Time

WillTell

With

Dev

Hynes

Durga Chew Bose
When was the last time you closed your eyes and experienced a breeze?

Dev Hynes
Well, as much as this would pain my mother, when I ride a bike around the city, I close my eyes. It's one of my favorite things in the world.

Having just returned to New York, after spending six months in L.A., how are you sleeping? What is the view outside your window?

I'm finally back into a somewhat healthy rhythm. It was a lot of early mornings and late nights for a week straight, which I actually quite like in New York, anyway. Both the mornings and nights have always had a nostalgic quality to them in this city. Even when I first moved here, so many years ago. The view outside looks like a set. I live in Greenwich Village, on a street near a famous Bob Dylan landmark.

If you could stand in front of any piece of art, right now, which would it be?

“Flaming June” [by Sir Frederic Leighton]. I've loved it for so long. Not ashamed to say I first encountered it on the cover of a Malcolm McLaren album when I was 20 years old. That album, actually, is a huge thing for me. But that painting I've always loved. When it was traveling through at the Frick some years ago I managed to see it in person.

What does it sound like inside your head right now?

It sounds like Six Marimbas by Steve Reich. There are a lot of things bouncing around.

The last person you texted “I miss you” to.

My mother!

What will make tomorrow—a Saturday—really feel like a Saturday?

I will explore the city. I just started reading The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, so I'll dive deeper into that. Which is a great segue for this next question....

Tell me about your dog.

His name is Coltrane. He's a funny creature. Solemn in his own way. He was a stray that we got from a shelter in L.A. He had been badly abused and it's taken him a long time to open up and trust people. But I love him deeply. He's a mix of a million things, Australian Kelpie, terrier, American Bulldog, Min Pin. Do you have a dog? Have you ever?

My family has a dog, Willis. I’m crazy about him. I love the part in Nunez’s The Friend when she describes what it feels like when Apollo rests his big, Great Dane paw on her chest. She says it feels like a door knocker. I can just picture that particular kind of weight—how it provides calm. How have you experienced calm since we last exchanged questions and answers?

My partner came to New York for the week, which was really nice. I’ve also gotten good at finding quiet times within a day—also known as procrastination.

I’m wondering about your soundtrack for Luca Guadagnino’s We Are Who We Are. What is it about the worlds he creates that compels your creativity?

Well, on an aesthetic level, it is absolutely appealing. He’s excellent at creating worlds you want to live inside. With this particular project, though, the story's specificity made it feel universal; I could relate to it more intensely, which is kind of the jackpot for me regarding scoring work.

Does composing a soundtrack feel like writing a letter?

At its most natural, it can. I was actually lucky that, with the Luca show, he allowed me to flow and create these long passages. But other times, at its worst, it feels like you’re a technician, just chipping away via instructions.

Does composing a soundtrack feel like riding your bike?

The music I make is made so I can eventually listen to it on my headphones while riding. Actually, the end product is a sweet spot that really flows. Those moments feel like riding a bike.

The last person you texted an emoji of a rose.

Tessa.

Do you keep dead flowers?

I do, it’s a bad habit, I think they look great. My partner disagrees.

How is your heart feeling today?

Pretty good, actually. I would say my heart is filled.

I’m listening to the soundtrack you composed for We Are Who We Are again. I’m curious about your teenage years. Who was your best friend? What did you have in common?

I had a few close friends. In school, football was sort of a saving grace. It allowed people to “forgive” my painted nails. But I was bullied a lot, jumped multiple times, and for the most part, I hated every second of school life. I was a very depressed teenager, and I kept to myself quite a lot. A tendency that I’m still trying to break, nearly 20 years later. Quarantine has made me reach out to people more, which I’ve been actively attempting over the past couple of years.

Did you pass notes in high school?

I didn’t really have anyone to pass them to!

Describe your teenage bedroom.

Posters on the wall. The Smashing Pumpkins, Slipknot. Blur. David Beckham—I was obsessed with the Man United team of the later 90s. I loved how young they were, and Beckham being from Essex (as I am) was life changing. Even though I see myself as a Tottenham supporter. One birthday/Christmas (my birthday is two days before Christmas, so I would sometimes get one bigger present rather than two) I got a CD player. Which really changed everything. It had a tape deck where I could record songs off the radio.

How has your relationship to music changed—as a listener—from your teenage years?

It’s honestly exactly the same. I’m such a fanboy. All the music I’ve ever made in my life, I’ve only made because I want to hear it.

If you could speak to your 15-year-old self, what would you say?

I would probably talk chords with him.

Describe what your commute home was like after school.

It was quite long, actually. I started skateboarding because I have such horrific eyesight. The bus stop to take me to and from school—you had to stick your arm out for it to stop. I could never see it in time, and I hated wearing my glasses. So I started skating the journey instead. I would pass a large park, a few actually. There are lots of parks in Essex. Probably why I have such an affinity for them in New York. Then I would hit the high street, a cross section where lots of children from many different schools would end up meeting. That was the most stressful part. I got spat on and jumped by kids from different schools. Once I passed that junction, it was home free and a simple skate back home.

Did you smile with your teeth when you were young?

When I was really young, I wouldn’t smile in photos. To get me to smile my parents would say, “Smile like Thomas,” as in Thomas the Tank Engine.

Next time I send you questions, the U.S. election will have happened. How are you feeling about it? About all of it?

That is so crazy and terrifying to think about. I feel an enormous wave of anxiety.

I’m writing these questions and listening to Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence.” Tell me, how does this song make you feel? Is there an image that comes to mind?

BOWIE! I love that piece, though, as I do all of Mr. Sakamoto’s scores. He’s such a great influence on me. Not just musically but careerwise, and how he has juggled all of his various creative outputs.

Your earliest memory of a kitchen/in a kitchen?

My mother telling us not to eat the roti before dinner is ready!

Have you taught Coltrane any tricks?

He can sit and shake hands, and that’s about it! I really want him to learn how to “play dead.”

What has Coltrane taught you about love?

Absolutely unconditional. I love him so much it’s insane. Even when I’m furious with him.

If an artist approached you right now and said, “I want to create an anthem for urgent, dumb-happy first love,” what note would that start with?

F and would be in C-Major.

How would you describe your friendship with Mariah Carey?

I’m always learning from her. She’s such an incredibly sweet soul. The greatest musical mind I know; her knowledge is astounding.

How can someone tell if you’re not listening to them?

Usually if I find that it is leaning that way, I exit the chat. My partner laughs at me for it. It’s never rude, but I just politely leave.

Something I’m always curious about: what do you think about when there’s plane turbulence? Like a really bad sequence of plane turbulence.

I take three CBD mints, close my eyes, and blast Debussy in my headphones.

We are in November. The election results aren’t yet in but Georgia, they say, has just flipped blue. Joe Biden, they say, will win. Okay, but—tell me something that has nothing to do with any of that, at least for now. What feels true to you right now, in imagination only? Like something you know in your heart.

May sound saccharine, but I think I need to find something that is purely for myself, not sure exactly what that means as of yet, though.

Recently, all I want to do is read poetry. Last night I was reading poetry by Marianne Moore. Hilton Als had given me the collection a few Christmases ago, and I miss seeing him in New York so I picked it up from my bookshelf. One absolutely breathtaking poem by her, “To William Butler Yeats on Tagore,” first published in 1915 and later in a collection from 1921, goes:

It is made clear by the phrase,
even the mood—by virtue of which he says

the thing he thinks—that it pays,
to cut gems even in these conscience-less days;

but the jewel that always
outshines ordinary jewels, is your praise.

I wonder, who in your life “says the thing he thinks.”

I really like that. My partner’s father says the thing he thinks. I respect it a lot. I say what I think but only when asked. That’s the English in me.

What have you learned from working with Philip Glass?

Well, I remember when he asked me to perform some of the piano Etudes with him, Aaron Diehl, Maki Namekawa, and Jason Moran. An absolutely insane collection of pianists I admire. I was so scared. I assumed he had greatly overestimated my piano playing ability, but I practiced and practiced. Everywhere I went, in Europe, on tables in restaurants, on my thighs in the park. Eventually I played the concerts, and I can still play these pieces today and I do think I have become a better pianist. So that belief in myself stems directly from him and that moment.

When was the last time someone challenged you to a race?

It must be, like, two decades now.

When was the last time you picked up a rock and put it in your pocket?

Fairly recently, and I’m not usually a rock-in-the-pocket type of guy.

How as your relationship to time passing changed this year?

I’ve aged 20 years. But honestly, beyond the pandemic I have been reckoning with the passing of time, whether it be through working on We Are Who We Are, and using a song I wrote 8 years ago. Or the fact that next month I turn 35!

Place us at a concert that changed your life.

The Smashing Pumpkins “Farewell” concert at Wembley arena in 2000. I was 14.

Who are you reading?

I just finished reading We Keep The Dead Close by Becky Cooper. I kind of blitzed through it. It’s not the usual thing I read—true crime—but it ended up being about memory and the power educational institutions have with regard to upholding the patriarchy.

Who’s an actor whose emotional arc in a movie you would love to score?

That’s very interesting. I want to explore older characters, specifically female or nonbinary characters of color, in their mid-40s and upwards.

Do you see your work with Third Coast Percussion (congratulations on the Grammy nominations!) as a return to your classical roots? What’s it like composing music that you don’t play?

Thank you! That album in particular informed a lot of scores. I actually composed that music over three years ago. It was a commission for a dance piece to be choreographed by Emma Portner and performed by Hubbard Street Dance company in Chicago. Then Third Coast had the great idea of recording it as its own standalone piece of music. That album was the first time I composed something to be performed by musicians other than myself.

If you were to compose Coltrane’s anthem, what note would you start with and why?

Awww! Probably A, specifically the Am11 chord.

One thing you are leaving in 2020?

Doubt.

One thing you are bringing into 2021?

Goodwill. I really want to actively try and bring goodwill into the world.

Is there a song I should listen to today?

“I Talk to the Wind” by King Crimson.

What is the view outside of your window?

Snowy mountains. We escaped to the California mountains to bring in the new year.

The last sentence you wrote down by hand.

“Geometric/heartbroken—block of ice.” I was writing down notes about the music of Ravel.

If you had to show someone the place in London most linked to your earliest memory not of music, necessarily, but how music and sound courses through you, where would you take them?

Either St. Paul’s—there’s an area where I used to take the train to go and skate every weekend—or Barking Park, a place where I saw fireworks, played football, and got the shit kicked out of me. All very formative.

Do you make the same wish whenever you blow out candles?

I always forget to make a wish.

A lesson you’ve learned from Janet Mock.

Keeping still within myself. Locking in and feeling secure.

How do you know when you are in love?

When I’m not thinking about it.

Have you been able to train Coltrane to “play dead”?

No, but I think I’m going to put him in school, actually.

The greatest sunset you’ve ever seen?

West Side Highway looking toward New Jersey. Still gets me. Also, Mexico.

Who do you miss?

My friends and family in Europe very much.

How do you feel in a leather jacket?

Guilty!

What song says closing credits to you?

“Quatuor pour la fin du temps,” by [Olivier] Messiaen.

What makes a good love song?

I honestly believe if the emotion is pure.

After you answer these questions, what will you do today?

I have to go to a studio and start work on a new film score. And tidy up.

How are you feeling?

Better than this past week, I fell into a slump—I’ve lost my confidence and sense of self, which maybe a lot of people have this year. Although I think the opposite could have been said for some, that maybe they found their true selves. Hoping to get there.