THE JOURNAL
Lady Gaga’s favourite cellist waxes lyrical about music, creativity and how his craft has shaped his style.
Stepping into the cheerful, sun-filled West Hollywood apartment of Mr Patrick Belaga, it’s immediately clear that its owner is, when it comes to articulating his personality to the world, a virtuoso. It’s one of those spaces where every aesthetic decision is deliberate. A pair of brass knuckles sits among candles on a coffee table. An outside ladder that leads to the roof is painted a very specific shade of aquamarine. All are carefully modulated projections of the man himself.
Which makes sense, because Mr Belaga is a virtuoso. He’s a cellist, known for his free, expressionist style. He started playing at the age of six and is now 27, and has, during that time, been responsible for scoring a feature film by Lady Gaga and producing Groundswell, a full-length album of his own breathtaking improvisational pieces while giving transfixing live performances around the world.
It is apparent that there is a functional relationship between his living space and his musical self-expression. “I love recording here because it feels organic,” he says. “Honestly, the more I can be myself during the process of writing and recording, the better the music sounds. It’s really as simple as that.”
Mr Belaga talks in paragraphs: rhythmically, musically, legato. And he is ever present in the moment, aware of the way others are expressing themselves, too. At the end of a long day’s shoot, he is still, somehow, full of energy, sitting birdlike on boulders, adorning himself with foliage, covering his sneakers with sticky plant seeds. The world, it seems, is his playground, and it’s hard not to join in. We spoke to him about his creative process, the great Californian outdoors and his love of science fiction.
How much do your surroundings influence your playing?
The space is really critical, actually, because I’m that annoying, classic, trope of the musician who’s overly sensitive. My moods can swing really hard for reasons I cannot decipher. And having a relaxing, quiet space that I have designed myself to be conducive to my creativity is essential.
Describe your relationship with music.
The cello functions as a therapist for me, in the sense that, if I’m having some sort of internal or external strife, it’s a great way to work it out. It’s kind of like having a conversation with myself. Every time I practise, I get up feeling better than when I sat down. I have a symbiotic relationship with the instrument. I just keep coming back.
So you prefer to record here, rather than the studio?
I play an instrument that was invented 400 to 500 years ago. It’s made of wood and metal strings, and a bow with horsehair that I pull across the metal strings. It’s a very base thing, so recording in my own home is sort of natural on the continuum of trying to create this organic, human feeling to the music.
What sparks your creativity?
Things that inspire me are mountains, rivers, trees, the desert, which is kind of why I landed in LA. Every time I’m feeling stuck in a rut creatively or otherwise, I just take a drive out to Joshua Tree or out to the Mojave Desert, up to Yosemite. And instantly, I’m reminded of how small I am in the universe and how insignificant the petty problems that I face in my day-to-day reality are. For some reason, in a sort of abstract, hard-to-describe sense, that informs a lot of the music that I write.
Did you always want to be a musician?
I always knew I wanted to play music and be a musician, but I definitely did not know that I wanted to be a professional career musician and composer. I figured I’d end up working at a record label or in the music industry in some capacity, but I didn’t realise I would be able to turn it into something that could sustain my life and my existence.
What drove you to follow your passion, rather than settle for a more everyday career?
Every couple of years, I’d make lists of the things that I cared about, and I’d have to knock a couple things off the bottom, you know, to keep focusing on what I wanted. Music just never left the top of my list. So here I am, still doing it.
You recently started scoring films. How is that different from what you usually do?
It all of a sudden turns my music, which is a conversation with myself, into a conversation with someone else. And the ideas that are brought about from those interactions, I find, are much more interesting than the points that I am making to myself, which I’ve heard my whole life because they’re in my own head.
Do you get nervous before seeing your music performed, or hearing it on a film?
I don’t get nervous when I hear music that I’ve already recorded. I have confidence in the music that I spend time editing and arranging and producing. I definitely get nervous when I perform live. But then, after I get settled in, it turns into this really beautiful process that keeps me coming back to the stage.
How does music inform the way that you dress?
Over time, I’ve sort of developed, I guess, a relatively low-key but nuanced style. So, if someone does take the time to examine the clothes, they will find that the tailoring is nice, the buttons are nice, the pants fit well, the shoes are nice as well. But I don’t like to make big, sweeping gestures. I don’t want people to be able to read my existence completely from my outfit.
Do you ever feel restricted by the “classical musician” tag?
I’m interested in progression. I’m interested in adding to the conversation of music as a whole, and not just the specific Western tradition of classical music. I take elements of my classical training, and I try to fuse them with elements of world music and all different types of genres to basically just continue the conversation of music.
Do you have any style rules?
Some days, you have decision fatigue, and you don’t want to think too hard about your outfit and you need some uniforms that are standard for you, and make you feel comfortable. So I have those. But the general rules of classical music with the tuxedo that you’re uncomfortable in looks kind of ridiculous, in my opinion. I like to mess things up sometimes.
Where else do you draw your creativity from?
I read a lot of books. I read a lot of fiction. I like sci-fi. I like high fantasy. I also watch a lot of animated shows and movies. There’s something about not real life that is very interesting to me.
How do you turn a book you’ve read into musical inspiration?
It’s like a wine and cheese pairing. You think of the cheese that’s going to be best with the wine you are drinking. You think of the music that would go best with the scene that you were just in, in the book or the hike that you were just on. What would you want to hear and how could you capture that ethos with the music? Which sounds abstract, and it is.
Do you go to your cello to start creating an idea? Or does the idea start somewhere else and the cello brings it to life?
Sometimes you are moving through the world and you get this melody stuck in your head and you’re not sure where it came from. You’re not sure why it’s in your head at all, and it’ll be the basis for an entire recording session. Or I’ll sit down at the cello with no intention of coming up with something revolutionary that I want to record, but all of a sudden, because of the weird angle I’m coming in from emotionally, I will create a motif or a melody or a harmony that I have never played before and have never thought of. All of a sudden, I’m scrambling to get my computer before I forget it and set up the microphone. It just depends on the day. It depends on the mood that you’re in. It’s a volatile, unpredictable, craft that I love, but also hate.