CARNEGIE HALL PROGRAM NOTES

FESTIVE OVERTURE, Shostakovich

The Festive Overture was composed in 1954, in the period between Symphony No. 10 and the Violin Concerto. Its American premiere was given by Maurice Abravanel and the Utah Symphony Orchestra on November 16, 1955. In 1956, the New York Philharmonic under Dmitri Mitropoulos presented the overture in Carnegie Hall.

A Russian band version of the overture was released in 1958 and utilized the standard instrumentation of the Russian military band, i.e., a complete orchestral wind, brass and percussion section plus a full family of saxhorns, ranging from the Bb soprano down through the Bb contrabass saxhorn. This new edition has been scored for the instrumentation of the American symphonic band.

The Festive Overture is an excellent curtain raiser and contains one of Shostakovich's greatest attributes -- the ability to write a long sustained melodic line combined with a pulsating rhythmic drive. In addition to the flowing melodic passages, there are also examples of staccato rhythmic sections which set off the flowing line and the variant fanfares. It is truly a "festive overture."

- Note from the score, by Donald Hunsberger

RIVER OF TIME, Biedenbender

River of Time was commissioned by and written for trumpeter Neil Mueller, conductor Timothy Muffitt, and the Lansing Symphony Orchestra. In the spring of 2023, I was studying conducting with my friend Kevin Noe when he used the phrase “river of time” to describe the flow of music through time. I also happened to be reading two books that examined time from different perspectives: Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and Carlo Rovelli’s The Order of Time. Rovelli’s book explores the mysteries of time through the lens of physics, woven together with poetry, philosophy, art, and history, while Meditations, although not directly about time per se, certainly grapples with life’s ephemerality. I remember this passage from Meditations Book Five jumping right off the page:

Keep in mind how fast things pass by and are gone—those that are now, and those to come. Existence flows past us like a river: the “what” is in constant flux, the “why” has a thousand variations. Nothing is stable, not even what’s right here. The infinity of past and future gapes before us—a chasm whose depths we cannot see…

(translation by Gregory Hays)

The “river of time” became the conceptual thread that pulled together the musical and philosophical ideas that I had not yet been able to pull together into a coherent whole—it’s as if this piece became my own personal way of exploring, knowing, and communicating these ideas.

The first movement is called Becoming. I imagine a kind of primordial clock from which time flows—swirling—becoming an infinity of matter and moments. The second movement, Flowing, is a meditation on being part of the river of time—being present. Imagine a beautiful moment that you simply don’t want to end. For me, I remember holding my infant son, listening to his slow, relaxed breathing as he slept peacefully on my chest. I’m reminded of a poignant passage from Matthew Zapruder’s Story of a Poem: “That night the boy slept all night on his father’s chest. It was the only time in his life the father had felt his body was perfect, and not one time did he wish anything were different, or that he were elsewhere.” Of course, moments like this are often also shaded with a tinge of melancholy, as thoughts slip toward the past or the future, wondering whether a moment just like this might ever occur again. The third movement is called Crossing. Our perception of time is often linear, but what if it was circular or it could be bent? What if we could exist outside of it? What if we could traverse the river of time?

–program note by the composer

OF OUR NEW DAY BEGUN, Thomas

Of Our New Day Begun was written to honor nine beautiful souls who lost their lives to a callous act of hatred and domestic terrorism on the evening of June 17, 2015, while worshipping in their beloved sanctuary, the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church (affectionately referred to as “Mother Emanuel”) in Charleston, South Carolina. My greatest challenge in creating this work was walking the line between reverence for the victims and their families, and honoring my strong, bitter feelings towards both the perpetrator and the segments of our society that continue to create people like him. I realized that the most powerful musical expression I could offer incorporated elements from both sides of that line - embracing my pain and anger while being moved by the displays of grace and forgiveness demonstrated by the victims’ families.

Historically, black Americans have, in great number, turned to the church to find refuge and grounding in the most trying of times. Thus, the musical themes and ideas for Of Our New Day Begun are rooted in the Black American church tradition. The piece is anchored by James and John Johnson’s time-honored song, Lift Every Voice and Sing (known endearingly as the “Negro National Anthem”), and peppered with blues harmonies and melodies. Singing, stomping, and clapping are also prominent features of this work, as they have always been a mainstay of black music traditions, and the inclusion of the tambourine in these sections is a direct nod to black worship services.

This work received its premiere on February 20, 2016, at the College Band Directors National Association (CBDNA) Conference, held at The Gaillard Center in Charleston, South Carolina. Members of the Mother Emanuel AME congregation were in attendance.

This work was commissioned by a consortium led by Dr. Gary Schallert and Dr. Jeff Bright of Western Kentucky University to honor the nine victims and families of the June 17, 2015, terrorist attack on Mother Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, SC.

- Program Note by composer

DON’T YOU SEE?, Grantham

Don’t You See? was commissioned in memory of Stephen J. Paul, a much ad

mired professor of music education who served on the faculties of the University of

Oklahoma, University of Oregon, and the University of Arizona. Prof. Paul died

unexpectedly in April, 2001 at the age of 48--in the prime of his career and just as he

was becoming increasingly prominent in his field.

I had long considered the possibility of a piece based on African American spirituals,

and their wide-ranging emotional and expressive qualities seemed ideal for this parti

cular occasion. In DON'T YOU SEE?, three highly contrasting yet complementary

spirituals are employed. The first half of the piece is based on "Death Ain't Nothin'

but a Robber," a lament that cuts to the heart of the experience of loss. The text

reads in part:

Death ain't nothin' but a robber, don't you see?

Death came to our house.

He didn't stay long.

We looked for our friend, but our friend was gone.

Death ain't nothin' but a robber, don't you see?

The second half of the piece becomes more hopeful and affirmative with the

appearance of "I've just Come from the Fountain," and "Blow the Trumpet,

Gabriel." These two spirituals interact with increasing exuberance until the climax,

which features six virtuostic trumpet parts resolving into a fragment of the opening spiritual.

–Program Note by the Composer

WINE-DARK SEA, Mackey

For the past 10 years, I've written all of my music in collaboration with my wife, Abby. She titles nearly all of my pieces, a process that usually involves my writing the music, then playing it for her, after which she tells me what the piece is about. Without her help, Aurora Awakes would be "Slow Music Then Fast Music #7 in E-flat." Sometimes she'll hear a piece halfway through my writing process and tell me what the music evokes to her, and that can take the piece in a different (and better) direction than I had originally intended. I've learned that the earlier she is involved in the process, the better the piece turns out. So with Wine-Dark Sea, my symphony for band, I asked for her help months before I ever wrote a note of music.

The commission, from Jerry Junkin and The University of Texas Wind Ensemble, in honor of the 100th anniversary of the Sarah and Ernest Butler School of Music, was for a piece lasting approximately 30 minutes. How could I put together a piece that large? Abby had an idea. Why not write something programmatic, and let the story determine the structure? We had taken a similar approach with Harvest: Concerto for Trombone, my trombone concerto about Dionysus, the Greek god of wine. Why not return to the Greek myths for this symphony? And since this story needed to be big (epic, even), I'd use the original, truly epic tale of Odysseus, as told thousands of years ago by Homer in The Odyssey.

The full Odyssey, it turned out, was too large, so Abby picked some of the "greatest hits" from the epic poem. She wrote a truncated version of the story, and I attempted to set her telling to music. Here is the story the way Abby outlined it (in three movements), and I set it:

After ten years of bloody siege, the Trojan War was won because of Odysseus's gambit: A horse full of soldiers, disguised as an offering. The people of Troy took it in as a trophy, and were slaughtered.

Odysseus gave the Greeks victory, and they left the alien shores for home. But Odysseus's journey would take as long as the war itself. Homer called the ocean on which Odysseus sailed a wine-dark sea, and for the Greek king it was as murky and disorienting as its name; he would not find his way across it without first losing himself.

I. Hubris

Odysseus filled his ship with the spoils of war, but he carried another, more dangerous, cargo: pride. This movement opens with his triumphal march, and continues as he and his crew maraud through every port of call on their way home.

But the arrogance of a conquering mortal has one sure consequence in this world: a demonstration of that mortal's insignificance, courtesy of the gods. Odysseus offends; Zeus strikes down his ship. The sailors drown. Odysseus is shipwrecked. The sea takes them all.

II. Immortal thread, so weak

This movement is the song of the beautiful and immortal nymph Kalypso, who finds Odysseus near death, washed up on the shore of the island where she lives all alone. She nurses him back to health, and sings as she moves back and forth with a golden shuttle at her loom. Odysseus shares her bed; seven years pass. The tapestry she began when she nursed him becomes a record of their love.

But one day Odysseus remembers his home. He tells Kalypso he wants to leave her, to return to his wife and son. He scoffs at all she has given him. Kalypso is heartbroken.

And yet, that night, Kalypso again paces at her loom. She unravels her tapestry and weaves it into a sail for Odysseus. In the morning, she shows Odysseus a raft, equipped with the sail she has made and stocked with bread and wine, and calls up a gentle and steady wind to carry him home. Shattered, she watches him go; he does not look back.

III. The attentions of souls

But other immortals are not finished with Odysseus yet. Before he can reach his home, he must sail to the end of the earth, and make a sacrifice to the dead. And so, this movement takes place at the gates of the underworld, where it is always night.

When Odysseus cuts the throats of the sacrificial animals, the spirits of the dead swarm up. They cajole him, begging for blood. They accuse him, indicting him for his sins. They taunt him, mocking his inability to get home. The spirit of his own mother does not recognize him; he tries to touch her, but she is immaterial. He sees the ghosts of the great and the humble, all hungry, all grasping.

Finally, the prophet Teiresias tells Odysseus what he must do to get home. And so Odysseus passes through a gauntlet beyond the edge of the world, beset by the surging, shrieking souls of the dead. But in the darkness he can at last see the light of home ahead.

Wine-Dark Sea is dedicated to Jerry Junkin, without whom the piece would not exist. The second movement, Immortal thread, so weak, telling of Kalypso's broken heart, is dedicated to Abby, without whom none of my music over the past ten years would exist.

- Program Note by composer