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Commissioned by Symphony Number One and Jordan Randall Smith

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Performed by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, conducted by John Adams, in a student composer reading session.

A fast, crisp fanfare is slowly cracked open to reveal its crystalline interior.

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Acheron is one of the rivers of the Underworld in Greek mythology, the river which carries mortal souls to cleansed and purged of sins before continuing their underworld journeys. This piece is a journey on that river. It begins with an ethereal, dream-like opening, representing the mortal’s dream of what will happen after the journey. Then, the music plunges into the river. There are three main currents, represented by three different motivic and harmonic ideas, which at first are heard individually, but eventually all three mix and intertwine in cacophony, before the “purging” begins, in which one-by-one different pitches are eliminated from the overall sonority until just three pitches are left: the three pitches common to all three different currents. Echoes of the past journey are heard in the final calm section, until finally the dream from the opening of the piece takes place in reality: the pure, cleansed state after the tempestuous journey.

All instruments are one per part, except flutes, Bb clarinets, tuba, and euphonium. Percussion: 5 Timpani, Glockenspiel, Vibraphone, Xylophone, 2 Suspended Cymbals, Sizzle Cymbal, Woodblock, 3 Tom-toms, Bass Drum, Snare Drum.

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Winner of the 2004 Harry G. Archer Memorial Composition Competition

Percussion: 5 Timpani, Vibraphone, Glockenspiel, Xylophone, Tam-tam, Crotales, Crash Cymbals, Chimes, Sleighbells, Vibraslap, Bass Drum, Snare Drum, Suspended Cymbal, 3 Tom-toms.

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Silent Spring Project is a program-length reimagining and recontextualizing of five of my pieces, culminating in Silent Spring, based on the book of the same name by scientist-author Rachel Carson. It is the result of a four-year collaboration between Trillium Ensemble and myself.

Rachel Carson (1907-1964) was a scientist, author, and conservationist whose work exposing the harmful effects of pesticide overuse helped start the environmental movement. Her landmark book Silent Spring vividly describes the evidence, especially on bird populations, and imagines waking up one future spring morning to a silent spring, one devoid of birdsong.

Buckminster Fuller (1895-1983) was an architect and designer who is most famous for popularizing the geodesic dome and designing structures that did more with less. His work, like Carson’s, exposed the complex relationships that exist in nature, mankind’s role in the universe, and man’s unprecedented ability in the 20th century to be able to take care of all people at a higher standard of living and end suffering.

*Photo credit: Renee Rosensteel*

I juxtapose these scientists’ words, weaving them with my music to create musical soundscape on which to ponder these ideas. It begins with A Citizen of the 21st Century Looks Back, named after the first chapter in Fuller’s book Utopia or Oblivion. In it he describes being abnormally far-sighted as a child, only able to make out large patterns and not fine details. In the end he is grateful for that experience, because as an adult, he still looks for large patterns and relationships: the big picture. We hear these words sung atemporally by the singing pianist, singing above an also-out-of-sync flute/clarinet duet against a piano/percussion ostinato in a different tempo. The asynchronicity alters our perception of time and reality, sending the audience to a different place.

That segues into the bass clarinet and piano sonata slow movement Deus Ex, supplemented in this version with contrabass flute. The flutist also speaks the opening paragraphs of Silent Spring, which depict a serene pastoral scene before man’s unprecedented use of pesticides. Halfway through the chapter, the depiction turns dark, describing a strange substances falling from the skies, and birds, farm animals, and even children suddenly getting sick and dying. The slow movement from the flute and piano piece Borealis underlies this text with both reticence and urgency, the opening and closing being played on bass flute.

We’re left to ponder these implications while the bass flute and bass clarinet begin a conversation, the music being taken from the fast movements of those two pieces, this time improvised and recontextualized. The pianist eventually stands up and speaks more text from Fuller, this time contemplating mankind’s role in the universe, and role of creativity. This segues directly into e to the x, a bombastic, mechanical, constantly and exponentially accelerating and rising to a breaking point.

As we clear from the aftermath, the trio speaks the final words Carson’s books, finishing each other’s sentences, describing how we can continue down our myopic, destructive path, or look at the bigger picture, learn from our actions, and blaze a new trail. The performance ends with the piece Silent Spring, in which the singing pianist sings soaring melodies which eventually disappear, echoed only by the wind.

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Commissioned by Trillium Ensemble

In 1962, Pittsburgh-native Rachel Carson published her landmark book Silent Spring, which exposed the ecological impact of releasing man-made chemicals into the environment, in particular the negative impact that the insecticide DDT had on birds and also humans. The title of the book was inspired by a line from the poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats:

The sedge is wither'd from the lake
And no birds sing

In this piece, the singer sings that line from the poem, while other text fragments of the poem are whispered under the flowing music; the sounds and text together conjure up peaceful visions of the wilderness. The singer then vocalizes a soaring melody representing singing birds. When this melody returns later in the piece, it is played by the flute blowing air through the instrument without tone, representing the absence of the singing birds.

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Text from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass:

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law, and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.

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Commissioned by Carnegie Mellon Contemporary Music Ensemble and Daniel Nesta Curtis

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Commissioned by The Carnegie Mellon School of Music

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“Harmonices Mundi” (Latin for “Harmony of the Worlds”) was a treatise written in 1619 by astronomer Johannes Kepler. This tome described the platonic solids (the cube, tetrahedron, dodecahedron, etc.) as well as the consonant and dissonant nature of various segments of vibrating strings (harmonics). In the fifth section of this work, he combines geometry, acoustics, and the laws of planetary motion into one elaborate theory; he believes that the distances of the (six known) planets’ orbits are dictated by the volumes of five circumscribed platonic solids. Moreover, because the orbits are elliptical, they have a furthest distance from the sun (aphelion) and closest distance (perihelion); he believes the ratio of these distances yields consonant harmonics, as if the orbit is one giant vibrating string. The six planets therefore each “play” a particular set of notes in a given range, and only sometimes to the six planets “sing together in consonant harmony.”

Kepler’s grand theory has since been discredited. In this piece, the speaker speaks Kepler’s texts from the conclusion of this treatise; the speaker begins calmly, but over the course of the texts becomes increasingly excited and even delusional (Kepler speculates on the possibility of fire-beings living on the sun, watching the grand harmony of the planets dance around them from the ideal vantage point). Eventually the texts reach their frenzied climax, only to be questioned and refuted by two poems by Omar Khayyam, which question whether or not we can ever truly understand the universe, despite getting ever-closer through scientific leaps and breakthroughs.

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The title Chorale and Hyper-Dance is a play on the wind ensemble piece Chorale and Shaker-Dance by John Zdelchik, and the multitude of similarly-named pieces. The opening chorale section introduces melodies and harmonies which build and eventually drive the frenzied dance section. In the dance, each performer has their own solo, and from time to time they break off to form duets and trios. The energy continues to build and gives way to a piano cadenza, ending with a final fury of the dance theme.

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Percussion: Wind Chimes, Triangle, Susp. Cymbal, Marimba, Tom-toms, Glockenspiel, Cabasa, Tam-tam.

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This is a short, fast-paced piece for seven instrumentalists. The “six” in the title refers to the six-note scale the piece relies on for its main material. This scale appears initially right at the beginning in the solo double bass as D, F, G, A-flat, B-flat, C-sharp. It is then combined with transpositions of itself as well as the full chromatic scale.

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Aqua Regia (Latin for “royal water”) was the first substance discovered that could dissolve gold or platinum. In this piece, hard metallic sounds and associated melodies gradually dissolve away into soft, languid sonorities.

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Mjølnir was the name of the hammer that Thor, the Norse god of thunder and lightning, wielded as a weapon. This mighty hammer was so heavy it could only be wielded by Thor and his son, and when thrown, it returned to its user. It caused devastating damage and was supposed to be the cause of thunder. This piece is a sort of musical representation of that weapon being used; the piece begins quietly and in the highest register (“heavenly”) and ends in the lowest register and at the loudest dynamic; and the whole piece in between is one large crescendo and accelerando. The macrocosmic idea of the crescendo is played out at the microscopic level throughout the piece. There is also one solo line through the whole piece, which begins in the flute and makes its way through all the wind instruments, ending with the trombone. The rehearsal letters mark the beginnings of each different solo line: the flute begins at the beginning, the clarinet at rehearsal A, the saxophone at rehearsal B, an so on. The percussion (playing only metallic instruments, which the gesture of playing is a manifestation of the hammer itself) accompanies the solo line throughout almost in the form of a duet, with the remaining instruments providing further accompaniment. This piece was composed for the Contemporary Music Ensemble at McGill University under the direction of Denys Bouliane during the 2004-2005 season.

Flute requires whistle tones. Bassoon requires fluttertonguing. Trombone requires F-attachment. Percussion: Tam-tam, 2 Suspended Cymbals, 2 Triangles, Sleighbells, Glockenspiel, Crotales, Vibraphone, Chimes.

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This piece was inspired by Buckminster Fuller’s book Utopia or Oblivion: The Prospects for Humanity. The piece pairs off the instruments in two separate, unrelated rhythmic worlds; the piano and percussion provide a flexible, fluid fabric over which the flute and clarinet play a sinewy duo. The instruments eventually lock into the same tempo, only to break away into their own rhythmic worlds again.

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Commissioned by the Pittsburgh Chamber Music Society

Steel, Slag, and Silicon was commissioned by the Pittsburgh Chamber Music Society for the 250th anniversary of the city’s founding. Each of the three movements represents an important era in Pittsburgh’s history. The first movement, Steel, represents the rise of the steel industry vital to the city’s early prosperity. With the decline of the steel and manufacturing industries across Northeastern and Midwestern cities, Pittsburgh ended up in the heart of the “rust belt,” characterized by declining populations and loss of blue-collar jobs. The second movement represents this period of downturn; Slag is a by-product of steel consisting of the unwanted impurities. (Slag has actually played an important role in the shaping of Pittsburgh’s landscape; many ravines have been filled in and leveled off with it, and areas such as the Century III Mall and the Summerset neighborhood by Frick Park are built atop slag heaps, as slag makes a sturdy building foundation.) The third movement, Silicon, represents Pittsburgh’s revitalization and turn towards electronics, computers, and robotics as major contributors to the local economy; Pittsburgh now attracts people from all over the world with its reputation for leading technological advancements.

As a Pittsburgh native, I was born during the city’s economic downturn; I grew up hearing about the city’s past prosperity, and witnessed the blossoming of technology in my formative years. I hope this piece conveys the ups and downs of the city I love.

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Frozen Leaves is a short, simple piece that is not technically demanding, and is meant to show off the beauty and simplicity of the flutes. The piece calls for two piccolos and two flutes; at first this may seem like an unlikely (and shrill) combination, but the register used in the piccolos does not go higher than the concert flute’s range. This piece exploits the little-used, low range of the piccolo, which has a much more hollow and haunting sound than that of the flute in the same register; this unique sound is juxtaposed with the concert flute in its lowest register, which is a much thicker, richer sound.

Though the score calls for two piccolo and two flutes, both piccolo parts can be played on the flute if so desired. Also, the second flute part requires a low-B foot, but can also be played on alto flute. The quartet can experiment with which combination suits their needs the best.

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Dances of the Lake was written in 2004 at the request of the Carnegie Mellon Flute Quartet. The title of the piece comes from the acronym of the four players’ first names: Lizzie, Alison, Katy, and Elizabeth. The challenge in writing the piece came from using four of the same instrument. No one part falls easily into the bass line or accompaniment categories; the four flutes all have equal ability to play any part. The wide range of the flute (just over three octaves) allows each player to assume the role of bass line, middle voice, or melody, and also allows room for overlapping lines, unisons, and thick textures.

The first movement (Allegro) is fast and noble and introduces the melodic material upon which the entire piece is based. The second movement (Andante Animato) is slower, and begins serenely, becoming more lively and animated and then returning to calmness and fading out to nothing. The third movement (Presto) begins abruptly and stormily, eventually subsiding and giving way to the noble brilliance of the first movement.

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Winner of the London Chamber Group’s 2003 Piece of the Year Competition

Orison (another word for “prayer”) is a slow piece originally written for saxophone quartet, but works well for any homogenous ensemble. The piece is never fast or complex, but relies on dynamic swells and resolved (and unresolved) suspensions to drive the piece forward.

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Winner of the 2001 Cuarteto Latinoamericano Student Composition Competition

A string quartet in three movements which together depict three moods of city-life. The first movement (Presto) is driving and zealous, using two melodies which evolve and intertwine throughout the movement. The second movement (Lento) is slow and introspective, having a sense of both loneliness and hopefulness. The third movement (Allegro) is rigorous and fervent; it uses one evolving melodic idea throughout but also alludes to the previous movements, tying the three movements together as a whole.

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This piece uses a common theme and gradually evolving ideas to link together the five separate movements, each of which is based around a different concept. The first duo begins with the players continually interrupting each other, eventually conceding and playing together. In the second, their two unrelated melodies gradually phase into each other until the two merge as if coming from a single instrument. The third movement showcases multiphonics (“chords”) that the bassoon and oboe can produce and introduces the idea of “beating” (the acoustic undulation produced by close, but out-of-tune pitches). In the fourth duo, the undulating waves from the previous movement evolve into sparse, quiet clicks and pops. Allusions to previous and future movements are also made. In the final movement, the players perform a half-forgotten rehashed version of the first movement, bringing the piece full circle.

Both performers also play crotales (one octave) and woodblock.

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In Greek mythology, Lethe is one of the five rivers of the underworld, and is the river of oblivion or forgetfulness. It is from this river souls who wish to forget their past lives drink to erase those memories. Unlike some of the more turbulent chthonian rivers, Lethe is calm and placid. Musically, the gentle flow of the river is depicted by a steady pulse throughout the piece. Each of the performers plays variations of a melody which represent their memories. As the piece evolves, the melody changes continually, as the performers become more and more unable to remember their past. By the end of the piece, the performers are unable to remember the melody; the stream continues to flow but eventually dissolves away into nothingness.

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Deus Ex Machina is a Latin phrase meaning “God from the Machine”. It was the name given to a device used in Greek and Roman theater, in which an actor playing a god or goddess would be lowered onto the stage by a machine and then resolve a hopeless situation. It has come to refer to any seemingly hopeless circumstance in a story which is resolved through unlikely or impossible means. This piece refers to both the literary and linguistic implications of the phrase. The two movements are quite different in character, though they share some thematic and harmonic ideas.

The first movement, Deus Ex (“God from…”), is slow, lyrical, introspective, and questioning, with broad musical gestures. It is a meditation on the existence and implications of a higher power, with no real conclusion. As the movement fades away and dies out without resolution, a musical deus ex machina occurs: the second movement begins abruptly (the machine is lowered into place), allowing the music to continue on its course. This movement, Machina (“The Machine”), is fast, asymmetrical, jagged, and declaratory, with short, minute musical gestures. It flows steadily and mechanically with constant motion throughout. The bass clarinet cadenza towards the end of this movement is a mechanical wind-up of the themes and ideas presented earlier in the movement, which accelerate and culminate in a statement of the Deus Ex theme, signaling the lowering of the God into place.

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This piece was written for the New York Miniaturist Ensemble, who specialize in the performance of pieces composed of “100 notes or less” This pieces uses an undulating, “quavering” ostinato (written in eighth-notes, or “quavers”) over which a smooth but slightly offset melody is played. In writing this piece I tried to maximize the effectiveness of the 100 notes; the two pitches of the ostinato are oscillated rather than sounded simultaneously to give a sense of forward motion, and the melodic line is long and sustained using few pitches. The constructive effect of the two lines creates a sense of timelessness in this “miniature” which lasts nearly four minutes.

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This piece was written for the New York Miniaturist Ensemble, who specialize in the performance of pieces composed of “100 notes or less”. In French, Guillemets are used instead of quotation marks and look like «this». The overall shape of this piece follows the shape of the guillemets. The piece is slow, brooding, and full of suspensions, with time given to contemplate each sonority. The piece begins low and quietly and slowly builds to feverish and soaring climax, after which it descends back down to its origin.

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Commissioned by Joanna Messer

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Commissioned by Keith Lawrence

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Commissioned by Carson Cooman

Hildegard von Bingen was a twelfth-century German abbess and composer whose chants are known for their innovation. The title of this piece is a play on words. It means “Pious Hildegard” in German, and it is also a juxtaposition of my last name with Hildegard von Bingen; the piece itself is a juxtaposition of my and Hildegard’s music. The piece is based on her chant O Euchari. The opening section is slow and pensive, using the first four pitches of the chant as its main motive. The middle section is faster and more playful, chopping the chant into different pieces played in different keys. The momentum continues to build as the chant moves into the organ pedals, the tempo slows, and culminates with a long, full organ chord. The ending calms back down, returning to the quiet, serene sonorities from the opening.

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