Hugh Brunt is an acclaimed conductor, orchestrator, and arranger, best known as the co-founder of the award-winning London Contemporary Orchestra (LCO). His dynamic career is marked by collaborations across diverse musical landscapes, including landmark film scores and pioneering collaborations with influential artists such as Jonny Greenwood, Thom Yorke, Matthew Herbert, and Actress. Brunt is widely recognised for his remarkable ability to interpret and translate complex electronic soundscapes into rich, expressive orchestral language.

MIRRORS, a collaboration between SLATE + ASH and Orchestral Tools, showcases this unique expertise. As both conductor and orchestrator for the project, Brunt transformed synthesized material into detailed scores for live orchestral performance. We spoke with Hugh to explore that process, drawing on his translated MIRRORS scores, which offer deeper insight into the art of sonic translation that defines this instrument.

My early music education, from the age of eight, was as a chorister at St George’s Chapel, Windsor. I really enjoyed those five years and feel very grateful to have received an initial grounding in some of the rudiments of music, such as harmony, counterpoint, and voice leading. Singing in that kind of environment also taught me about blend, intonation, vibrato—particularly as an expressive device—and how the space—the acoustic—plays such a vital role in the music-making.

I continue to be drawn to choral music, especially English Renaissance polyphony. When I began exploring contemporary orchestral music as a teenager, many of the composers and pieces I was attracted to were concerned with similar themes of spirituality—for example, Arvo Pärt and John Taverner. Kaija Saariaho’s works were also incredibly formative. I’m thinking in particular of "Nymphea Reflection"—that was a real eye-opener in terms of how electronic colours and timbres could be emulated through acoustic means. That experience fuelled a fascination to explore more of that kind of work and has informed the way I approach orchestration when collaborating with electronic artists.

It depends on the artist and their methods, but fundamentally, I'm there to serve the collaboration, serve the music, and be an ally for the composer throughout the process. Sometimes I’ll be working with a composer fluent in traditional notation; other times, with an artist whose language, in that respect, might be the piano roll in Ableton or Logic. Either way, it doesn’t matter—my role is to be a facilitator and to set up an environment in the studio or rehearsal room where everyone is engaged and wants to give their all.

Thinking of the terminology we use in those scenarios: of course, Italian expressions are commonplace in orchestral music and can be very useful. But sometimes, when describing a certain colour or atmosphere, it’s more meaningful to express those ideas differently. So instead of saying "extreme sul ponticello" [playing right on the bridge], we might say, "we’re looking for something from the strings that’s really icy and electric."

The original electronic and synth articulations were incredibly inspiring to work with—very dynamic, very alive. For some of the patches, it was a case of being a faithful scribe: recasting that material as authentically as possible. For others, we decided the orchestral element should do something a little different—to interact with the electronics and synths in a more fluid, organic way.

Coming up with the instrumentation and varied ensemble sizes was a very collaborative process. We didn’t want to go bigger than ten or so musicians at any one time, so we were working with a fairly small canvas. But the sonic potential within those instrumental and vocal groupings was enormous in terms of colour palette, timbral and textural richness, and the opportunity to achieve both scale and intimacy.

It’s a very thorough but enjoyable process. I try to really get under the bonnet by analysing the sound on a spectral level, to understand the role of the fundamentals, overtones and microtones, as well as the rhythmic language and dynamic shape on both a macro and micro scale. As there was no MIDI to work from (as is often the case with this kind of material), all of that is done by ear, so it can take some time. Then it’s about how best, in terms of instrument choice, to capture the timbral and textural character, as well as the general atmosphere, of each articulation. And finally, deciding what level of detail is important to put on the page. I'm a fan of absolute notation, as, in most instances, I think it’s crucial to give the players that level of clarity and direction—especially in time-pressured recording scenarios.

Hearing those electronic sounds physicalised, with human expression, is the most fulfilling part of the process. Thinking in particular of artists like Thom Yorke or Actress: you’re sent these incredible, very singular sounds to orchestrate, and it feels like a big responsibility to render them in a way that’s faithful. So when all the above clicks and the artist is happy, that’s incredibly rewarding.

In general, the approach to notation for this project was very similar. For some of the articulations with particularly rich harmonics, we stripped out some of the fifths and thirds above certain octaves to avoid them compounding within the sampled instrument. But having a detailed impression on the page of what each synth note was doing made it much easier to arrive at those decisions.

Before recording, we played the synth reference to the musicians for each respective articulation. Then we’d rehearse some of the midrange material to establish the soundworld and finesse any details, and finally record from the bottom of the range through to the top.

In terms of structuring the sessions and the instrumental groupings, this was a really important part of the preparation, to maximise recording time. Simple housekeeping considerations—such as clearly marking in the score where we would need to end a take to allow for, say, an instrument change from contrabass flute to bass flute, or reordering the Chinese gongs for the next set of pitches—allowed the sessions to run smoothly. The Orchestral Tools and Teldex team were fantastic in supporting this on a practical level.

Yes, that was for a patch called "Tearing The Seams", where we used a range of plastic bags to emulate the static, white noise element of the synths: thicker, heavier plastic bags for the lowend material, moving through to cheaper (unbranded!), thinner, higher-frequency, rustly ones in the upper register.

In terms of some of those more unorthodox instrument choices, it was simply whatever we needed to draw on to get as close as possible to the synth material. A lot of that was not just to do with the individual sounds themselves, but how they were melded with another element to create a very specific timbre. For example, a tuned wineglass on its own for the tail of a note is a beautiful sound—but then, if you couple that with a very breathy alto flute, plus bowed marimba, and then, for the front of the note—for the attack—a very lightly struck, muted Chinese gong with a brushed violin harmonic, you’re creating something very singular and interesting.

"Duffing Chime" is a good example of how, in the lower range, there’s more space between the rhythmic punctuations, almost in a PaulStretch way. These punctuations become more frequent and compact as we ascend, ending quite frenetically for the highest notes. On that point, that was one of the earliest considerations we discussed as a team: where time-stretching was happening within a patch—and because we were on the grid, recording to a click track—did we want to alter the tempo for every sampled note in a Varispeed way? Or did we want to stick with the same tempo throughout and adjust the rhythmic placement on the page? We ultimately opted for the latter.

In terms of the instrumentation for "Duffing Chime", the attack is played by the vibraphone, toggling between the low and high pitch sets, supported by cello pizzicato. The tail and resonance comes from the flute, blended with viola harmonics. Tonally, there’s a very subtle peppering of what the fundamental and overtones are doing, with sharpened and quartertone-sharpened fifths.

In "Mind Maze", the thunder sheet plays a very rapid soft roll with occasional accents, sitting behind the ensemble in a way that you almost feel it rather than hear it. The three cellos and two double basses all play slightly different roles—for example, one player drifts in quartertones around the fundamental (to emulate a vintage synth-like "wobble"); another uses circular bowing with sporadic, exaggerated bow pressure to interfere with the sound and almost "choke" the string; and another varies their bow contact point, moving freely between the fingerboard and bridge and back. Dynamically, every musician has a subtly different shape—the internal architecture of each voice is varied—so no one is ever moving together in unison, hopefully reflecting the complexity of how the synth patch is behaving.

It was a great team. Because of the detail of orchestration required and the sheer volume of music for each articulation, I focused on the mid-range material to establish the overriding orchestration and set the tone. Then Ananda and Tom seamlessly extrapolated that across the range, which was invaluable in ensuring that all the intricacies of the tempo-mapping were captured from one note to the next. Most recently, I worked with Ananda and Tom, alongside Talia Morey, on Son Lux’s score for "Thunderbolts*". They’re fantastic orchestrators, and this part of the MIRRORS project wouldn’t have been possible without them.

It was a very positive experience. The combination of the guys from SLATE + ASH and Orchestral Tools, alongside Yair Elazar Glotman—and yes, of course, Tom Rußbüldt from Scoring Berlin, who obviously knows Teldex so well and has such a strong relationship with the players—made for a great team. Teldex is an incredibly inspiring space to work in. The room itself becomes an instrument in its own right, and the microphone choices, which are so carefully considered, play a crucial role too. The direction from the control room was always clear, and very early on the first day, we established a good shorthand that set us up well for the following days.

Yes—and thinking in particular of collaborative projects with electronic artists—that work with LCO has become a constant source of inspiration in terms of what a group of acoustic instruments is capable of in the hands of such skilled and open-minded musicians. That curiosity was sparked the first time I embarked on a project of that nature and has only grown stronger over time. What’s so special, when those projects are working at their best, is the exchange of ideas—the sharing of knowledge and trust—that can elevate the collaboration and encourage everyone to give their best.

For me, the main takeaway from MIRRORS—and I say this as someone who loves engaging with these types of libraries as a user, incorporating them into my own arranging and writing workflow—is that the sounds, straight out of the box, are incredibly arresting and beguiling. What makes the library even more appealing is the ability to control the relationship between machine and human—the dialogue between the synth patches and the acoustic ensemble. There’s a real sense of aliveness, a dynamic quality to the raw articulations—timbrally, spectrally, texturally—but what I’m particularly drawn to is the potential to fully customise and mould the sounds into a cue or arrangement. Exploring and enjoying that ambiguity of sound that sits between electronic and acoustic spaces has been one of the most inspiring and rewarding aspects of this collaboration.

Interview by Kai Whiston
February 2025