 1966 we moved to Lima, Peru, and he became the president of the Peruvian telephone company (CPP) about a year later.
           I attended a British school in Lima (Markham College) that I disliked intensely, and three years later, when I was twelve (1969), I was sent to a boarding school in Canada (Bishop's College School), about 6,500 kilometers away. This too was not a particularly positive experience, but I disliked it less than my previous school, so things were looking up!
            A military coup brought down the elected government in Peru in 1968, to be replaced by a dictatorship under which the constitution was suspended. They "nationalized" (i.e., took over) companies with foreign ownership (including the one my father worked for) and I gather the climate became less and less hospitable for foreigners, so we left South America in 1970. I don't think I had any inkling at the time that I would never return, but I never have, unfortunately.
            We moved to New York City (1970), and then Fort Lee, New Jersey (1971), where I attended grades 10 and 11 of high school. I began taking guitar lessons when I was 14, and soon began to spend 3-6 hours a day playing guitar. In the summer before my final year of high school, when I was 16, I learned that we would be moving to Belgium. I was given the choice of joining my parents in the move and finishing high school in Brussels, or returning to the boarding school in Quebec that I had previously attended while living in Peru. I opted for the devil I knew (boarding school), passing up the opportunity to go to a school I might have actually enjoyed, based on reports I later heard about the international school in Brussels from people who had gone there.
            No move was ever a pleasant experience, but this one was particularly difficult because I'd developed close friendships in Fort Lee that helped me to occasionally ignore the fact that my mom was a chain-smoking, depressed alcoholic, and my dad and I seemed to have little in common. I did not enjoy boarding school and missed my friends a lot; I appeared to be perpetually down at the mouth, with a glazed, far-away look in the eyes in any school photographs taken of me that year. At least I think that's how I appeared; as far as I know, all personal items relating to my childhood were later thrown out by my stepmother (more information below).
            But who knows, perhaps going back to boarding school was the best thing for me at the time. My academic career had always been undistinguished, to put it mildly (I was consistently near the bottom of the class when I lived in Peru - did I already mention I was unhappy there?), and, since there was nothing better to do, and it occurred to me that if I didn't shape up I was unlikely to get into university, I actually worked very hard that year for the first time in my academic life, surprising myself with the results. And, although I missed my friends, I didn't miss living in the dysfunctional and chaotic conditions at home, so perhaps it was good to be separated from that.
            It transpired that I would never again live at home, since I began university in Toronto the year following my return to boarding school. However, I spent summers and other holidays in Brussels for the next few years, and I was an avid cyclist, so I got to know the city relatively well. It seemed like a great place, and not just because it was home to the extraordinarily small (and chronically incontinent) public statue known as the Mannequin Pisse, and many other even larger public statues. It seemed filled with wonderful restaurants. I learned that eating Belgian chocolates make you a better person, and ditto for gaufres, which bear a passing resemblance to Belgian waffles here in North America, except they are much, much better (I am salivating as I write this...) and you'd buy them from street vendors. My father became Comptroller of ITT Europe, and eventually retired to the Alicante region of Spain, where he died in 1992.
            My mother died suddenly and unexpectedly on October 27, 1978 (my brother's birthday) while visiting Paris with my dad. This was obviously hard to deal with, and it marked a turning point in my life. I was twenty-one, had finished university (B.A. in Humanities, 1977, Toronto) and had begun working as an information operator for Grey Coach Lines in Toronto. My dream, however, had long been to become a musician in spite of a very weak musical background (piano lessons from age 5-9, guitar lessons for a year when I was 14, and that was it). One of the results of my mother's death was that I took stock of my own life, and was unimpressed, to put it mildly. As corny as it sounds, during my mother's funeral service I made a vow to myself to work harder than I had ever worked before, for as many years as it took, to realize my dream of becoming a musician. I wasn't yet clear on what type of musician I wanted to be at the time - I played mostly pop/rock music, and I enjoyed jazz and other kinds of music as well, but I wanted to somehow be involved in some aspect of music making. However, becoming a classical musician of any kind, particularly a classical music composer, never crossed my mind at the time.

Musical Training
            Recognizing that my severe musical limitations (I could barely read music!) could possibly stand in the way of becoming a successful musician, I decided, on the advice of a friend, to enroll in a music rudiments class at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto. Although it was mind-numbingly boring, the class was an interesting experience because most of the other students seemed to be about ten years old (I was twenty-one), and the desks seemed too small for adults. Initially, I wasn't planning any studies beyond that, but one thing led to another, and I ended up spending the next eight years (!) studying at the RCM (theory, history, ear-training, piano, guitar, and composition), while working (mostly) as a sales clerk at The Bay. I also took jazz guitar for two years at the Eli Kassner school.
            Another significant turning point in my musical life occurred in 1980, when I began studying composition with Dr. Sam Dolin, one of the best teachers I ever had. I had decided to pursue an ARCT in composition, which required writing 12 three-hour exams, and, if successful, submitting a composition portfolio for approval. For the next four years I studied renaissance and baroque counterpoint, romantic harmony, twentieth-century techniques, history, and of course, composition, all (with the exception of the history courses, which, frankly, were pretty lame) at a more involved level than is required for a typical undergraduate music degree, and, for the first time in my life, I was consistently doing well in my studies. I got an ARCT in composition in 1985, and, although I went on to do Master's (1986) and Doctorate (1992) degrees at the University of Toronto, my conservatory diploma probably meant the most to me because it was an accomplishment I never even imagined when I began taking rudiments classes as an adult eight years previously.
            My composition teachers at U of T were Chan Ka Nin (1 year), John Beckwith (4 years), Harry Freedman (1 lesson), and Gustav Ciamaga (1 year). All were good teachers, but as might be imagined, I gained the most from John Beckwith both because of the length of my contact with him, and because his teaching approach was fairly similar to Sam Dolin's. The reason I had only one lesson with Harry Freedman was that I had been hired as a sabbatical replacement professor at McMaster University in the fall of 1990, the year he was assigned to be my advisor, and I ended up working feverishly (I actually had a cold that lasted virtually the entire academic year) to try to pass myself off as competent in the eyes of my students. Somehow, it seems to have worked (I think), and I survived the year, but I was unable to find time for composition lessons (although I kept composing when I could, and finished most of the first movement of my thesis as well as some chamber pieces that year).

Continuum
            But composition lessons can only take you so far, and possibly the most significant factor in my later development as a composer was my involvement in Continuum, the Toronto new music group. It afforded me the opportunity to rehearse and hear every piece that I wrote, from which I developed a much better sense as to what worked musically, and what was possible. After several years of active membership, I became Treasurer, and finally, President. Almost all members were composers, with the exception of Jennifer Waring (flutist and first President), and initially, the idea was simply to hire some musicians, rent the Music Gallery (a Toronto concert venue), and have a concert of our music away from an academic venue, which we did. No one died, so we decided to try it again the following year. Once again there were no casualties, so we became slightly more ambitious, and every two years we increased the number of concerts by one, until we reached four concerts in the 1991-92 season.
            An idea we tried one year that seemed to work out well was to have a different Artistic Director, or "Curator" for every concert; I believe we tried this the year we had four concerts. The reason for the suggestion was because I suspect composers are never too thrilled about someone else making artistic decisions for them, and, frankly, we were having trouble reaching consensus on programming decisions. Our 1991-92 season had four radically different concerts, representing four different artistic visions, but all were excellent. Even though there was a lot of work involved that wasn't always pleasant (publicity, becoming incorporated, figuring out how to get people to come to concerts, fundraising, writing grant applications, trying to get the CBC interested in recording our concerts, etc.), I think the experience was probably felt by all to be valuable. Many members from those early days have enjoyed successful compositional careers, including Alastair Boyd, Omar Daniel, Laryssa Kuzmenko, Sasha Rapoport, James Rolfe, Ron Smith, and others.

Teaching
            I became a teaching assistant in 1986, the year I began my doctorate studies at U of T. The course I was given to teach was first-year sight-singing, and I remember being so anxious the first day that I had to fight the impulse to flee and not look back just before entering the classroom. I ignored this impulse, the class went well, and I came to realize that I really enjoyed teaching. Over the next few years as a graduate student I also taught a number of music dictation sections, as well as both first and second year harmony. In addition, in 1987 I was hired by the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto, where I taught all levels of harmony, counterpoint, analysis, history, and composition. By the time I was hired as a sabbatical replacement for a year at McMaster University (1990-91), I had had a relatively wide variety of teaching experiences, so I was relatively confident that I could do a good job. Nevertheless, it was an exhausting and intense experience; with the exception of first-year materials, I had never taught any of the other courses in my assignment at the university level, so I spent practically all my waking hours preparing for classes, marking, teaching, or on the highway commuting between Toronto and Hamilton.
            I went back to teaching at the Royal Conservatory of Music (RCM) the following year (1991-92) - I can't remember if there was even a single university composition job advertised in Canada that year - and concentrated on finishing my doctoral thesis. While my resolve to become a composer was as strong as ever, I was very much aware that the odds against making a living as a composer were enormous, and, with a wife, an infant daughter, and a teaching income from the RCM that was substantially below the poverty line, I needed to consider alternative means of employment. There are various points in life when it a reality check may be a good idea, and, at the age of 35, it seemed increasingly obvious to me that a career as a composer wasn't in the cards. I considered many alternatives, including driving a cab and selling real estate, but I could not think of else I might enjoy doing. This presented a dilemma for which I could see no solution, so I just kept on going, hoping to catch a break some day.

1992-93; things change
            Many things changed in 1992-93. I was hired for a year by Memorial University, with the understanding that there would be a permanent, tenure-track position to which I could apply the following year. I called my father in Spain several times that summer to tell him the good news, but could only reach his answering machine, and my calls were never returned. It later turned out that he had died but his wife (he had remarried remarkably quickly after my mother's death) took several months to inform my brother and myself of the fact, which was done through a tersely-worded note, the gist of which was, 'your father has died. Do not attempt to contact me. Below is the name of my lawyer.' She appeared to be concerned over the possibility that my brother and I might make a claim on some portion of our father's estate, and felt she needed time to put her affairs in order before notifying us of his death. One of the consequences of her paranoia was that we never knew about any funeral plans, and we were thus unable to attend it (if indeed one took place).
            Other difficulties from that year included a miscarriage, the death of my cat, the separation between my wife and I that would eventually (5 years later) lead to divorce after 17 years together, and being parted from my 2-year old daughter (whom I missed terribly), who stayed in Toronto when I moved to Newfoundland. I began to feel I was under a dark cloud from which there was no escape. This was around the time I wrote my Interlude for String Orchestra, subtitled "La Muerte Me Está Mirando," which was an attempted musical representation of some of what I was feeling. Click here to have a listen, if you wish.
            On the positive side, I was a finalist in the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra's Young Composers Competition, another piece of mine was chosen to be part of the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra's Young Composers Workshop, and I was enjoying the teaching that I was doing. The best news of all on the professional front was that I was offered a tenure-track position at Memorial in the spring of 1993. It was a year of extremes.

Memorial University
            The School of Music at Memorial University had excellent faculty and many strong students when I arrived (in 1992), and things have only improved since then. It has been a good place for a composer to be, because there are so many outstanding and active performers. This has led to numerous performances of my music both here and elsewhere, almost all my music being recorded by the CBC, and over 20 commissions. A list of some of the many fine musicians, ensembles, and orchestras to have performed my music can be seen here. One of the more exciting experiences I have had here was being invited to be Composer-in-Residence at Ireland's Waterford New Music Week in 2003, others include Young Composer's Awards in national competitions by the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra and the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra. More recently, I founded and am the Artistic Director of the Newfound Music Festival (2004-), held every February in St. John's, and I serve as secretary on the Executive Council of the Canadian League of Composers, and I am also on the Board of Directors of the Canadian Music Centre, and the Canadian New Music Network.
            I have won Memorial University's President's Award for Outstanding Research (1999), and some Newfoundland Arts and Letters Awards in composition. I married Dr. Jennifer Porter (professor of Religious Studies, Memorial University) in 2000, and I have three children (Alexander, (b. 2004), Andrew (b. 2001), and Julia (b. 1990). My interests outside of family and music include baseball, cats, cooking, ethnic food, hiking, reading, wassailing, writing short stories, and invigorating jumping dances.

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