SKU: PR.16500103F

ISBN 9781491131763. UPC: 680160680290.

Ever since the success of my series of wind ensemble works Places in the West, I've been wanting to write a companion piece for national parks on the other side of the north American continent. The earlier work, consisting of GLACIER, THE YELLOWSTONE FIRES, ARCHES, and ZION, spanned some twenty years of my composing life, and since the pieces called for differing groups of instruments, and were in slightly different styles from each other, I never considered them to be connected except in their subject matter. In their depiction of both the scenery and the human history within these wondrous places, they had a common goal: awaking the listener to the fragile beauty that is in them; and calling attention to the ever more crucial need for preservation and protection of these wild places, unique in all the world. With this new work, commissioned by a consortium of college and conservatory wind ensembles led by the University of Georgia, I decided to build upon that same model---but to solidify the process. The result, consisting of three movements (each named for a different national park in the eastern US), is a bona-fide symphony. While the three pieces could be performed separately, they share a musical theme---and also a common style and instrumentation. It is a true symphony, in that the first movement is long and expository, the second is a rather tightly structured scherzo-with-trio, and the finale is a true culmination of the whole. The first movement, Everglades, was the original inspiration for the entire symphony. Conceived over the course of two trips to that astonishing place (which the native Americans called River of Grass, the subtitle of this movement), this movement not only conveys a sense of the humid, lush, and even frightening scenery there---but also an overview of the entire settling-of- Florida experience. It contains not one, but two native American chants, and also presents a view of the staggering influence of modern man on this fragile part of the world. Beginning with a slow unfolding marked Heavy, humid, the music soon presents a gentle, lyrical theme in the solo alto saxophone. This theme, which goes through three expansive phrases with breaks in between, will appear in all three movements of the symphony. After the mood has been established, the music opens up to a rich, warm setting of a Cherokee morning song, with the simple happiness that this part of Florida must have had prior to the nineteenth century. This music, enveloping and comforting, gradually gives way to a more frenetic, driven section representative of the intrusion of the white man. Since Florida was populated and developed largely due to the introduction of a train system, there's a suggestion of the mechanized iron horse driving straight into the heartland. At that point, the native Americans become considerably less gentle, and a second chant seems to stand in the way of the intruder; a kind of warning song. The second part of this movement shows us the great swampy center of the peninsula, with its wildlife both in and out of the water. A new theme appears, sad but noble, suggesting that this land is precious and must be protected by all the people who inhabit it. At length, the morning song reappears in all its splendor, until the sunset---with one last iteration of the warning song in the solo piccolo. Functioning as a scherzo, the second movement, Great Smoky Mountains, describes not just that huge park itself, but one brave soul's attempt to climb a mountain there. It begins with three iterations of the UR-theme (which began the first movement as well), but this time as up-tempo brass fanfares in octaves. Each time it begins again, the theme is a little slower and less confident than the previous time---almost as though the hiker were becoming aware of the daunting mountain before him. But then, a steady, quick-pulsed ostinato appears, in a constantly shifting meter system of 2/4- 3/4 in alteration, and the hike has begun. Over this, a slower new melody appears, as the trek up the mountain progresses. It's a big mountain, and the ascent seems to take quite awhile, with little breaks in the hiker's stride, until at length he simply must stop and rest. An oboe solo, over several free cadenza-like measures, allows us (and our friend the hiker) to catch our breath, and also to view in the distance the rocky peak before us. The goal is somehow even more daunting than at first, being closer and thus more frighteningly steep. When we do push off again, it's at a slower pace, and with more careful attention to our footholds as we trek over broken rocks. Tantalizing little views of the valley at every switchback make our determination even stronger. Finally, we burst through a stand of pines and----we're at the summit! The immensity of the view is overwhelming, and ultimately humbling. A brief coda, while we sit dazed on the rocks, ends the movement in a feeling of triumph. The final movement, Acadia, is also about a trip. In the summer of 2014, I took a sailing trip with a dear friend from North Haven, Maine, to the southern coast of Mt. Desert Island in Acadia National Park. The experience left me both exuberant and exhausted, with an appreciation for the ocean that I hadn't had previously. The approach to Acadia National Park by water, too, was thrilling: like the difference between climbing a mountain on foot with riding up on a ski-lift, I felt I'd earned the right to be there. The music for this movement is entirely based on the opening UR-theme. There's a sense of the water and the mysterious, quiet deep from the very beginning, with seagulls and bell buoys setting the scene. As we leave the harbor, the theme (in a canon between solo euphonium and tuba) almost seems as if large subaquatic animals are observing our departure. There are three themes (call them A, B and C) in this seafaring journey---but they are all based on the UR theme, in its original form with octaves displaced, in an upside-down form, and in a backwards version as well. (The ocean, while appearing to be unchanging, is always changing.) We move out into the main channel (A), passing several islands (B), until we reach the long draw that parallels the coastline called Eggemoggin Reach, and a sudden burst of new speed (C). Things suddenly stop, as if the wind had died, and we have a vision: is that really Mt. Desert Island we can see off the port bow, vaguely in the distance? A chorale of saxophones seems to suggest that. We push off anew as the chorale ends, and go through all three themes again---but in different instrumentations, and different keys. At the final tack-turn, there it is, for real: Mt. Desert Island, big as life. We've made it. As we pull into the harbor, where we'll secure the boat for the night, there's a feeling of achievement. Our whale and dolphin friends return, and we end our journey with gratitude and celebration. I am profoundly grateful to Jaclyn Hartenberger, Professor of Conducting at the University of Georgia, for leading the consortium which provided the commissioning of this work.

SKU: PR.16500101F

ISBN 9781491131725. UPC: 680160680252.

Ever since the success of my series of wind ensemble works Places in the West, I've been wanting to write a companion piece for national parks on the other side of the north American continent. The earlier work, consisting of GLACIER, THE YELLOWSTONE FIRES, ARCHES, and ZION, spanned some twenty years of my composing life, and since the pieces called for differing groups of instruments, and were in slightly different styles from each other, I never considered them to be connected except in their subject matter. In their depiction of both the scenery and the human history within these wondrous places, they had a common goal: awaking the listener to the fragile beauty that is in them; and calling attention to the ever more crucial need for preservation and protection of these wild places, unique in all the world. With this new work, commissioned by a consortium of college and conservatory wind ensembles led by the University of Georgia, I decided to build upon that same model---but to solidify the process. The result, consisting of three movements (each named for a different national park in the eastern US), is a bona-fide symphony. While the three pieces could be performed separately, they share a musical theme---and also a common style and instrumentation. It is a true symphony, in that the first movement is long and expository, the second is a rather tightly structured scherzo-with-trio, and the finale is a true culmination of the whole. The first movement, Everglades, was the original inspiration for the entire symphony. Conceived over the course of two trips to that astonishing place (which the native Americans called River of Grass, the subtitle of this movement), this movement not only conveys a sense of the humid, lush, and even frightening scenery there---but also an overview of the entire settling-of- Florida experience. It contains not one, but two native American chants, and also presents a view of the staggering influence of modern man on this fragile part of the world. Beginning with a slow unfolding marked Heavy, humid, the music soon presents a gentle, lyrical theme in the solo alto saxophone. This theme, which goes through three expansive phrases with breaks in between, will appear in all three movements of the symphony. After the mood has been established, the music opens up to a rich, warm setting of a Cherokee morning song, with the simple happiness that this part of Florida must have had prior to the nineteenth century. This music, enveloping and comforting, gradually gives way to a more frenetic, driven section representative of the intrusion of the white man. Since Florida was populated and developed largely due to the introduction of a train system, there's a suggestion of the mechanized iron horse driving straight into the heartland. At that point, the native Americans become considerably less gentle, and a second chant seems to stand in the way of the intruder; a kind of warning song. The second part of this movement shows us the great swampy center of the peninsula, with its wildlife both in and out of the water. A new theme appears, sad but noble, suggesting that this land is precious and must be protected by all the people who inhabit it. At length, the morning song reappears in all its splendor, until the sunset---with one last iteration of the warning song in the solo piccolo. Functioning as a scherzo, the second movement, Great Smoky Mountains, describes not just that huge park itself, but one brave soul's attempt to climb a mountain there. It begins with three iterations of the UR-theme (which began the first movement as well), but this time as up-tempo brass fanfares in octaves. Each time it begins again, the theme is a little slower and less confident than the previous time---almost as though the hiker were becoming aware of the daunting mountain before him. But then, a steady, quick-pulsed ostinato appears, in a constantly shifting meter system of 2/4- 3/4 in alteration, and the hike has begun. Over this, a slower new melody appears, as the trek up the mountain progresses. It's a big mountain, and the ascent seems to take quite awhile, with little breaks in the hiker's stride, until at length he simply must stop and rest. An oboe solo, over several free cadenza-like measures, allows us (and our friend the hiker) to catch our breath, and also to view in the distance the rocky peak before us. The goal is somehow even more daunting than at first, being closer and thus more frighteningly steep. When we do push off again, it's at a slower pace, and with more careful attention to our footholds as we trek over broken rocks. Tantalizing little views of the valley at every switchback make our determination even stronger. Finally, we burst through a stand of pines and----we're at the summit! The immensity of the view is overwhelming, and ultimately humbling. A brief coda, while we sit dazed on the rocks, ends the movement in a feeling of triumph. The final movement, Acadia, is also about a trip. In the summer of 2014, I took a sailing trip with a dear friend from North Haven, Maine, to the southern coast of Mt. Desert Island in Acadia National Park. The experience left me both exuberant and exhausted, with an appreciation for the ocean that I hadn't had previously. The approach to Acadia National Park by water, too, was thrilling: like the difference between climbing a mountain on foot with riding up on a ski-lift, I felt I'd earned the right to be there. The music for this movement is entirely based on the opening UR-theme. There's a sense of the water and the mysterious, quiet deep from the very beginning, with seagulls and bell buoys setting the scene. As we leave the harbor, the theme (in a canon between solo euphonium and tuba) almost seems as if large subaquatic animals are observing our departure. There are three themes (call them A, B and C) in this seafaring journey---but they are all based on the UR theme, in its original form with octaves displaced, in an upside-down form, and in a backwards version as well. (The ocean, while appearing to be unchanging, is always changing.) We move out into the main channel (A), passing several islands (B), until we reach the long draw that parallels the coastline called Eggemoggin Reach, and a sudden burst of new speed (C). Things suddenly stop, as if the wind had died, and we have a vision: is that really Mt. Desert Island we can see off the port bow, vaguely in the distance? A chorale of saxophones seems to suggest that. We push off anew as the chorale ends, and go through all three themes again---but in different instrumentations, and different keys. At the final tack-turn, there it is, for real: Mt. Desert Island, big as life. We've made it. As we pull into the harbor, where we'll secure the boat for the night, there's a feeling of achievement. Our whale and dolphin friends return, and we end our journey with gratitude and celebration. I am profoundly grateful to Jaclyn Hartenberger, Professor of Conducting at the University of Georgia, for leading the consortium which provided the commissioning of this work.

SKU: CF.YPS217

ISBN 9781491156544. UPC: 680160915088. 9 x 12 inches.

Hope Remains Within was commissioned by and composed for the Mount Nittany Middle School 7th and 8th Grade Concert Bands. Having heard the students of Mount Nittany perform another work of mine, I was very excited when their director, Johanna Steinbacher, approached me about writing a piece specifically for them. I knew right away that I wanted to write something that would tie in with their non-music curriculum in some way, but I wasn't exactly sure how, or what. Johanna talked to some of her students and learned that, in 7th grade, the students spend a good deal of time studying mythology in their English class. In particular, two clarinet students mentioned how much they enjoyed the story of Pandora. As such, I decided to use that story as the basis of this composition. Hope Remains Within doesn't attempt to re-tell the story, event by event, in musical terms. Instead, my goal was to address what seems to be one of the central issues of the Pandora myth. Though there are some variations, we probably all know the basics as told by the ancient Greek poet Hesiod. Zeus decides to punish Prometheus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to humans. He and the other gods create Pandora, a beautiful and deceitful woman, and they give her to Prometheus's brother Epimetheus as a bride. Pandora is herself given a jar (according to many sources, jar seems to be a more accurate translation for what we commonly call Pandora's box) which contained numerous evils, diseases, and other pains. Out of curiosity, Pandora opens the jar and releases all of these evils into the world. But one thing remains in the jar: hope. The issue of hope seems to be one of the big interpretive questions of the Pandora myth. Why does hope remain within the jar? Why doesn't it come out of the jar to help humanity? Is hope being held on a pedestal of some sort? Is hope deliberately withheld from humanity? Why was hope in the jar with all those evils in the first place? I'm not enough of a mythological scholar to claim to have definitive answers to those questions, but these are the questions that I've tried to engage from a musical perspective in Hope Remains Within. I encourage the students and listeners to consider their own ideas of what hope is, and where you can find your own hope when needed. Musically, Hope Remains Within draws one of its main themes from the Prometheus Symphony by Alexander Skryabin (Scriabin). The note sequence F-D-Gb -F, heard near Hope's beginning played by alto saxophones and chimes, comes from the opening measures of Skyrabin's work. Given the important role that Prometheus plays in the Pandora myth, this seemed like an appropriate musical gesture to quote. This Prometheus motive is varied throughout the course of the piece, and even provides closure at the end, recast in a major key. Additionally, I have tried to involve a manageable amount of chromaticism in this piece. I have worked from the key of Bb major, no doubt familiar to every student who has ever played an instrument in a band. But I have added three extra notes: Db, Gb, and Ab, which are drawn from the key of Bb minor. During the piece's slow opening, I have allowed these minor key pitches to mingle freely within the Bb major tonality, adding extra color and (I hope!) beauty. As the piece progresses, though, the tempo increases, and we lose sense of the Bb major key entirely, and these extra notes play a more important role. But finally, Bb major returns triumphantly and all the extra notes are gone, except for a brief memory near the very end. (Ok, there are a couple of E-naturals that sneak in there along the way. I couldn't resist.).
Hope Remains Within was commissioned by and composed for the Mount Nittany Middle School 7th and 8th Grade Concert Bands. Having heard the students of Mount Nittany perform another work of mine, I was very excited when their director, Johanna Steinbacher, approached me about writing a piece specifically for them. I knew right away that I wanted to write something that would tie in with their non-music curriculum in some way, but I wasn’t exactly sure how, or what. Johanna talked to some of her students and learned that, in 7th grade, the students spend a good deal of time studying mythology in their English class. In particular, two clarinet students mentioned how much they enjoyed the story of Pandora.As such, I decided to use that story as the basis of this composition. Hope Remains Within doesn’t attempt to re-tell the story, event by event, in musical terms. Instead, my goal was to address what seems to be one of the central issues of the Pandora myth. Though there are some variations, we probably all know the basics as told by the ancient Greek poet Hesiod. Zeus decides to punish Prometheus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to humans. He and the other gods create Pandora, a beautiful and deceitful woman, and they give her to Prometheus’s brother Epimetheus as a bride. Pandora is herself given a jar (according to many sources, “jar” seems to be a more accurate translation for what we commonly call “Pandora’s box”) which contained numerous evils, diseases, and other pains. Out of curiosity, Pandora opens the jar and releases all of these evils into the world. But one thing remains in the jar: hope.The issue of hope seems to be one of the big interpretive questions of the Pandora myth. Why does hope remain within the jar? Why doesn’t it come out of the jar to help humanity? Is hope being held on a pedestal of some sort? Is hope deliberately withheld from humanity? Why was hope in the jar with all those evils in the first place?I’m not enough of a mythological scholar to claim to have definitive answers to those questions, but these are the questions that I’ve tried to engage from a musical perspective in Hope Remains Within. I encourage the students and listeners to consider their own ideas of what hope is, and where you can find your own hope when needed.Musically, Hope Remains Within draws one of its main themes from the Prometheus Symphony by Alexander Skryabin (Scriabin). The note sequence F-D-Gb -F, heard near Hope’s beginning played by alto saxophones and chimes, comes from the opening measures of Skyrabin’s work. Given the important role that Prometheus plays in the Pandora myth, this seemed like an appropriate musical gesture to quote. This Prometheus motive is varied throughout the course of the piece, and even provides closure at the end, recast in a major key.Additionally, I have tried to involve a manageable amount of chromaticism in this piece. I have worked from the key of Bb major, no doubt familiar to every student who has ever played an instrument in a band. But I have added three extra notes: Db, Gb, and Ab, which are drawn from the key of Bb minor. During the piece’s slow opening, I have allowed these minor key pitches to mingle freely within the Bb major tonality, adding extra color and (I hope!) beauty. As the piece progresses, though, the tempo increases, and we lose sense of the Bb major key entirely, and these extra notes play a more important role. But finally, Bb major returns triumphantly and all the extra notes are gone, except for a brief memory near the very end. (Ok, there are a couple of E-naturals that sneak in there along the way. I couldn’t resist.).