liner notes: non-poem 4 v2

non-poem 4 was commissioned by clarinetist Mark Dover in 2017. During that time, I was living in uptown Manhattan, and regularly holding discussions with the dead. I had gotten into what I later learned to be a form of psychotherapy, that of giving voice to the multiplicity within us in the form of characters; it just so happened I picked dead idols. (Consequently, this freed me from the worry that I was simply talking to people I’d never met…) The composition of the work was interwoven with a very intense sit-down with Leonard Bernstein. I love Mark Dover’s playing more than most musicians I have met, and I respect his musicianship more than any musician I have met. The piece began as a simple salute to his musical personality. Living a few floors below the room where Gershwin previewed his Rhapsody at the piano for friends, I was indeed haunted by the ghosts of old New York. I share this only to give voice to a very special time in my life, rather than to help illuminate something ‘about’ the music or its character. It is my continual hope that the music will stand on its own and need no stylistic comparison for it to exist.

Beyond writing a piece I was happy with – and one that had me trading dirty jokes with an ex-assistant conductor of the philharmonic – a greater event happened as a result: working with Jeremy Ajani Jordan. We had met briefly at a few parties but had yet to make music with one another. Mark and Jeremy gave a tremendous gift to me in taking the music so seriously and giving it life; something every composer can only humbly hope for.

non-poems are a series of chamber works that I have written that have no narrative element. They strive to be music and music alone. The works have encompassed – as of this writing there are eight of them – a variety of ensembles from duos to sixteen-piece bands, and a mixture of concert and improvised music. non-poem 4 engages the performer in both realms of exact and improvised music. The work represents a turning point in my creative life, where I began to confront the need to synthesize the musical lives I led.

The summer following the first few performances of the work, Jeremy told me about a series of concerts he was giving with violinist Kristin Lee. Of fortuitous interest, the concerts were to present music of the ‘American Journey’, featuring the voices of many of the apparitions I communed with in my uptown apartment. They – Jeremy and Kristin, the abundantly alive – asked if I would be interested in reimagining the work for solo violin and piano. I jumped at the chance. 4.1 or v2 is an extension of the work that I never could have imagined when I first began writing it. There is nothing in the way of more content, but a re-sculpting of the solo part to speak to the nature of the violin brought out a completely different energy that still surprises me. This is one of the great joys of composition: acknowledging and reveling in the complete lack of ownership, understanding, and authority of a work initially scribbled with one’s own hand. And as I bowed to the gift given me by Mark and Jeremy, I must again express my deepest thanks to the precision, skill, and love – the revelation of the mysterious thing we call ‘meaning’ in music – that Kristin and Jeremy bring to non-poem 4.

Diptych or: Yahweh

April 18, 2023 - poem
left plate (all rights reserved, Lawrence Ferlinghetti)

Sadly, it did - 22 Febbraio 2021
the final lingering anticipation
of what comes with the last breath 
Were you standing by for Chat GPT
to deliver us from evil 
sing to a scream
and with expectation 
uncover again 
the technological periphemeter; Gold. 
Does consciousness stop after lung cancer?
above flocks of winged Trumps 
spread eagle, hand grabbin themtherenots
and how ashamed you must have been…
and yet still there must be something. 
after the Period of Disquietude, a new
Decade of Upheaval, followed by an Era
Of Uncertainty - yes uncertain at best (the waiting). 
You beautiful bastard, couching optimism
within cynicism, or better stated: 
Cynoptimism. 

Program Notes: non-poem 8

Derek Granger commissioned non-poem 8 for solo alto saxophone. He premiered it in April at the Texas Regional North American Saxophone Alliance Conference. The work uses found material from my own compositions as well as a variety of themes from my forthcoming book of rhythmic etudes. It is jarring and unsettling.

non-poem 8 is the eighth piece in a collection of pieces written for ensembles and instrumentalists smaller than large ensembles. The previous statement is intended to be vague, as these limitations we have imposed upon the concept of ‘ensembles’ is false. In the case of non-poem 8 the definition is easy: it is for one individual player; specifically, Derek Granger. It is a great honor to write music for others, and with them in mind. I know Derek only superficially, but I respect him as a musician and saxophonist. Moreover I respect his commitment to that which is not commonplace, and celebrates the saxophone. The categorized title ‘non-poem’ first started as a way out of the trap of writing ‘program’ music. But again, this gets vague too quickly. At times I’ve written music about a rooster, a mouse and a little red hen, and also about jokes by George Carlin. But in each instance, the original content served a different purpose in its influence upon the resultant musical outcome. And in our fractured society, I question whether or not the real question is simply: whether or not the listener has the capacity or desire to hear absolutely, or that which is beyond the definition of ‘program’ or narrative. e.e. cummings wrotesix nonlectures, but in the end, they were still as poetic as his poetry, but they also talked about poetry. Lawrence Ferlinghetti, another person I revere, stated, all too clearly that “a poet should not discuss the craft of poetry or the process of creating it.” And he also said “If you have nothing to say, don’t say it”… and I’ve never really quite known whether or not he was intending to directly confront John Cage who said “I have nothing to say and am saying it”. In the end you’ll hear Derek play, and programmatically or not, I hope that his expression of humanity through my computerized scribblings encoded to paper, give you a moment of human contact and repose that we very sorely need to help prepare our minds and spirits to rail against the wild dreams of the unrestrained religion of language learning models, and ‘artificial intelligence’.

Interview with Vandoren/DANSR

(Published in November 2021 - to read the full article, click here)

How did your concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Wind Ensemble come about?

In the summer of 2021, I had a conversation with the Director of Bands at West Chester University, Dr. Andrew Yozviak. He asked if I was interested in performing a concerto with the wind ensemble. I relayed that I was very much interested, but that I needed to give some thought as to what concerto we might perform. Concerto literature for the soprano saxophone is quite diverse, and there is much of it, however, I find that within that diversity there are a plethora of examples in the extreme of any given subject, and not much that allows the saxophonist time to simply play. Time considerations present the second difficulty – some of the concertos that I appreciate most, are almost an hour long; many of the shorter ones present either extreme technical difficulties for the ensemble, or endless altissimo for the soloist. I’ve played soprano my entire life, and although I respect the endeavor of mastering its voice in the third to fourth register, it has never spoken to me on a musical level. I called Dr. Yozviak back and asked if it would be okay if I might add to the growing literature by writing my own concerto. He agreed and I set down to work!

Why did you choose the soprano saxophone for the solo voice? 

I grew up almost exclusively as an improviser. In my early teenage years, I decided to devote myself exclusively to the soprano and tenor saxophones. Tenor was my initial love, and the addition of another saxophone has historically lent itself to the soprano (John Coltrane initially, and I grew up admiring and living close by to Tim Warfield and David Liebman). While dedicating myself more to exact (classical) repertoire, I simply decided to devote myself to soprano first. My improvising voice on the tenor is highly personal and I take many liberties with technique to arrive at some of the sonic possibilities – this presents greater difficulty when attempting to limit those liberties in the realm of concert music. Next on the horizon is a push toward confronting the alto saxophone canon of concert literature.

Let's talk about this piece compositionally. What is an interstice and how is it incorporated in your piece? 

An ‘interstice’ is defined as an intervening space, usually very small. It comes from the Latin ‘to stand between’. At the outset of composition, I realized quickly that I wanted something unifying but somehow unrelated to the main movements of the concerto. Each interstice is virtually identical, but each time the scoring is different. In a sense they cleanse the palate and prepare for what is to come.

…..to read the full article, click here

something

A flood 
Rush 
Onset, a wild knowing 
How did I come to find 
Myself so alone, darkened 
Room, elderly people below 
Wondering a wish for wonders 
Child in my arms, afloat 
Adrift 
Waves on a gray carpet with white dots ?

$20.99, the carpet, not the boy,
a world against all odds 
Aflift afloaft, amidst (!) a universe|
Against all odds I wish to wonder 
How could you take so seriously this dream? 
Governed by unknown 
Chaplained by vicars of insanity 
“Usher mine self, o lord, into a palace 
Of saintly virginity”, unwondrous of who I might 
Become - knowing only of this, the glide of a rocker in a 100 year old home, babe 
in my arms. Eternity. 

/

Broken systems she said to me.
She rises every day, obviously not with the sun
And not in good fortune to drink in 
The hazy wine of hatred and distrust 
All is lost, all is broken, a set of Russian dolls 
Housed within Russian dolls -
Maybe it was the breath of my child,
Or the $30 dimmable light by my bedside, 
But I asked her to wonder too,
To wish for herself something that might 
Fill her heart with ________

Program Notes: Double Concerto for Trumpet & Marimba

three of nine movements of the Double Concerto were premiered at Messiah University in the spring of 2022. These notes were not published in the program. Commissioned by Trumpeter Dr. William Stowman, Letter from an unknown woman to an unknown people is a work that was created to shine a light on the life of Rachel Flowers, the first black student at Messiah University. These notes aim to rectify, both intellectually and morally my getting involved with the work. In the end, I am deeply glad that I did, and I hope that the entire work will be performed soon.

It was not without hesitation that I sat down to dedicate myself to work on this double concerto. Our historical moment is a moment divided, it is a moment hidden behind the blue glow of screens; we lack the nuance and complexity that nature has attempted to teach us for tens of thousands of years. When attempting to comment, by way of words or music, on any subject that may be considered part of our cultural moment, I find myself more and more prone to editing and reservation. Even in writing this note to give background, I am specifically ruling out the use of any language that could be construed as political in nature, as a great deal of language has in fact been politicized via social media. With this in mind, the following is an attempt to make an understanding of the endeavors of the concerto more whole.  

I want to begin by thanking Christina Thomas, Messiah University alumna for her efforts in uncovering the life of Rachel Flowers. I have found Rachel inspiring, energizing, pure of heart and of great veracity during this process. Christina’s scholarship was a lesson in treating humanity as it deserves to be treated: a complex tapestry, impossible to pin down. I am reminded here of the metaphor of the great river, and as ever of James Joyce ‘riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s’ and ‘They will be tuggling foriver’.  

On the topic of s‘t(r)uggling’: the notion of reconciliation was the requested centerpiece of this project. It is in fact, the university’s theme for this celebratory year. The definitions of ‘reconciliation’ that I find most pertinent are 1.) the restoration of friendly relations and 2.) the action of making one view or belief compatible with another. In the context of history, this is nearly impossible; and if it seems to be true, I believe we are kidding ourselves. The story of a time is the story of the people who are dead. We cannot know their values, we cannot know their truths, we cannot know their subtle intimations of that which is pre-verbal. We can only know what they leave behind. My life as a musician and composer has been very rich in the uncovering of just how powerful the things that are ‘left behind’ can be. Music can be a form of communication non-verbally. The music that is left behind, can – depending on its intensity – do much to inform the historical understanding of a group of people, or their time and place. Objective flotsam and jetsam include laws and philosophies, novels and poetry. Historical record is the most challenging of that which is left behind. The story of Rachel Flowers is a searing example of this.  

I will not here attempt to fill in the blanks of the story of Rachel Flowers, as Christina Thomas has spent much time to do this in the proper manner in her article “The Life of Rachel H. Flowers”. But it is important to know that the way in which the history of Rachel was handled, says more about what was left out of the record. For a period of time, it was unknown that she was indeed the first black student at the university, as a picture of another black student was mislabeled. This took nearly a century to rectify. Beyond this, there was nothing known about the real Rachel Flowers. The scholarship of her life predates our culture’s current obsession with attempting to right any perceived wrong. And for this, I admire it all the more – it enriches the humanity of Rachel.   

While sitting down to work, I realized I was wrestling with our cultural moment more than anything. After being raised in our divisions, and watching my generation divide us more under the slogan of ‘bringing people together’, it is impossible for me to escape: everything feels like Reconciliation. The second definition that I quoted above is important to consider: compatibility of views. It is impossible to reconcile the views of 140 years ago with the views of today. Our current knee-jerk reaction to condemn anything but today’s ‘sensibility’ is dangerous and cynical. I liken it to the individual’s experience of shuddering at the thought of their youth. You can either move forward with self-love or -loathing. Cynicism chooses hate over love. And love is an attempt to understand complexity – especially complexity that seems impenetrable and without end. And as for the first definition of Reconciliation – restoring friendly relations – Rachel is dead.   

I lay this out simply to show what an interesting crossroads I found myself in composing the work. It was not until I read and re-read the article several times and meditated on Rachel’s writings and letters that I was able to cultivate a direction I could stand behind.  

Reconciliation is treating Rachel as her own individual, rather than as a historical first. Rachel was a displaced Floridian who embraced her life as a Pennsylvanian to the fullest extent possible, in the face of the difficulties she had to endure due to the color of her skin. She was an educator, and a fierce one at that. She gave of herself unendingly and was always there for others. She was a voice for education, and a loud one at that. Her articles sing in a key that holds others deeply accountable (“Next, Please”… she intones to write-off an unthinking peer). She could not stand for allowing education to be wrapped up in our cultural passion of racial division and delineation (“On the contrary, the best interest of the American children is served under the efficient teacher, irrespective of race or color.”) 

This double concerto, Letters from an unknown woman to and unknown people, seeks to reconcile the unreconcilable: a way of celebrating Rachel’s humanity, while illuminating the complications that surround her story. It is not my attempt to celebrate ourselves (the living), or to celebrate our potentially misguided momentary current cultural fads, but to simply celebrate the fullness of another human being. A human that, based on her actions, deserves to be remembered. The issue with Rachel is that, as a human it is fact that her life was full, but as a historical figure, we can only attempt to complete a full picture. This piece attempts to question the ability to do just that: fill in the blanks of a full life.  

The poem that makes up the narration is the clearest effort in this direction. I have long been enamored with ‘found’ material. The narration is made up of Rachel’s words, the music she made and the songs that she sang, her letters, her articles, and the required reading of the Messiah Bible School and Missionary Training Home in the early 20th century. I took a great deal of time choosing the text that I found most powerful and all-encompassing. I then used a variety of systems and techniques including randomization and word mixing to come up with a kind of dream-sequence of humanity. I specifically attempted to keep the lines of knowing blurred to show just how little we know about her, while having so much thanks to the scholarship of Christina.  

I began these notes by speaking about the story of ‘a time’ and how much is lost with the death of the living. Music can indeed be one of the few pre-verbal forms of documentation and communications. In those large and cosmic gaps in the story of Rachel Flowers, I hope the music – by way of utilizing her words, interests and the songs that she sang – can in some small and empathetic way, shed light on her dignity, her fullness of life, and her humanity.   

Humility & The Good Life | Intersection with Music

When I was first asked to consider the topic of humility and its intersection with music, I was both reluctant and excited. Humility and the good life are of a subject matter that has such a long history of austere intellectuals considering and deconstructing their domains, that I found myself numb at the thought of attempting to add anything new that might be of interest or help to anyone. But it was in this state of reluctance that I found excitement: my life has been almost entirely consumed with the subject of music, and the domains of music have likewise been given great gifts by a long line of intellectuals and otherworldly performers. In the field of music this has not bred reluctance in me, but rather an energized sense of wonder; in fact, it helped me to discover my own understanding of humility.

In an attempt to remain as personal as possible and to steer clear of the overwhelming precedent of the philosophical tradition, I will outline the various ways that I have understood and developed the concept of humility in my participation in the musical world.

My journey in uncovering the potentials of creativity in my own life has led me in a plethora of directions. Outside of the vigorous study of music (which I will expand upon at length momentarily), I have been deeply drawn to words for over fifteen years. It began with words that gave new meaning to the musical figures and ideas that I held dear. It was in reading about these figures and their ideas that my intellectual spark was ignited. A crystalline sense of humility was thrust upon me in these initial readings as I discovered the scope and interconnectedness of the human experience. In essence, music was not just music, but a mirror of humanity and all branches of thought, understanding and experience. The idea of ‘the good life’ is not a foreign one to me, as my attempts at transforming my sense of humility into an honest way of being, led me after some time to the writings of Plato and his version of Socrates. The Socratic notion of ‘the good life’ as a life that is unendingly examined is a clear summation of how music has become an ever-deepening experiential study for me in my own life.

It is important to know that I am saxophonist and composer, and I was raised and mentored in the jazz tradition in America, directly growing out of the Black American Musical Traditions. [These labels are difficult at best and do little to denote the reality of my experience]. Before I outline the individual areas of musical life, I must also clarify my own definition of ‘the good life’ and humility. The notion of being humble for me is not a negative one. It is not about qualities of being ‘lesser-than’ or ‘lowly’, but rather of being one with the earth, realistic, and aware. It is not a notion of being nihilistically cynical when considering the microscopic space we each inhabit in this universe in our short lives, but rather a feeling of wonder and an overwhelming sense of absurd beauty at the situation we wake up in as a child.  

Musical life occupies many different spaces for me in my day-to-day experience and all of these have contributed to my ever-widening sense of humility and have, without a doubt, given me the ability to believe in the possibilities of a life well lived.

Music as a Broad Subject    

One of the most religious definitions of humility when considering the subject of music is the acceptance of the fact that we have no idea of why music. Sound is a natural phenomenon, explained by every branch of science in their own way. There are tomes and tomes of explanations of how sound is made, how it is derived, how it acts upon us, and theories tripling that of why each culture arrived at their own organization etc. In the end, these never answer or reveal why music exists. And this puts music and sound firmly in the field of all other unanswered questions. To partake in music one must examine it, and in that examination, humility is the only sensible answer for me.

The Practice Room

Musicians by definition must make music with something (their voice, their hands, an instrument). This requires practice. Practice is the most humbling form of self-examination possible. Like all forms of meditation and prayer in the religions of human culture, practice of an instrument is daily, it is private, and it is a form of communion with something beyond oneself. This is a daily chance to wrestle with the unexplainable phenomenon of sound and to attempt to gain some level of control in order to arrive at greater and greater forms of the power of music. The power of music of course is defined in a variety of ways depending on culture, and within culture the styles and uses of sound. But all of these arrival points in their own ways have a unique power to them: spiritual, joyful, sexual, romantic, religious, therapeutic, economic, the list goes on.

Lastly in the 21st century, digital technology has taken the starkness of humility to new heights. There is nothing more humbling than attempting to work with a metronome on a variety of rhythmic concepts. Holding oneself accountable to a dedicated source can immediately show the work there is to be done to reach those newer heights that are only subtle intimations at present. And beyond this, similar to the counting of breath in meditative traditions, working through repetitive exercises with the aid of a metronome is (especially in the case of wind instruments) an act of meditation.

Improvisation             

Improvisation is one of the shining examples of humility in the good musical life. Creativity in every situation is one of self-examination, but in the act of improvisation it is raised to the level, yet? again, of spirituality. Improvisation requires a tuning of one’s faculties to immediate awareness of the now moment. One must take care to remember all of the things they have worked on and tried to learn and practice while simultaneously preparing for the unknown. Improvisation can be a solitary act, but more often than not is experienced with others. Humility in this instance is an unnegotiable requirement: you must respect and honor those that you are creating with so that you can meet their offerings purely – otherwise music is unachievable.

Improvisation, more than other musical disciplines, is a discipline that is deeply dependent on mentorship. The most humbling experiences in my life, that are with me in every moment, have been when improvising with those that I consider mentors. To feel the depth of their experience and understanding is the deepest lesson one can learn. To hear this made manifest in music breeds the most striking understanding of humility. This is a complex historical tapestry, that other disciplines experience as well: a mentor who dedicates themselves to the quest of humility and honesty, reaches new heights, performs alongside pupils, those pupils being overwhelmed by the depth of sound and musical quality, reaching and seeking new heights of humility and honesty do the same, reaching new heights, they perform alongside pupils… etc. etc.

Composition  

The act of writing music down, cementing it for someone else to experience more than once, is for me a continually growing source of humility. To write things down in the 21st century opens the door for pessimistic attitude more and more each day: digital technology contains the total output of humanity at our fingertips, and more content is published each day than in entire previous centuries. However, the art of music can continually express anew the circumstances of the individual, and giving voice to one’s conscience is ultimately a spiritual and necessary experience. Self-examination when composing music is at times a deeply fearsome act: one must take into consideration the expressions of those that came before, and at this historical juncture the list is long and towering. In western music the simplest example of this is to consider that J.S. Bach, who seems to have expressed the inexpressible in his musical language, lived over 300 years ago, and since then there has been no shortage of the highest forms of musical expression. If one assesses this honestly, there is no other arrival point than a deep sense of humility. And when a composer starts to put one sound after another, there is no other way but honesty in light of this. This striving that takes place has pushed me in an almost militant way to discovering anew the possibilities of the good life. Musical composition is a historical wealth of giving. To contribute, humility must come first.

Ensemble Playing

The culmination of humility is that of sharing in space and time with others. Musical art is the only art that must expand in time, and thus, this requires an investment of the precious moments of one’s life, both in making music and experiencing music.

As a musician in an ensemble, the variety of topics that one must pay attention to, at all times, in service of the music are vast – tone color, beautiful execution and performance of one’s given role, awareness of the changing of those roles, intonation, an empathetic listening in order to match the emotional flow, grounding in the earth for the veracity of rhythmic precision.

It should be evident that in the brief, though not exhaustive list above, humility has a constant presence, but the final point in the list is worth a bit more exploration. In the etymology of the word humility, the root comes from humus: from the earth. Being aware of the unknowable reality of existence is something every human must assess for themselves. The more we understand this, the closer we are in relationship to the earth, that which gives us life. Life, by our measure, is governed by the continual pumping of blood by the heart. This is rhythmic. When we play rhythmically with others and each person does their best to find the deepest sense of this, there is a level of empathic humility that is unparalleled in human affairs. It is a form of love and celebration.

            It is my hope that this brief essay can serve a function similar to the function that music continual serves for me: calling attention, on a daily basis, to the potentials of humility. And in seeking those potentials, uncovering a broader and richer definition of what it means to live a good life. The act of making music strips us of the trappings of everyday life, and when in this space, we are a step closer to realizing the depths of humility.

Letters from an unknown woman to an unknown people

poem that serves as narration to Double Concerto for Trumpet and Marimba
composed using quotations of Rachel Flowers, and excerpts of mandatory readings of the Messiah Bible School at the time of her study

I.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear, nay, even tremble at the apprehensions of.

On the contrary, the best interest of the American children is served under the efficient teacher, irrespective of race or color.
Assuming that one will practice in one’s own life what one preaches to others….
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
and in these hurries of my soul I knew not what my tongue might express
The spring drives out the winter…
tender is the night,

Richer by far is the heart’s adoration, dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Cooperation, to the extent that we will fight for the rights that belong to us as American citizens, but which are denied us because of color.
The old proverb, “Strike while the iron is hot,” is as full of truth today as in the days of old.

II.
Sometimes it began snowing the early part of November and we didn’t see the ground again, until the early April rains came and washed the snow, ice, etc. away.
With these considerations, I walked very leisurely forward. I found that side of the island where I now was much pleasanter than mine—the open or savannah fields sweet, adorned with flowers and grass, and full of very fine woods.
It meant so much, because I love flowers

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
I read the verse with tears.
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration, dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
In 1910 literacy among the Black population was calculated as 69.5 percent: the figure for 1930 was 90 percent.
Therefore did my heart rejoice, and my tongue was glad; moreover also my flesh shall rest in hope:

To-day we love what to-morrow we hate;
Ev’ry sorrow or care in the dear days gone by,
Assuming that one will practice what one preaches to others….
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Thou of life the fountain art, freely let me take of thee
Was made bright by the light of the smile in your eye.
Come, let us be happy.

III.
and in these hurries of my soul I knew not what my tongue might express
We gaze after the smoke as it rises
On the contrary, the best interest of the American children is served under the efficient teacher,
But the heart is unchang’d by time.
How strange a chequer-work of Providence is the life of man! and by what secret different springs are the affections hurried about, as different circumstances present!
The theory is all ‘bunk’ and only tends toward greater discrimination.
The years have alter’d the form and the life…
Next, please?

we didn’t see other Americans

tender we love what years have alter’d
rest in hope:

How strange a heart is unchang’d
seed of prejudice
by what secret theory is all the life…
You have these hurries of “drop me a to-morrow” we hate; woods.
Spring thou up with you, anyway?
The throne,

We gaze
my tongue might, Tasting of Flora
prayers of the care in the evening,
not in the Negro population
rise to all, Me,
are like island where I, that
we will
I found that Spring drives out of man! and flower
had the created he/him; what one preaches …
us;

On my flesh shall my soul
I.
We.
fear, nay, by,
Land where my rights that belong
after the smoke
circumstances present!

I walked by time.

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Love Aunt Rae

Burning Piano Poem

[Somewhere around 2011, members of Tin Can Buddha an artistic-musical collective based out of Lexington, Kentucky, in the manner of Annea Lockwood’s performance art from 1968, burned an old piano in a field as promotion for an event. They asked me to score something for the video that was produced of the burning. I got a few friends together to read through the score, and we recorded it and sent it off. Years later, for a performance with the Tin Can Buddha, I wrote a poem to recite while the video was displayed in the background, with live improvisational accompaniment.]

Our idea of memory is something like a piano, a thing to be played and enjoyed, annoy us in our sleep, frighten us into understanding, making us dance to forget. Burning a big hunk of wood feels good, and all the music ever plucked, must come together, particles striving toward the sun. And so, my history can come together in unadulterated ways – like fire, most democratic destruction. But as a fire burns, it is human empathy with which we see only destruction– truly it is a creator, an amalgamator, forging a new mixture of chemicals. So randomness, generated by our early generation artificial intelligence, has forged the below.  

interplanetary chaos 
and my tears – like Keat’s Isabella – 
now soot-gray waves of stone electric Blue & White, seeping 
the Fantasy of American promises 
looking for the green secret of existence – 
And all this talk of nationalism 
all the beauties of living 
“I want to be buried in between a Starbucks and a Five Guys 
thinking himself an artist 
and clicked open our skulls 
through a series of backward mirrors 
wrapped in ideal plastic 
Hey, maybe if every one likeswhat every one else does We can achieve:That so,
great,MonoCulture 
a lovely morning sir, she said 
to rip them off and speak a new language – 
the metal cages of my brain 
the bell of bells no longer tolls 
Introducing: the Great American Tragedy or Comedy 
omniscient Mother of love. 
the children of Pornography and Monotony 
wearing the pages of their books 
I Ameri'can and I Ameri'won't 
I buckled on my religion 
and that is the Frosty Robert 
I am just an ape packing up my things 
staring glaring blaring 
the non-monkey 3’s. 
I don’t remember the kiss we just had 
friends and dreamers and wonderers and lovelovelovers 
all the beautiful people I knew, stayed in high school 
she’s a mare of a woman 
well scrape me like a fucking lemon 
“Bring me my gun.” 
The meadow sits there. I walk toward it. 
grown from strong and delusional bonobo fertilizer. 
and it’s in that corner of sentimentality 
staring into the new flower of Narcissus 
a Comedy in scenes 
love is always here 
and bring the hummingbirds in spring 
frolicking away the darkness 
lucky lucky lucky to enjoy a bourbon 
RedflashingWhiteflashingBlue 
there’s a baseball field at the end of town. 
a big laugh iNside everything 
They were all wrong when they said what they thought they knew 
toxic moondeath, inquisitive 
coming out in a smile from your divinity 
“I cannot speak, the light is too bright, the light too beautiful 
lucky to have your eyes 
Are your clothes on dear homo sapiens? 
a monologue, janusfaced and smiling 
and “how was the food Mr. Miller?" 
and Jesus says: 
into the bright coral mornings of Amsterdam 
O multicolored soul 
bomb warfare high fructose corn syrup 
when your soul and body were still swimming together 
Bunch of Men, just standing around 
lichens tortoising their way up trees 
not knowing what to do, whether to puke or shit 
at wishing me the best of Irish Smiles 

a manifesto (?) of commitment amidst the city of splendor

My life can be defined 
as I suppose all lives can –  
in their own uniquely common ways –  
as a continual awakening.  
From grand darkness, into immediate brilliance 
and then the slow and steady awakening –  
some dulling toward the end… (if one is ‘lucky’) 
and then to a place unknown… 
most likely the grand darkness, yet again.  

as it is right now, 
a Wednesday morning  
approaching nine in the morning, 
the excited bells of Venice 
sing their historicity every half hour; 
with a few soft lullabies in between, 
the sun is bright, the breeze cool 
and the city, strange in its splendor 
awakens for the 582,540th day 
(give or take a few) 

george garzone / dave liebman

written for Dave and George, after a performance at Small’s in NYC on the night of the Paris Bataclan theater attack

journey toward my grandfather

into the rolling hills of Ireland 
I roamed 
looking for the green secret of existence –  
with your second generation legs 
I began up a slate brown peak 
while they were putting your body 
into the cold cold cold 
(and sometimes hot) funereal condominium  
and did you know that 
the mountains here 
look like big, large, pebbles? 
the kind that you could skip across the bay, that I see 
out of the window… 
It’s a quaint bed and breakfast 
with ceilings slightly too low 
they amplify the big bony structure 
you gave to me 
and this view is something like 
the view you might have had in Nantucket 
when you journeyed with your love 
toward the honeyed moon…  
and probably like the coast in the Carolinas, 
but not like the beach in Stone Harbor, 
but maybe the midshipmen rocks of the Golden Gate? 
but I’m on a different journey, 
not celebrating marriage, 
but celebrating you. 

Program Note: Commentary on Charles Ives String Quartet No. 1

my arrangement for string orchestra of Ives String Quartet No. 1 was commissioned and premiered by the New York City based string ensemble, Shattered Glass, in the summer of 2014

A brief commentary from the arranger: 

The arranging of small ensemble works for large ensembles has always caused argument. Some believe it disrespectful to the composer (a grave-digging of sorts) and some believe that the music’s expression cannot be contained within the scope of the original instrumentation; and I am sure handfuls of other arguments could find their naming here. I have always believed that arguments like these rest on a case-by-case basis, and that no two pieces can be argued in the same breath.  

Charles Ives wrote his String Quartet No. 1 at the age of twenty-two, just prior to his departure from the ball fields of Yale. His time there was marked by a sincere antagonism toward musical tastes and his teacher, mostly due to his growing up with George Ives – his extra-musical father. In a picture taken two years after the composition of this work, Ives is clearly still a boy: slick hair, clean-shaven, pressed collar, and a sparkle in his eye. His youth seeps out of every measure of this work. Though one must not mistake this work for the work of an amateur.   

My first roadblock was in questioning whether or not this work deserved instrumental expansion, and the addition of weight. Based on its musical merit alone, I found the answer to be an astounding yes: the tutti sections and finales are of a magnitude that the quartet can only do so much justice, and more importantly I personally found the psycho-nostalgic and hyper-sensitive sound world to beg for spatial treatment.  

My second roadblock: would arranging this work be an act of grave-digging? This answer came from Vivian Perlis’ great works on Ives, particularly her An Oral History, in the words of film-composer Bernard Herrmann: 

“In the thirties I tried to get the Budapest Quartet to play the First Quartet and they wouldn’t consider it, because they said it was just a lot of cheap American religious music themes. That got me irritated, and I said, “Well, it is no different from Haydn.” They said, “What do you mean? Haydn is a great composer.” And I said, “Yeah, but there were cheap beer garden tunes in his quartets.” They said, “Oh, that’s different.” And I said, “No, it isn’t different. You don’t mind them, but you mind these. That’s all.” And they never played Ives, because they never really had a feeling for him. I worked with Ives on the First String Quartet. We worked on the score together, adding a bass part and all that. 

Here was living proof that Ives indeed had even attempted to manipulate the work in the very same way; but of course, knowing what one can know (eighty years removed) of the man, this seemed obvious.  

And my third and final roadblock: how much variation can one add to an already existing score (dynamics, spatial play, orchestration) without turning the work into something wholly different? I remembered immediately upon my hearing of the Fourth Symphony that Ives had indeed recycled immense amounts of material from the First String Quartet, and on top of borrowing, manipulated the material a great deal. I found another answer from Perlis’ book, this time from Elliot Carter: 

[Of the Fourth Symphony] “The third, which is about seventy-five percent the same as the first movement of the First String Quartet, has a few irregular bar lengths, polyrhythms and dissonances added especially at the expanded climax near the end. Comparison between these two show, in small, how Ives revised his works to suit the changes brought about by his musical development…” 

So all answers aside, I sat down to work. I worked from an out-of-print version of the score by Peer International (circa 1961). I found over twenty-seven errors and questionable circumstances; for each of these I made the most objective decisions based on the material Ives had already presented. Once these were corrected and the music entered was into the computer, I began constructing the arrangement with the idea of the larger string orchestra as an amplifying body, as well as an argumentative one.  

While working on the piece I was fortunate to live on the West Side of Manhattan at 157th Street. One block away from my home at the Academy of Arts and Letters, an exhibit opened during my work: Charles Ives workroom from his home in Redding Connecticut. Each day that I worked I made sure to take breaks and go and reflect on Ives – his humor, his disposition, his music, and his humanity. From this reflection I finally felt confident that a respectful arrangement created out of love for the music of Ives would do our greatest American musical hero justice. I hope that everyone who hears or performs this work derives as much joy from it as I did while living with it.