The Third Act: Composing Beyond 70

“The best is yet to come” — Lyricist Carolyn Leigh

There’s a persistent myth that creativity is the exclusive domain of the young — that fire, innovation, and “the new” belong solely to those in their twenties and thirties. But having crossed the threshold into my 70s, I’ve found that the view up here is far more expansive than I ever imagined.

In many ways, composing today feels more vital than it did forty years ago. Why? Because the pressure to “be someone” has finally given way to the simple, profound desire to write something. Something honest.

At this stage of life, I don’t have to look far for inspiration. History is rich with “Third Act” masterpieces. Think of Giuseppe Verdi: He was 80 years old when he premiered Falstaff. After a lifetime of heavy, tragic operas, he produced a comedy that was arguably his most sophisticated, fleet-footed work. He wasn’t repeating himself; he was evolving. Then there is Elliott Carter, who was still writing intricate, world- class compositions well past his 100th birthday.

In the jazz world, consider Wayne Shorter. In his later years, he didn’t just play the hits; he completely reimagined the structure of the jazz quartet, moving toward a “zero-gravity” approach to improvisation. He was more radical at 80 than the vast majority of musicians at 20. These artists prove that the creative well doesn’t run dry — it just grows deeper.

Same spark, new process

People often ask me if the “spark” is different now. The truth is, the process has become more deliberate. When you’ve been writing as long as I have — whether it’s a big band composition, a chamber piece for double reeds, or a concerto for piano and orchestra — you develop a shorthand with your own voice.

I no longer feel the need to use every note in the scale just to prove I can. Instead, I focus on the contour of the melodies and the richness of the Cisco Confidential harmonies to find deeper meaning and continuity. I’m thinking more about the emotional arc of the listener and less about the technical acrobatics of the performer. There is a great power in “less.”

With maturity, there’s also what I call “the freedom of craft.” I’ve spent a lifetime learning the rules of orchestration and harmony. Now, those rules aren’t boundaries; they’re friends. I know exactly how a bassoon will sit against a string section and how to voice a chord for woodwinds and brass. This mastery allows me to focus entirely on the feeling of the music.

With experience, a drive towards clarity

If you are an artist, a writer, or a musician standing at this same milestone, my advice is simple: Keep the pen moving. At 70, we possess something that youth cannot buy: a library of experience. Every heartbreak, every tour in a foreign city, every student we’ve taught — it all sits in the subconscious, waiting to be translated into a painting, a novel, or a composition.

The goal isn’t to recapture the energy of our youth. The goal is to capture the clarity of our maturity. Music isn’t about how fast you can run; it’s about how much truth you can pack into a measure.

Not to mention, at 70, time — and our creative gifts — feel just a bit more precious. I’m bursting with energy and inspiration and blessed with good health. But I don’t take anything for granted. And I want every musical statement to count.

Whatever the future holds, there is a unique beauty in '“late style.” It’s stripped of pretense. It’s fearless. And for me, the next composition is always the most interesting one, because it will be informed by everything I’ve learned up until to this very second.

So, here’s to the lifelong learners. The symphony isn’t over — we’re just getting to the best part of the score.