Name: Meredith Bates
Nationality: Canadian
Occupation: Violinist, composer
Current release: Meredith Bates's Tesseract is out June 2nd via Phonometrograph.
Recommendation: This is an ever shifting response that changes daily, but today I’d recommend reading The Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler and The Order of Time by Carlo Rovelli. Lately, I’ve had Liz Phair’s Whipsmart on constant rotation, but, if you want something a little more mellow, Grafts by Kara-lis Coverdale is wondrous.

If you enjoyed this Meredith Bates interview and would like to stay up to date with her music, visit her official homepage. She is also on Instagram, and Facebook.



When I listen to music, I see shapes, objects and colours. What happens in your body when you're listening? Do you listen with your eyes open or closed?

I tend to listen actively with my whole body (and my eyes closed).

For me, music isn’t often associated with concrete images or colours, but rather embodied sensations, feelings, or emotions that flow through me as I listen, sometimes turning into thoughts. I move when I listen.

What were your very first steps in music like - and how do you rate gains made through experience versus the naiveté of those first steps?

I started learning violin when I was three and a half and never stopped. I ate, breathed, and slept music throughout my formative years.

Music was my first language. I’m not sure that I’m any less naive now than I was then.

According to scientific studies, we make our deepest and most incisive musical experiences between the ages of 13-16. What did music mean to you at that age and what’s changed since then?

Between attending a variety of concerts with my family as a child, going to my first stadium show at 11 (chaperoned, of course), having my first [Lollapalooza] festival experience at 14, and playing in solo, chamber music, and youth orchestra concerts from a young age, music was the world to me. It gave me an escape, a way to express my feelings, and it made me feel good.

When I went to university for music and started playing more professionally, I felt valued for something I’d worked really hard at for a long time. Something I identified with. I still love going to shows as much as I did when I was a kid. There’s a wonderful feeling of connection to community at live concerts. A communal sharing and a camaraderie with both the other concert goers and the artists.

And, I do believe it’s important to go out and support fellow artists and lift them up!

Over the course of your development, what have been your most important instruments and tools and how have they shaped your perspective on music?

My most important instrument has always been my violin. I’ve had the same instrument since 1994 and am extremely grateful for the bond I have with it. My violin was made in 1873 and I feel its history every time we play together. That violin has gotten me through some tough times, both emotionally and financially!

More recently, I’ve begun working with FX pedals. This has opened up a gateway into sounds I never thought possible on the violin and allowed me to create a world of processed sounds that had previously only lived in my head.

What, would you say, are the key ideas behind your approach to music and what motivates you to create?

My first language was music. It gave me a voice and it provided the basis of my social and emotional relationships from the first day of violin group class to the ensembles I play in today. I’m not sure what I’d do without it in my life.

I believe very much in the power of music and art to connect people and to communicate ideas that words cannot. I’m a working musician, playing gigs of all kinds, but where I feel I can express myself most fully is in the realm of improvised music. It’s something I can do anywhere with anyone. It’s something I can do by myself! I feel motivated to create soundscapes that reflect and react to the world around me.

I love to create things slowly … slow builds that layer in sounds with spaciousness.

Paul Simon said “the way that I listen to my own records is not for the chords or the lyrics - my first impression is of the overall sound.” What's your own take on that and how would you define your personal sound?

I think I hear the melodic lines intermingling first, then the harmonic structure, and, lastly, the lyrics, if present. I think I hear the melody intervallically, deeply listening to the relationship between the notes as they move. Harmony tends to wash over my ears as a more general impression, though I hear those relationships, too. I love to read the poetry of the lyrics while I listen for the second or third time.

My personal sound is measured and layered. I create immersive sonic spaces that are representative of the world around us.

Sound, song, and rhythm are all around us, from animal noises to the waves of the ocean. What, if any, are some of the most moving experiences you've had with these non-human-made sounds? In how far would you describe them as “musical”?

I can’t even begin to describe the multitude of experiences I’ve had immersing myself in non-human-made sounds. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to turn off my ears, so I hear things all the time that affect me deeply.

Right now, the wind is blowing in the leaves outside my window and the Spring migration is taking place, so there are birds calling to one another. Kids are taking their lunch hour at the school nearby and that is mixing with the sound of traffic in the distance.

Besides the sounds of wind, waves, and birds, one other sound that has had a deep impact on me and that I’ve been lucky to experience many times in my life is the sound of whales breaching nearby. It’s breathtaking and forces me to hit pause and listen for a long time. It reminds me of the largeness of life out there and the depths of the sea and how little we are. There is something so cavernous and deep about the whale’s breathing that feels like a whisper from a different world. I hope that everybody gets to experience this sound in their lifetimes.

From very deep/high/loud/quiet sounds to very long/short/simple/complex compositions - are there extremes in music you feel drawn to and what response do they elicit?

I love to play with all of the contrasting and disparate sounds possible. I practice so that I can have access to a wide palette of sounds and textures.

From symphonies and traditional verse/chorus-songs to linear techno tracks and free jazz, there are myriads ways to structure a piece of music. Which approaches work best for you – and why?

Lately, I have been working with very long form pieces … almost like improvised symphonic tone poems. I like the way they build slowly and thoughtfully, leaving space for breath and allowing for spontaneity in the in-between.

When I’m playing solo, I love to layer textures, tones, and melodic material until there is a natural climax, listening and hearing where the music wants to go.

Could you describe your creative process on the basis of one of your pieces, live performances or albums that's particularly dear to you, please?

I recorded Tesseract over the course of one and a half days. I spent 10 hours at Afterlife Studios in Vancouver, BC, and just kind of went for it.

My goal was to play for longer than I was comfortable and I pushed myself to really go into a flow state and leave my thinking, judging brain behind, so that I could listen deeply into the music and react to it.

The longest track on the album is 45 minutes and was recorded live without any edits in post.

Sometimes, science and art converge in unexpected ways. Do you conduct “experiments” or make use of scientific insights when you're making music?

Absolutely. I’m fascinated with quantum physics and the nature of time and space. Time stretching and compressing. Time travel. Chaos theory. And, more metaphysical questions, as well, related to probability, uncertainty, and entropy.

I also think a lot about collective identity and the knowledge our bodies hold on the individual, community, and societal levels. I think about how this relates to our relationships with each other and with the world we inhabit.

This plays into my compositions and my approach to improvisation and achieving a flow state within myself and within the music and within the collective ensemble.  

How does the way you make music reflect the way you live your life? Can we learn lessons about life by understanding music on a deeper level?

I think the way I make music is close to how I aspire to live my life: slowly, over time, with great care and thoughtfulness, without attachment, and with a sense of spontaneity and of being in the flow.

I do believe art, and more specifically improvised music, is a reflection of life. Through improvisation in both solo and ensemble settings, musicians learn not only about their relationships to themselves and one another, but to their instruments and their ecosystems, and can use those findings to empower themselves and those around them to ignite social change.

This also gives pause to listeners who, through being present and witnessing the act of improvisation, become a part of it and may reflect on their relationship to place, as well. I think about these words of Xenia Hanusiak a lot:

“The art of musical thinking offers a perspective and a context for composing our experiences.”

When we approach musical creation with curiosity and imagination, we can explore the dialectics of harmony and dissonance. tension and consensus. In Hanusiak’s words,

“If we learn to sit with the inexplicable sounds of our historical moment, we’ll open an unexpected path of self-elucidation, and contribute to questioning and redefining the society we’re creating.”

That about sums it up for me!

Do you feel as though writing or performing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

Honestly, no. I don’t really think anything is a mundane task. I think anything can be done thoughtfully, and artfully. I think there’s expression in everything we do, from making a coffee to making music.

I think the joy is in the things that surprise our expectations. Sometimes there’s sorrow in that, too. Usually, there’s both!

Every time I listen to "Albedo 0.39" by Vangelis, I choke up. But the lyrics are made up of nothing but numbers and values. Do you, too, have a song or piece of music that affects you in a way that you can't explain?

I have so many of those! A lot of them, though, are associated with memories of a time and place, so I guess there are explanations for why they affect me.

The first track from the Aphex Twin album, Drukqs, I feel so deeply the second it starts playing. I don’t know if it’s because this album has popped up all over my life for years in really meaningful situations, or if there’s something innately nostalgic about the music.



The Adagietto from Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 is one of those pieces that completely sweeps me away.



The second movement of Gorecki’s 2nd Symphony transports me to a completely other place.



It’s like they tap into something deeper that cuts right to my emotional core without interruption. There must be some magic there.

If you could make a wish for the future – what are developments in music you would like to see and hear?

I’d like to see and hear more women and artists of colour being recognized and lauded for their incredible creative practice, dedication to their craft, and important contribution to our musical community.

I’d like music to be less about performance and output and more about process and connectivity. I believe this is where systems change can occur.

I’d love to see and hear what beautiful creativity could emerge and shape our collective future if collaborations were not only interdisciplinary, but inter-industrial. I wonder if this kind of work could bust open the mould and create a more empathetic ecosystem.