| Home | Biography | Compositions | Recordings | Samples | Readings | Events | Links |
Compositions
Variations On and By, for flute, oboe, and piano, 2006 (Show Program Notes)
Variations On and By, for flute, oboe, and piano, 2006 (Close Program Notes)
Variations On and By - for Flute, Oboe and Piano (2006)
The “Ruggiero bass” is part of a melodic-harmonic formula that was very popular among Italian musicians during the 16th and 17th centuries. The Grove Music Online dictionary lists more than 30 renaissance and early baroque composers who wrote vocal or instrumental pieces on the Ruggiero formula. In the late 1960s, upon reading about the Ruggiero bass, I decided that someday I would compose a set of variations on it—not thinking, of course, that it would be some 27 years before I would begin and complete the project!
The most characteristic form of the Ruggiero bass is an eight-measure diatonic melody in G major, but for Variations On and By, I have used a Mixolydian version of the bass. The Ruggiero-bass theme is not stated literally at any point in this composition; hence, the beginning of the work is labeled “Variation 1.” But anyone familiar with the Ruggiero bass will recognize fragments of it in each of the 12 variations. Those listeners who do not know the theme will (I hope) mentally construct a version of it as they hear a performance of the composition. Variations 1 and 11, both of which are “hockets” (i.e., pieces based on what is sometimes described as a musical hiccupping effect), serve as bookends for the composition. In the final variation, parts of several earlier variations are reprised.
Many of the techniques used in Variations On and By come from medieval and renaissance music (hocket, canon, etc.), but a few of the variations are fashioned primarily by the manipulation of pitch-class sets that have been derived from the Ruggiero bass. I hope, however, that the listener will perceive Variations On and By as a unified and stylistically consistent whole, despite its mix of ancient and modern elements.
Variations On and By was composed for the Spectral Trio, a chamber group consisting of three very talented performers, Richard Sherman, Jan Eberle, and Kimberly Schmidt, the first two of whom are my colleagues at Michigan State University. (July 30, 2006)
Echoes of Piano Red, for flute, clarinet (doubling bass clarinet), and alto saxophone, 2006 (Show Program Notes)
Echoes of Piano Red, for flute, clarinet (doubling bass clarinet), and alto saxophone, 2006 (Close Program Notes)
Echoes of “Piano Red” - Flute, Clarinet (doubling Bass Clarinet), and Alto Saxophone
Echoes of “Piano Red” is a three-movement work inspired by the music of “Piano Red,” whom many consider to be jazz music’s preeminent composer. (“Piano Red” is one of the less-known nicknames of Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington.) While I have not tried to copy Ellington’s style in Echoes of “Piano Red,” listeners familiar with some of the music of the “Maestro”—drummer Louis Bellson’s appellation for Ellington—certainly may hear echoes of Ellington in this composition. Echoes, of course, can distort and even obscure an original sound, as in the extreme transformation that occurs when someone sings loudly in an immense walled space.
In much of the first movement of Echoes of “Piano Red,” the three musical protagonists (the flute, bass clarinet, and alto saxophone), create webs of more-or-less repeating patterns that are intended to create a sense of agitated forward momentum. Imagine three hurried travelers weaving in and out of each other’s paths, making progress, but occasionally getting a bit entangled.
“Anyone’s Dream,” the second movement, is rather dreamlike, in that its tempo and mood change somewhat frequently and capriciously. The harmonic language of “Anyone’s Dream” is more dissonant than that of the other two movements—an anxious dream, perhaps?
The middle section of “Play and Laugh,” the final movement of Echoes, is intended to sound something like a joyous and at times mirthful group-improvisation with at first two, and then all three, players improvising over tonal “changes” (jazz harmonies); however, none of the parts call for any actual improvisation—they all are fully notated. Each of the three parts should have its own distinct, relaxed, and spontaneous sounding “swing feel” (nuance of rhythmic interpretation).
Echoes of “Piano Red” was composed for the Eclectic Trio: Joanna White, flute, Kennen White, clarinet, and John Nichol, saxophone. Funding for this commission was provided by Central Michigan University. (July 2006)
Spirit and Flesh, for solo clarinet, 2006 (Show Program Notes)
Spirit and Flesh, for solo clarinet, 2006 (Close Program Notes)
Spirit and Flesh - for Clarinet (2006)
SPIRIT AND FLESH is a musical representation of (or, perhaps more accurately, a musical speculation on) how the spirit, the “vital principle” and “animating force” of a human being, interacts with human physicality (the flesh or body). SPIRIT AND FLESH is based on three musical styles or characters. Each of these characters has some distinct musical materials (i.e., motives, harmonic progressions, quotations, etc.), but all three also share material.
The spirit character is associated primarily with trills, tremolos, and softer dynamics. The flesh character is represented by music that might be thought of as “typical” clarinet art music—patterns and gestures that one might hear in a classical (or neoclassical) sonata or concerto for clarinet. The third character, or the transformational character, is marked by volatile, jazzy, and often loud utterances that mediate between the other two characters. (December 28, 2006)
Night Songs and Flights of Fancy, for alto saxophone and piano, 2005 (Show Program Notes)
Night Songs and Flights of Fancy, for alto saxophone and piano, 2005 (Close Program Notes)
Night Songs and Flights of Fancy - for Alto Saxophone and Piano (2005)
Night Songs and Flights of Fancy was written for Joseph Lulloff and Jun Okada, two immensely talented performers with whom I have had the good fortune to collaborate several times during the past two decades. In the music I’ve written for Joe and Jun, I have tried to exploit and enhance their unique synergy, especially the rhythmic energy and momentum that some of their best performances have.
Night Songs and Flights of Fancy is inspired by four songs and short instrumental pieces from the vast repertoire of American popular music and jazz of the 1930s and ‘40s—music that I’ve been interested in for most of my life and that continues to provide me with much enjoyment, especially when performed by masterful jazz improvisers. While the listener need not recognize hints of the four source works to comprehend and enjoy this composition, for those who are familiar with these mid twentieth-century popular songs and instrumental pieces, Nights Songs and Flights of Fancy may contain enriching associations, connections, and layers of meaning.
Each of the four movements of Night Songs and Flights of Fancy begins with more or less song-like material and is followed by freer and more complex music that develops the opening material but also introduces contrasting ideas, sometimes in ways that may seem fanciful, surprising, or even mildly perplexing.
Dance Compulsions, for alto saxophone, piano, winds, and percussion, 2004 (Show Program Notes)
Dance Compulsions, for alto saxophone, piano, winds, and percussion, 2004 (Close Program Notes)
Dance Compulsions - Concerto for Alto Saxophone, Piano, Winds, and Percussion (2004)
The instrumentation of the American "concert band" is not as standardized as that of the developed symphony orchestra. Rather than viewing this as a weakness, many composers and band conductors currently are enthusiastically exploring a full range of wind and percussion instrumentation possibilities. Today, a "band concert" at a major American university is likely to include music for small, uniquely configured chamber groups, works for massive symphonic ensembles, and compositions for bands that call for only one player per part. Dance Compulsions falls into the last of these three categories.
When John Whitwell, Director of Bands at Michigan State University, commissioned me to write a large work for the MSU Wind Symphony, he suggested that I write a concerto, but he gave me latitude to write for an ensemble consisting of virtually any combination of woodwind, brass, and percussion instruments. His only suggestion was that I consider writing for one player per part (that is, without the doubling of parts that is normal in performances of traditional band music). John Whitwell's concept of (or vision for) band literature is inclusive and adventuresome; consequently, during his tenure at Michigan State, he has commissioned a steady stream of works that runs the stylistic gamut. This concerto, Dance Compulsions, is my contribution to what might be termed the new flexible instrumentation and stylistic inclusiveness of American band music, a trend championed by conductors like John Whitwell.
My long and happy artistic association with Joseph Lulloff, who is both a friend and an MSU colleague, prompted me immediately to choose alto saxophone as one of the solo instruments for this concerto—-Joe's technique, musical intelligence, and emotional depth have inspired me in the past to write some of my most successful music. When Joe and I first discussed this project, we quickly decided that the piece should feature both Joe and Jun Okada, the very talented pianist whom Joe and I have had the good fortune to work with for some two decades. John Whitwell was quick to endorse our plan.
Dance Compulsions attempts to cultivate the supercharged energy that Lulloff-Okada performances often have. It is a 14-minute, one-movement work that consists of a long chain of short dance-like episodes the duration and sequence of which are calculated to create a sense of logically increasing momentum and inevitability of form. Although there are no conscious musical quotations in Dance Compulsions, the piece borrows from a number of traditional styles of popular twentieth-century North American, South American, and Caribbean dance music. The listener might think of the solo instruments of the concerto as representing two dancers who have an insatiable appetite to dance, mostly together, but sometimes as solo dancers; their compulsion to dance being a sometimes joyous, sometimes sensual, sometimes spontaneous, sometimes calculated, and sometimes desperate affirmation of life. (January 2004)
Fantasy on a Theme by Ravel, for clarinet and piano, 2004 (Show Program Notes)
Fantasy on a Theme by Ravel, for clarinet and piano, 2004 (Close Program Notes)
Fantasy on a Theme by Ravel - for Clarinet and Piano (2004)
I had admired the music of Maurice Ravel years before I began my composition lessons at the New England Conservatory in the mid 1960s. As a teenager, I remember spending hours listening to a Boston Symphony Orchestra recording of Ravel's Daphnis and Chloe; certainly, that listening experience helped shape my concept of what the power of music could be. But it wasn't until 2002, when I gave a composition seminar in the music of Ravel at Michigan State University, that I developed a deeper understanding of the French master's art.
I had not yet given the Ravel seminar at MSU, when the talented clarinetist, Suzanne Tirk, asked me to write something for clarinet and piano. I agreed to accept Suzanne's invitation, having, at first, no intention to incorporate anything Ravelian into the new piece. But by the time the composition was started, I felt almost compelled to draw upon my studies of Ravel's music in writing this duo for clarinet and piano. I'm not sure why, but I feel that the timbres of the clarinet are particularly well suited to articulate some of Ravel's melodic ideas.
Soon after I had decided to base my composition for clarinet and piano on melodic material by Ravel, I settled upon the main theme from the recapitulation of the first movement of Ravel's string quartet. Although Ravel's theme never appears verbatim, it is the basis for almost everything in my duo. And although I have not tried to "quote" elements of Ravel's style in Fantasy on a Theme by Ravel, much of this composition's harmony, texture, rhythm, etc. is indebted to Ravel's music. Fantasy is, then, offered in homage to the master, but offered with the hope that both the performer and listener will find in it more than just an attempt to mimic a well-known style. (June 2004)
Dig: JSB-1, for saxophone quartet (sop., alt., ten., bar.), 2003 (Show Program Notes)
Dig: JSB-1, for saxophone quartet (sop., alt., ten., bar.), 2003 (Close Program Notes)
Dig: JSB-1, A Transmogrification of the 4th Movement of J. S. Bach's Sonata in G Minor for Violin Solo - for Saxophone Quartet (2003)
Commissioned by the Capitol Quartet
David Lewis, Baritone Saxophone
Joe Lulloff, Soprano Saxophone
Anjan Shah, Alto Saxophone
David Stambler, Tenor SaxophoneDig: JSB-1 for saxophone quartet, is about confluence and transmogrification (defined in one dictionary as: a changing "into a different shape or form, especially one that is fantastic or bizarre"). Dig plausibly could be called an arrangement of the last movement of Bach's solo violin sonata in G minor. However, instead of arrangement or transcription, I use the word transmogrification to categorize this work, because in the second half of Dig the degree to which I've changed Bach's music, and the aesthetic criteria I have employed in making those changes, transform the work, in my view. What starts as an arrangement ends as a composition. Consequently, this work explores relationships between tradition and innovation, translation and creation, presentation and origination.
The Capitol Quartet's ability to play different styles of music extremely well, their capacity for making rapid yet coherent stylistic transformations during their performances, and their dedication to bringing a wide variety of rich and challenging music to their audiences, is inspiring. Shortly after the quartet's delightful performance at Michigan State University in February of 2003, Anjan Shaw, the Capitol Quartet's alto saxophonist, invited me to write a piece for the group's upcoming CD. After attending their MSU performance and discussing the commission with Anjan, it became clear to me that a serious goal of the Capitol Quartet is to enrich the repertoire of the saxophone quartet in innovative ways. Furthermore, they are committed to fashioning recital programs and recording projects that will infuse the performance of music from the baroque and classical periods of European art music with a vitality that is, in part, borrowed from jazz. In the Capitol Quartet's performances and recordings one finds an appealing convergence of classical music, popular American music, and jazz, a convergence that resonates with me.
In the fall of 2002, before hearing the Capitol Quartet's MSU performance and before Anjan raised the possibility of me writing something for the quartet, I had thought about writing a saxophone quartet based on the last movement of Bach's Sonata in G Minor for Violin Solo, a piece that I had played on marimba when I was Vic Firth's student at the New England Conservatory in the 1960s. I had enjoyed playing the piece, and neither I nor my teacher had any qualms about playing it on marimba—-after all, Bach himself had arranged a number of his works, including some for solo violin, for performance on other instruments!
One November or December morning, while listening to the local PBS FM radio station, I heard a recording of the Bach G-minor sonata and decided that I would enjoy turning it into a piece for saxophone quartet. I can't explain exactly why, but as I was listening to the broadcast, the piece seemed to beg to be "translated" into a saxophone quartet piece. However, being busy with other projects, I didn't begin writing the piece until after learning from Anjan that the Capitol Quartet was interested in doing a CD focusing on classical music, particularly the music of J. S. Bach, and that they wanted me to write something for the group. What a nice confluence of interests and opportunities!
The first part of the title of this composition, Dig, is a play on words. Everything in this piece is based, more or less, on Bach's violin sonata movement. Parts of the composition are little more than arrangements of chunks of Bach's solo violin music for saxophone quartet; however, in much of the quartet, Bach's melodic lines, rhythms, and implied harmonies are rearranged, deranged, displaced, elaborated upon, etc. I've transformed Bach's music in ways, some of which I hope are pleasantly unexpected, that reflect my interests in and experiences with jazz and twentieth-century European and American composition.
This kind of "borrowing" and metamorphosing has been done by many composers (Bach himself, Ives, Stravinsky, Berio, and many others), but some distinguished musicians have frowned upon the practice. Pierre Boulez, for example, in his essay "Bach's Moment," has characterized composers who have borrowed material from other composers as "grave robbers." I prefer to think of such borrowings as musical archaeology; hence my title Dig (as in archaeological dig). But since in this piece I'm attempting to transform Bach's violin piece, using, in part, jazz harmonies, instrumental techniques, and rhythmic concepts, the title also is intended to suggest that I "dig" (i.e., admire, like, respect, etc., in jazz parlance) Bach's music and would like, through the Capitol Quartet, to bring it to the attention of many performers and listeners who otherwise might not encounter it.
Dig: JSB-1 is dedicated to the memory of Theodore O. Johnson, who was my friend and colleague at Michigan State University for more than 30 years and who wrote two books on the music of J. S. Bach. (November 2003)
Fanfare for Brass and Percussion, 2002 (Show Program Notes)
Fanfare for Brass and Percussion, 2002 (Close Program Notes)
Fanfare for Brass and Percussion (2002)
Fanfare for Brass and Percussion was written in celebration of the 75th anniversary of the Michigan State University Orchestras and is dedicated to my talented MSU School of Music colleague, conductor Leon Gregorian, whose artistry, vision, and tireless efforts during the past two decades have contributed so much to the development of one of the truly great academic orchestras of North America. (January 2002)
Fanfare for Brass and Percussion, somewhat longer and more "intense" than a typical fanfare, features trumpet, trombone, and timpani solos and has some distinctive structural properties that relate to the occasion for which it was written. (July 24, 2002)
Collage-1912, for clarinet, violin, and piano, 2001 (Michigan State University Press) (Show Program Notes)
Collage-1912, for clarinet, violin, and piano, 2001 (Michigan State University Press) (Close Program Notes)
Collage-1912 (2001)
Several times during the 1990s Walter Verdehr, my Michigan State University colleague, invited me to write a piece for the renowned Verdehr Trio, the clarinet-violin-piano trio that he founded with his wife, Elsa Ludewig-Verdehr, in 1972 (just one year, coincidentally, before I joined the MSU faculty). I regret that it took me so long to compose something for the Verdehrs, but the delay wasn't due to lack of interest. I've been a great admirer of Elsa and Walter as solo performers and of their superb trio for many years, and I'm honored that they asked me to contribute to the distinctive repertoire that their talents and hard work have brought to life during the past three decades, but a variety of other exigent projects during the 1990s prevented me from working on a piece for the Verdehr Trio until the fall of 2001.
For years now both Elsa and Walter have been attracted to the paintings of my daughter Maria Fiorenza Ruggiero Sidiropoulos. Not only have the Verdehrs purchased several of Maria's paintings for their home, but they also have used a few of her images on Verdehr Trio posters and as part of their website. Every now and then, when I'd run into Walter in the halls of MSU's School of Music or chat with him after one of the trio's summer performances at MSU's Wharton Center, he would say something like, "About that piece we'd like you to write, . . . wouldn't it be wonderful if you could tie it in with some of Maria's paintings." And at one point Walter suggested that it would be delightful to have a number of Maria's paintings exhibited at the site of the premiere of my composition for the Verdehr Trio.
I liked Walter's idea that I relate my composition in some way to my daughter's work, but I did not want to write a "pictures-at-an-exhibition" type of piece. And I especially did not want to try to convey my impressions of Maria's depiction of some idyllic landscape located in a region of the world I'd never set foot in. After considerable thought I decided to try to develop a musical composition using techniques or procedures analogous to those Maria has been using in some of her recent (2000-2001) paintings.
Collage-1912 isn't based on any particular painting or paintings, nor is it intended to impart my musical impressions of, or responses to, the things and places represented in any of Maria's paintings; rather, this musical composition was created using steps analogous to those my daughter has used to transform some of her smaller still-life paintings into larger, more abstract landscapes. Maria's still-life paintings, like many traditional still-lifes, are representations of more-or-less common household objects—-glasses, dishes, candlesticks, vases, pieces of fruit, etc.—-arranged in a very "artificial" manner. That's to say, arranged not as they would be if someone were preparing for a dinner party, but arranged as a composition of shapes, colors, shadings, etc. Quite often in Maria's still-life paintings compositional motifs take precedence over "reality." For example, in one painting the pattern of a tablecloth is imprinted upon objects that sit on top of the cloth instead of being obscured by them. Although these small still-life paintings are already somewhat abstract, a more marked abstraction takes place in the next phase of the process, where various elements from some of these still-life paintings are used in the development of enlarged companion works.
Maria has produced a series of works in which she has attempted, quite successfully I believe, to transform original but somewhat conventional still-life paintings into bold landscapes that can (should?) be viewed in multiple ways. For example, a large piece might be perceived as an autonomous, rather loose, rhythmic, and intense post-impressionistic landscape and simultaneously seen as a radical permutation of the still-life painting with which it is paired.
How did the creation of Collage-1912 relate to the process outlined above? I started my piece for the Verdehr Trio by fashioning a musical still-life of sorts. I snipped many passages from a dozen compositions (all of which were either composed or published in 1911 or 1912—-hence the title) and rather "artificially" arranged them into a musical "still-life." This part of the process took about two months—-much more time than I had anticipated! In the next step of the compositional process, I modified the musical still-life by rearranging, supplementing, subtracting from, distorting, overlapping, fusing, etc. the snippets to create the final composition.
Every measure of Collage-1912 is based on one or more snippets (including a few fairly substantial excerpts) taken from one composition by each of the following twelve composers: Béla Bartók, Irving Berlin, Claude Debussy, W.C. Handy, Charles Ives, Gustav Mahler, Maurice Ravel, Arnold Schoenberg, James Scott, Richard Strauss, Igor Stravinsky, and Joaquín Turina. A diverse group of snippets, to be sure, but perhaps not as diverse as one might guess from reading any standard college textbook on the history of Western music! The use of existing music to create a new work is, of course, nothing new. Not only were numerous European medieval, renaissance, and baroque pieces constructed with borrowed materials, but many twentieth-century composers, including some of the twelve composers whose music is used in Collage-1912 (particularly Ives and Stravinsky), have quoted and parodied music from various sources extensively in certain compositions.
Collage-1912, which is approximately eleven minutes in duration, consists of two parts that are performed with no pause between them. This work is dedicated to the Verdehr Trio, to my daughter Maria, and to all twelve of the composers whose raw materials I mined for the "still-life" and consequent collage (or "abstract musical landscape") by which, I must admit, I've attempted to depict a significant chunk of the Western music world circa 1912. (November 29, 2001)
SizzleSax II, for tenor saxophone and percussion, 2001 (Show Program Notes)
SizzleSax II, for tenor saxophone and percussion, 2001 (Close Program Notes)
SizzleSax II - for Tenor Saxophone and Percussion (2001)
SizzleSax, the original version of this composition, was given its premiere by Joseph Lulloff at the 12th World Saxophone Congress in Montreal on July 8, 2000, at the University of Quebec's Salle Pierre-Mercure. In the original SizzleSax, the tenor saxophonist was called upon to play five cymbals by hand and at times to alternate rapidly between playing the saxophone and the cymbals—-both of which requirements, especially the former, proved to be problematic.
While Lulloff's brilliant performance of SizzleSax was received with some enthusiasm at the Congress, several of the saxophonists who heard (and saw) the premiere commented that they wouldn't even consider trying to learn the piece because of the possible stress and even serious injury to their hands that playing the cymbals might cause. Their concerns, unfortunately, were justified.
After playing SizzleSax at the Brevard Music Center later in the summer of 2000, Joseph Lulloff (who is both a Michigan State University colleague and close friend of mine) told me that as much as he had enjoyed playing the cymbals in his two performances of SizzleSax, the toll that these performances had taken on his hands was too great for him to continue playing the composition. Joe decided to cancel the Michigan premiere of SizzleSax, and I regretfully concurred. I certainly didn't want Joe's hands to be damaged playing my music. But having invested too much time and creative energy in SizzleSax to let it die such a quick death, I was determined to come up with a benign (at least non-injurious!) transformation of the composition that retained and further developed much of its original musical content—-even if some of SizzleSax's theatrics had to be sacrificed.
In July and August of 2001 SizzleSax II, the phoenix of SizzleSax, was reborn, still a work inspired by Joseph Lulloff, but now a duo for tenor saxophone and percussion. The original cymbals of SizzleSax have been augmented in SizzleSax II with other metallic instruments (triangles, sizzle-gong, and tam-tam) and various "skins" percussion instruments (bongos, tom-tom, congas, and bass drum). It is hoped that this new version may be performed without injury to either player. (August 12, 2001)
SizzleSax, for tenor saxophone and five cymbals played by the saxophonist, 2000 (Show Program Notes)
SizzleSax, for tenor saxophone and five cymbals played by the saxophonist, 2000 (Close Program Notes)
SizzleSax - for Tenor Saxophone and Five Cymbals (2000)
During my long musical association with Joseph Lulloff, I've been fascinated with and inspired by many aspects of his performer's talents, his musical personality, and his on-stage mannerisms. One of Joe's signatures as a saxophone soloist is his proclivity to move around while playing. Nearly at the very inception of this compositional project, I decided to write SizzleSax for tenor saxophone and cymbals, with the cymbals to be played by the saxophonist. The image of Joe playing the tenor saxophone, surrounded by, tapping, dodging, and sometimes colliding with cymbals of various sizes and timbres (some of which would be "sizzle" cymbals) was one of the first generating ideas of the composition.
Having a wind player play percussion instruments certainly is not a new idea, but as I began to think about writing this piece, I was excited by the possibilities of mixing the sounds of the tenor saxophone with those of cymbals. Particularly the diverse articulations, volumes, and washes of sound of a set of cymbals, combined with the many exotic timbral, articulative, and dynamic shadings of saxophone multiphonics, seemed to have much potential for the creation of quite distinctive (and even new) sax-cymbal textures, colors, rhythms, and gestures. It's my hope that the attentive listener will judge I've succeeded in realizing that potential.
SizzleSax is written in memory of John Coltrane, who, during his short but brilliant career, played many a sizzling solo. (March 2000; rev. June 2000)
Blues, Time, Changes, for bassoon and string quartet, 1999 (Show Program Notes)
Blues, Time, Changes, for bassoon and string quartet, 1999 (Close Program Notes)
Blues, Time, Changes - for Bassoon and String Quartet (1999)
Blues, Time, Changes is the second in a projected series of compositions based substantially on blues (more precisely, blues elements as they are manifested in jazz). The first work in this series, Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet (written in 1981), inhabits a large niche in my compositional output where stylistic labels don't stick well. Writing in the San Francisco Chronicle about a 1985 performance of the quartet, Robert Commanday opined:
Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet by Charles Ruggiero was something of a misnomer; only the third piece really exploits blues ideas. No matter, it's a pleasing set, . . .Chances are that Blues, Time, Changes will be received with similar bafflement in some quarters, frustrating both blues purists and concertgoers intent upon finding apt musicological catch phrases to stick to the composition. Some may feel that Blues, Time, Changes is, like my saxophone quartet, stylistically adrift. The hard-core jazz fan might think Blues, Time, Changes is too complex, too dissonant, too diverse, too contrived, etc. to be a "true" blues or jazz composition, while the aficionado of advanced "art music" might consider Blues, Time, Changes to be too simple, too tonal, too conventionally shaped, too straightforward to be a "serious" work. To put it succinctly: Blues, Time, Changes may be too much like a simple blues for some, and not enough like an authentic blues for others.
Aware as I am of the potential pitfalls of writing a piece that might be called a "misnomer," I'm willing to risk it, especially if I can offer up a "pleasing set." Jazz and blues music, especially the latter, are pervasive in twentieth-century world culture. Few musical genres of any time have found such wide and enthusiastic acceptance around the globe as blues. Live and recorded blues performances, by such masterful artists as Bessie Smith, Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, and countless other talented singers and instrumentalists, as well as blues pieces by such distinctive composers as W. C. Handy, Maurice Ravel, Duke Ellington, Samuel Barber, and Thelonious Monk (not to mention the tens of thousands of blues tunes written by waves of rural blues, R&B, soul, pop, etc. writers over the decades), have had a constant presence in American culture throughout the twentieth century. One consequence of this is that probably most people raised in North America in this century (and many people from other parts of the world) have some seemingly innate feeling for blues.
I believe that nearly every American, trained in music or not (including those who are disdainful of blues styles), can hear (perceive) certain aspects of blues music. It is as a common thread in an otherwise disjointed musical culture, that blues music interests me. In Blues, Time, Changes I rely upon the listener's familiarity with blues to build moderately complex structures that, it is hoped, are subtly expressive and relatively accessible (not dirty words, in my lexicon).
The title Blues, Time, Changes is intended to be suggestive. The three words, of course, have common meanings and uses that I hope will have relevance to someone trying to develop an understanding of aspects of my composition. For instance, one connotation of the ordering of these three words is that a blues form (involving varied repetitions of a harmonic progression) might change over time during the piece. That is, certain blues materials (including rhythmic, melodic, and harmonic elements) might be transformed as the composition unfolds. Another connotation of the title suggests that listening to blues music, including this piece, might be capable of having an effect on one's perception of time in interesting ways—-a matter for speculation.
In addition to their common meanings, blues, time, and changes each has a fairly well-defined technical meaning (or set of meanings) for a jazz musician. Blues (or the blues) often refers to standardized forms and harmonic progressions used by jazz musicians as bases for improvisation. And the term has other meanings—-blue note, for example, is a phrase used by many jazz musicians to refer to special tones and certain pitches that fall outside the standard equal temperament of Western classical music.
Time, an elusive jazz term, refers to the unique rhythmic framework of a jazz performance, including such interrelated variables as meter, tempo, rhythmic vocabulary, swing, etc. In Blues, Time, Changes, which is in one continuous movement, each of the two main sections of the piece is delineated primarily by its distinct embodiment of time, or, in jazz parlance, by its own time feel.
To a jazz musician, changes refers to the progression of chords upon which a jazz performance or arrangement is based. These chords often are taken from a popular song and typically change at the pace of one or two chords per measure. In Blues, Time, Changes two fundamental, though often obscured, sets of changes are essential in creating the architectonics and formal processes of the composition.
Blues, Time, Changes was composed for bassoonist Barry Stees, my talented colleague at Michigan State University; it was written during the summers of 1998 and 1999. (2000)
Strayhorn, for alto saxophone and piano, 1999-2000 (concert arrangement, not published) (Show Program Notes)
Strayhorn, for alto saxophone and piano, 1999-2000 (concert arrangement, not published) (Close Program Notes)
STRAYHORN - A Concert Arrangement of Billy Strayhorn Compositions for Alto Saxophone and Piano (2000)
STRAYHORN was written for my friends Joseph Lulloff and Jun Okadaduring the seven days from December 26, 1999, to New Year's Day, 2000. Although I hadn't planned on spending that week writing music, when Joe asked me (late in November) to arrange "some jazz" for his appearance at Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall on January 26, 2000, I just couldn't say no. The sponsors of Joe's recital, the New York Pro Musicis association, had suggested that he include some jazz on his program, and when Joe contacted me I immediately proposed an extended concert arrangement based on several songs and instrumental pieces of Billy Strayhorn. The choice of Strayhorn's music was easy; it was stimulated in part by my interest in Strayhorn's compositions and in part by Joe's admiration for the distinctive alto saxophone playing of Johnny Hodges, one of Strayhorn's colleagues in the Duke Ellington enterprise. (The attentive listener may recognize a brief reference to Strayhorn's musical tribute to Hodges, "Johnny Come Lately," at the very end of the arrangement.)
Although their emotional expressiveness and melodic beauty are quite captivating, it is the harmonic sophistication of Billy Strayhorn's compositions that is most intriguing to me. As José Hosiasson states in The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, Strayhorn's "ballads . . . are harmonically and structurally among the most sophisticated in jazz." This sophistication is not surprising, considering the excellent early musical training that Strayhorn received, his intellectual curiosity, and his extraordinary gift for composition.
After spending nearly three decades as Duke Ellington's closest musical collaborator, Billy Strayhorn died somewhat in the shadow of jazz's greatest composer and bandleader. During his lifetime, some of Strayhorn's music, like the well-known theme song of Ellington's band, "Take the 'A' Train," was assumed by many to be Duke's work. But recently a number of performers and scholars have begun to better understand the significance of Strayhorn's contributions to Ellington's output and to reappraise Strayhorn's independent work.
This arrangement for alto saxophone and piano of Strayhorn works is intended to pay homage to Billy Strayhorn by helping to bring his music to the recital stage. It's my hope that in this piece two different performance practices (one involving improvisation, the other not) are blended effectively, resulting in a work that can be presented convincingly by musicians who are at ease with fully notated "art music" but not averse to improvisation. This approach seems appropriate, since Strayhorn was rooted in the traditions of both jazz and European "classical" music.
He was my listener, my most dependable appraiser, and as a critic he would be the most clinical, but his background--both classical and modern--was an accessory to his own good taste and understanding, so what came back to me was in perfect balance.Duke Ellington (from his autobiography, Music Is My Mistress)
STRAYHORN is based on the following compositions (listed in order of their appearance in the arrangement):
Day Dream (Ellington/Strayhorn, 1941)
Rain Check (Strayhorn, 1942)
A Flower Is a Lovesome Thing (Strayhorn, 1941)
Blood Count (Strayhorn, 1967)
Upper Manhattan Medical Group--also known as "U.M.M.G." (Strayhorn, 1956)
Take the "A" Train (Strayhorn, 1941)
Johnny Come Lately (Strayhorn, 1942)
(December, 2000)
Il foco, for solo flute, 1997, rev. 1999 (Show Program Notes)
Il foco, for solo flute, 1997, rev. 1999 (Close Program Notes)
Il foco - for Flute (1997)
The modern composer of music will not need to have any notion of the rules of good composition, apart from a few universal principles of practice. . . . He will use the major and minor accidentals at his own free will, confounding their signs at random. . . . It will do no harm, however, if the modern composer should have been for many years a player . . . and also copyist for some noted composer, and should have kept the original manuscripts of his operas, serenades, etc., stealing from them and still others ideas. . . . He will quicken or retard the tempo of the arias to suit the genius of the virtuosi, covering up whatever bad judgement they show with the reflection that his own reputation . . . [is] in their hands. . . . If the modern composer should give lessons to some virtuosa of the opera house, let him . . . teach her a great number of divisions and of graces, so that not a single word will be understood, and by this means the music will stand out better and be appreciated. . . . If the impresario should later complain about the music, the composer will protest that he is unjust in so doing, as the opera contains a third more than the usual number of notes and took almost fifty hours to compose. If some aria should fail to please the virtuose or their protectors, he will say that it needs to be heard in the theatre with the costumes, the lights, the supernumeraries, etc.
Benedetto Marcello (from Il teatro alla moda, 1720; as translated in Oliver Strunk's Source Readings in Music History)
Thousands—-perhaps tens of thousands—-of singers who have studied voice at colleges or conservatories in the past 100 years, have performed, practiced, or heard their classmates offer renditions of Benedetto Marcello's recitative and aria, Il mio bel foco.* This music has held up remarkably well under the strain of such prolonged pedagogical attention. As a student at the New England Conservatory, I studied Il mio bel foco in voice class and heard it butchered by several other non-singers in the class. This was during the 1960s, and although I considered myself to be one of those "advanced" musical thinkers who was interested in the music of Varèse, Webern, Ives, and Thelonious Monk, I couldn't deny the attractions of Marcello's ancient recitative and aria—-especially their quintessentially bel canto attributes and direct emotionality.
When my daughter Susan expressed some interest in having a piece written for her by her father, it was almost inevitable that I should turn to Il mio bel foco for material, since Susie had, by that time, given several fine performances of this music at various vocal recitals and competitions, performances which had planted some kind of seed in my composer's ear and imagination.
Given his satirical commentary on the music of some of his lesser contemporaries, I'm sure that Marcello would have been flabbergasted and more than a little miffed to hear my "variations" on Il mio bel foco, for I've done many of the things that he ridicules in the above passages from his famous Il teatro alla moda. I have indeed used the major and minor intervals rather freely, and have plagiarized extensively—-from none other than maestro Marcello himself. I have used accelerandi and ritardandi plentifully and have thrown in "a great number of divisions and graces." And, yes, I caution both the player and listener that Il foco will sound better when performed in a large hall ("in the theatre") rather than in a small space that has dry acoustics. . . . Why, one might muse, have I followed Marcello's mock advice so faithfully?
Somewhat in the manner of Mahler's view of the Viennese waltz, I both am captivated by the charms of Marcello's music, and, at the same time, fully realize that his time is long past, and that his music, despite our nostalgic musical yearnings, cannot be the music of our time and our culture ("our" referring to that vaguely defined group of people, worldwide, who are interested in "classical art music"). So in Il foco Marcello's beautiful vocal melodies are stated, revised, stretched, chopped up, interrupted, intensified, obliterated in a way, it is hoped, that reflects forcefully our stylistically diverse and rapidly malleable world culture. Just as, when watching TV, we can instantly switch channels (for better or worse) to view vividly contrasting images and hear dramatically divergent sounds emanating from almost any part of our planet (and even from the outer space surrounding our planet), in Il foco the flutist presents the listener with changing materials and musical styles, both of which sometimes transform rapidly, even abruptly and impetuously.
Benedetto Marcello, like all Western composers of the past millennia, certainly understood the expressive power of dissonance, dissonant melodic and harmonic intervals such as the ninth, seventh, tritone, etc. that can delay—-sometimes rather unexpectedly—-and therefore strengthen and make more interesting the progression of musical events in a composition. So it's not inconceivable that Marcello, were he able to come back to visit us at the end of the twentieth century, could understand one of the major premises of this composition: that stylistic dissonance can allow the "modern composer" (Marcello's phrase) to satirize and distort, but also to transform, intensify, and even enhance, musical materials borrowed from the vast and still alive tradition of Western art music.
* Some scholars now claim that all of Marcello’s operas actually were written by other composers. See Eleanor Selfridege-Field, “Marcello, Benedetto,” Grove Music Online (The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, 1992). http://www.grovemusic.com/shared/views/article.html?from=search&session search id=679351099&hitnum=1§ion=opera.004480 (accessed June 4, 2007).
(July 3, 1997; rev. June 4, 2007)
Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts for Six Trumpets, 1996, rev. 1997 (Show Program Notes)
Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts for Six Trumpets, 1996, rev. 1997 (Close Program Notes)
Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts - for Six Trumpets (1996)
Several years ago my colleague Richard Illman (Professor of Trumpet, Michigan State University) suggested that I consider composing a work for a small ensemble of trumpets; his suggestion piqued my interest and was one of the main factors that led me to compose Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts for Six Trumpets. Many times, both as a listener and as a jazz drummer, I've been particularly affected by the outstanding brass playing of skilled jazz improvisers. And at more than one point in my life I even have attempted—-if only briefly!—-to learn how to play rudimentary jazz on the trumpet. Consequently, although this is the first composition of mine that is for trumpets only, I began composing FANFARES, GROWLS, AND SHOUTS feeling confident that I could use effectively many of the various sonorities that the trumpet is capable of producing, including those created via the special techniques developed and perfected by jazz improvisers and jazz arrangers.
Right from when Rich Illman first approached me about composing a trumpet piece, some general ideas for this composition began to percolate. But although I was enthusiastic about writing something for Rich and his talented students, other compositional projects delayed my writing of FANFARES, GROWLS, AND SHOUTS for quite some time. Then, in the fall of 1993, John Whitwell (Director of Bands at Michigan State University) asked me to write a fanfare which would become part of a set of new works that he and the MSU Bands were commissioning to mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of the founding of the first official band at Michigan State. Delighted with John Whitwell's invitation, I proposed to write a piece for six solo trumpets, and he endorsed this plan.
Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts requires six very accomplished instrumentalists, all of whom are familiar with jazz trumpet styles and techniques. All six parts are approximately of the same difficulty, but the Trumpet 1 part calls for a high-note specialist, and the Trumpet 6 part needs a player with a very firm command of the bottom fifth of the instrument's range.
If two of the essences of jazz are improvisation and swing, then FANFARES, GROWLS, AND SHOUTS cannot be considered a jazz composition, in that the score allows for no improvisation and is notated without the expectation of "swing" interpretation of its written rhythms. But jazz influences on certain aspects of this composition are so strong that it might be said the spirit of jazz permeates, even dominates, this work. Indeed, one of the primary artistic motivations of this composition is the trumpet virtuosi of the Duke Ellington big band, and, of course, the music written for them by Ellington and his collaborators.
One of the most galvanizing and thoroughly enjoyable musical experiences of my life came in the summer of 1965, when I heard the Duke Ellington Orchestra live at Weirs Beach in New Hampshire. The band played about three hours of music, starting with a concert set, and followed, after an intermission, by an extended dance set. In the band that night were many of the legendary soloists whom Ellington had cultivated throughout his long career as a band leader, including the fire-breathing and barely containable Cat Anderson, the always tasty and entertaining Ray Nance, and the inimitable master of the growl and mute, Cootie Williams. It is the wonderful trumpet stylings of these men and other Ellington trumpet stars like Bubber Miley, Rex Stewart, Shorty Baker, and Clark Terry, as well as some of the compositional and arranging techniques of Ellington and other jazz writers, that are the foundations of my Fanfares, Growls, and Shouts.
I have listened to at least 100 different Ellington CDs and LPs, but I've never heard a recording of the Ellington band that even comes close to representing the power and sonorous brilliance of the Ellington brass section as it sounded "live." Somewhat in the manner of Ellington's brass functioning at its peak, a good performance of FANFARES, GROWLS, AND SHOUTS must be felt clearly and impressively, even by those members of the audience sitting in the last row of the auditorium!
FANFARES, Growls, and Shouts is not tonal in the sense that most of Ellington's music is (but Ellington did, from time to time, experiment with extreme chromaticism and dissonance, as well as other harmonic techniques associated with twentieth-century Western "classical" music). Although many of the sonorities found in FANFARES recall big-band jazz music, the "harmony" of this composition is based more on pitch-class sets and interactions of sets. However, it is rhythm, especially at the macro-level of structure, that is the fundamental organizing force of FANFARES. "Good proportion" in works of art has been a topic of considerable interest since at least the ancient Greeks. It is my intention to have created, in a rather systematic way, beautiful and meaningful proportions in this composition.
Kenneth Bloomquist, former head of the Michigan State University School of Music, Director of Bands at MSU until his retirement in 1993, past president of the American Bandmasters Association, nationally acclaimed clinician and conductor of wind ensembles, and trumpeter!, has been an inspiring educator, performer, mentor, and friend to many members of the Michigan State community for decades. It is with sincere appreciation and admiration that I dedicate this composition to him.
I wish to express my gratitude to my talented colleagues John Whitwell, Rich Illman, and John Madden for supporting the composition of this work and for helping to launch it on the concert stage. (August 5, 1996; rev. September 29, 1996 and May 31, 1997)
Concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Orchestra, 1995, rev. 1999 (Show Program Notes)
Concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Orchestra, 1995, rev. 1999 (Close Program Notes)
Concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Orchestra (1995)
Concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Orchestra is the culmination to date of my long creative association with the remarkable saxophone artist Joseph Lulloff, for whom I have written several chamber works, and with whom I have performed jazz on many occasions. It was Joe's "voice" as a saxophonist (especially the timbral qualities of his soprano saxophone playing), his prodigious technique, and his rich musicality that in no small part instigated this composition.
If a work of art cannot but reflect the time, place, and persona—-not to mention the innermost self—-of its creator, then what does this composition reflect? Certainly this concerto is an "American" product, not only because its composer is a native of the United States, but largely because it contains many intended stylistic references to various kinds of American music, especially to jazz. The study of this unique American musical idiom has been a preoccupation of mine for much of the past 40 years, and it is my intention to continue to try to find and develop in my compositions significant and subtle connections between jazz and other kinds of music that I am interested in.
Composers now, at the end of the twentieth century, have a rich legacy of music that has in one way or another combined jazz elements with non-jazz elements: the music of Ellington, Still, Gershwin, Copland, Bernstein, Nancarrow, Schuller, Coleman, Reich, and many others. For those of us who care about the art of jazz and who are compelled to explore new territory in our compositions, it is a bit daunting to think of all that already has been accomplished by such luminaries as Ellington, and all that, with decidedly mixed results, has been attempted by others.
Some attentive listeners may hear this concerto as teetering on the brink of atonality, or, viewed from the other side of the divide, tonality. This ambiguity is intended, and in no small part, I suppose, reflects some of the ambiguities and teeterings of my culture and my particular existence. Concerto for Soprano Saxophone and Orchestra might be thought of as a latter-day third-stream work (perhaps "neo-third-stream" would pigeonhole it too succinctly!), but unlike such third-stream compositions as Gunther Schuller's Concertino for Jazz Quartet and Orchestra (1959), which combine small-group improvisational tonal jazz with composed post-World War II atonal orchestral techniques, this concerto, in part, attempts to integrate late-'50s "free-jazz" linear harmony (anti-harmony?) with an eclectic orchestral style that references mostly pre-World War II American and European music.
It could be argued that this concerto has a fairly conventional tonal structure: namely, in the simplest of terms, that it begins in E minor and ends in G major. There's something to this analytical distillation, but not much. While I was conceiving and developing this composition, it was rhythmic matters (including large-scale temporal relationships) that dominated my musings on the structural landscape of the work.
The title "ST*IT*T" derives from "stasis—-interpolation—-transformation," a formulation which describes the main formal process of the first of the concerto's four movements. After a brief introduction that presents certain fundamental motivic, harmonic, and timbral materials for the concerto, two "ideas" (i.e., linear-textural-gestural-harmonic building blocks), one primarily in the bassoons, piano, and low strings, the other in a "concertino" group consisting of soprano saxophone, piccolo, flute, and marimba, are each stated several times. These iterations create stasis at one structural level, even as they create motion on the "surface" of the music. Gradually, interpolated brass interjections break down the two "stasis ideas," leading to an extended interpolation, a cadenza for saxophone, brass and percussion instruments, flute, and clarinet. After this disintegration, the two stasis ideas (i.e., the bassoon-piano-low strings and concertino materials) return but are harmonically and timbrally transformed. Much of the momentum of this movement, ironically, is created by the cumulative effect of the repeating stasis ideas; for this effect to come off as intended, the stasis ideas must be performed with graceful and elegant precision.
"ST*IT*T," of course, also pays homage to the jazz saxophonist Sonny Stitt, who, like many bebop masters, used interpolation (quotations of popular tunes, personal motives and figures, themes from "classical" music, fragments of famous improvised solos, etc.) as a structural device in his improvisations, sometimes to break the tension, often in a humorous way, of an intense solo flight.
The second movement, "Antique Sentiments," uses suspensions, shifting and unexpected accents, and other rhythmic, textural, and harmonic devices to create a blur suggestive of the blurred emotions and memories of distant events. The harmony of this movement is highly chromatic but explicitly tonal throughout.
Perhaps the most subtle elements of classic jazz are "swing" (characteristic rhythmic inflections) and the complex layering of rhythms which occurs in almost all masterly jazz performances. All of the components, for example, of a standard jazz quartet performance (the soloist's improvised melodies, the "comping" in the piano or guitar, the "walking" bass line, and the "time" and rhythmic counterpoint expressed via the drum set), rely on the steady pulse of the composite rhythm-section part and the typically uniform meter and regular harmonic changes of the song or blues form which serves as a foundation for the music. In jazz performances at the highest level of artistry, what may at first glance seem to be a simplistic and well-worn format is actually an efficient springboard for an extremely variable and nuanced mix of improvised swing, syncopation, rubato, polyrhythm, and what might be called "time shifting"—-a mix that is well perceived and fully appreciated by only the most experienced and astute listeners. Jazz rhythm, especially in jazz from the 1920s through the 1960s (and much music created since the 1960s which is closely related to classic jazz styles), reflects a uniquely urban American sense of time. Much of jazz rhythm echoes the complex bustle of activity experienced in many American cities and the speech rhythms and conversational pacing of urban Americans, especially of urban African Americans.
"Time Shifts—-Remembrances," the last of the concerto's movements, attempts to develop, in an orchestral setting, something like the layering of rhythms referred to above. While the score of "Time Shifts—-Remembrances" calls for no improvisation and no "swing" interpretation of written melodic lines by the soloist or orchestral players, various textures in the movement are developed in which the rhythms of some melodic lines are shifted ahead of or behind the prevailing meter in a way that may sound loose or even somewhat chaotic. This time shifting has an emotional parallel in the human psyche; the multitude of memories that we accumulate during our lives, many of which refer to strongly felt experiences, are recalled from time to time, in confusing, lucid, playful, ironic, orderly, random, pleasing or painful successions. These recollections sometimes overlap with each other, and one remembrance may dissolve into another. I view this as a kind of time shifting; a human ability that, among other things, may help us to cope with lost or keenly anticipated opportunities, triumphs and defeats of the past, and uncertainties of the future. (October 28, 1995)
Fractured Mambos, for tuba and computer-realized tape, 1990 (Show Program Notes)
Fractured Mambos, for tuba and computer-realized tape, 1990 (Close Program Notes)
Fractured Mambos - for Tuba and Electronic Tape (1990)
Early in 1989 Philip Sinder asked me if I would be interested in writing a piece for tuba. I offered to write Phil a composition for solo tuba and electronic tape that would have a strong jazz flavor. Phil, who shares my interest in jazz, had been considering the same combination of performing forces, tuba with electronic sounds, so it was easy for us to agree on the broad outlines of the collaboration which has resulted in my composition Fractured Mambos.
While writing for tuba, and while preparing to write by listening to diverse recorded examples of tuba music, I was impressed by the wide range of sounds, moods, and emotions that this beast of an instrument is able to convey when being tamed by a performer as masterful as Philip Sinder. The tuba, I found, can be clumsy, comical, playful, lyrical, bold, dramatic . . . . It can be delicately expressive one second, and then magnificently intimidating the next.
Instead of using real-time electronic modification of tuba sounds, I decided to use a "classical" technique in this work, combining taped synthesized and digitally sampled sounds with the live unprocessed tuba performance. This approach was taken because, rather than try to turn the tuba into some sort of electronic trumpet or MIDI wind controller, I wanted the tuba to produce "natural" timbres and articulations. It was my intention to create a work that would be relatively easy to perform "on the road," with minimal hardware requirements and a simple setup. Furthermore, I did not want my new composition to become outdated as soon as the current generation of computer music hardware is replaced by the next wave of music technology.
A concept of the timbres and textures to be used in Fractured Mambos came to me soon after I decided to write the piece. At first there were to be four main "sound groups": the live acoustic tuba part, digitally sampled brass ensemble sounds, synthesized and sampled percussion sounds, and synthesized tuba sounds. Later, a fifth sound group was added: sampled muted trumpet sounds.
The textural and timbral models for Fractured Mambos should be familiar to many listeners, they include post-bop "big bands" (with their powerful trumpet and trombone sections) and, especially, Latin/jazz salsa groups (which typically combine "horns" with dynamic rhythm sections).
Eclectic in style, Fractured Mambos clearly shows the influence on my work of such leading twentieth-century American musicians as Thelonious Monk, Gil Evans, and Miles Davis. Echoes (that sometimes are twisted and distorted, but which never are intentionally mocking) of the music of such Latin-jazz artists as Tito Puente and Eddie Palmieri are pervasive in Fractured Mambos. What may be the main structural premise of Fractured Mambos, the transformation, reinterpretation, and disintegration of somewhat simple and familiar musical materials through juxtaposition, interruption, and interpolation, comes in no small part from that ancient and esteemed master, I.S. (1993)
Interplay, for soprano saxophone and piano, 1988 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Show Program Notes)
Interplay, for soprano saxophone and piano, 1988 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Close Program Notes)
Interplay - for Soprano Saxophone and Piano (1988)
This composition for soprano saxophone and piano was written during the period of July 1987 through April 1988 and was one of three works commissioned by saxophonists Joseph Lulloff, Allen Rippe, and Cynthia Sikes as part of a 1987-89 National Endowment for the Arts Consortium Commissioning Project sponsored by Tulane University. William Russo and Ralph Shapey, the two other composers who participated in the project, were commissioned to write compositions that feature the alto saxophone.
* * *
Interplay is in three movements: "Octaves," "Night Song," and "Departures." The title "Interplay" refers to the sometimes playful, sometimes combative, interactions that occur between the saxophone and piano parts throughout the composition, but especially in the work's outer movements.
In the first and second movements of Interplay two essentially distinct sets of musical materials are presented; in the third movement these two sets of materials are synthesized and transformed. The use, in the first two movements, of certain stylistic models and materials borrowed from modern jazz is confirmed in the final movement as it departs from its opening style and moves toward a blatantly boppish idiom.
"Octaves" is organized into seven main sections. Passages consisting of spun-out generative lines in octaves (i.e., with perfect octave or multiple-octave doublings between the saxophone and piano parts and between the two hands of the piano part) occur three times over the course of the movement and collectively serve as a source of materials for the movement's other sections.
Both perfect octaves and augmented octaves figure conspicuously in the melodic and harmonic palette of the first movement, and "Octaves" begins and ends with a juxtaposition of these two intervals. In the second and the sixth sections of the movement, perfect octaves are used prominently in the eighteenth-century derived accompaniment figures of the piano part. The classical keyboard style of these two sections serves as a foil to the volatile jazz "comping" that dominates the middle of the movement.
"Night Song" is an atmospheric "after-hours tune" in a harmonic style that is more explicitly tonal than that of "Octaves." Jazz-like pitch and timbre inflections, which for the most part are absent from the first movement, are introduced in "Night Song" and then are used more prominently in "Departures," the final movement of the work.
The form of "Departures" is the result of a process in which tempos, textures, repetitive figurations, harmonic progressions, etc. are established and then negated in ways so as to set up arrival points at new musical territories. "Departures" might be thought of as a voyage that ultimately takes the listener back to the two primary musical environments out of which were generated the materials of the first two movements: namely, the milieu of modern jazz (especially bop and bop-related jazz), and that of the neoclassic music of Igor Stravinsky. (June 6, 1989)
After Midnight, for piano, 1985 (Show Program Notes)
After Midnight, for piano, 1985 (Close Program Notes)
After Midnight - for Piano (1985)
The music of Thelonious Sphere Monk (1917-1982) has been an inspiration to me since the early 1960s, when I started listening to Monk's recorded performances. Monk's mature artistic output began in the mid-1940s (coinciding with the birth of modern jazz) and lasted for only slightly longer than two decades. Today, a quarter of a century after the apex of Monk's artistic achievement, the stimulating freshness and vigor of his music seem undiminished.
Most of Thelonious Monk's compositions are not well known outside jazz circles, and such unique gems as Epistrophy, Four in One, and Pannonica pose technical and conceptual problems for even the most sophisticated jazz performers. But there is one Monk composition that is better understood and more widely performed than any of his other works: 'Round Midnight. This classic Monk composition, with its evocative blues-influenced harmony and its hauntingly beautiful melody, is the foundation for my one-movement work for solo piano, After Midnight.
After Midnight is a tonal but highly chromatic composition in what might be called a neo-romantic style; its hybrid structure exhibits aspects of both sonata form and theme and variations. Considered as a theme and variations, After Midnight consists of five continuous variations followed by the theme (which is a slightly altered version of Monk's 'Round Midnight).
In After Midnight, as in many other of my compositions, I have attempted to create the illusion of improvisation; that is, I am trying to achieve something like the spontaneity and rhythmic flexibility of an improvised jazz performance without actually calling for improvisation by the performer. In one sense, of course, every performance of written-out music (except for some taped electronic music and computer-realized music!) involves some degree of "improvisation" of tempo, dynamics, articulation, etc., but in After Midnight all of the pitches and most of the rhythms and other musical information are precisely notated. After Midnight might be thought of as a condensed and finely controlled frozen improvisation created by the composer and executed by the performer.
After Midnight is subtitled "In Homage: Thelonious Monk" and is dedicated to Deborah Moriarty for whom it was written in 1985. (February, 1986)
Dances and Other Movements, for violin, alto saxophone, and piano, 1983, rev. 1984 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Show Program Notes)
Dances and Other Movements, for violin, alto saxophone, and piano, 1983, rev. 1984 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Close Program Notes)
Dances and Other Movements - for Violin, Alto Saxophone, and Piano (1983)
Dances . . . is a suite of nine short movements three of which are solos: "Soliloquy" (for saxophone), "Interlude" (for piano), and "Violin Tune" (featuring, of course, violin). In several of the movements, especially in the dances, simple ostinatos and more-or-less familiar meters and rhythms are employed. In the last movement, "Finale," motives, themes, and other elements of the first eight movements are juxtaposed and further developed.
Although Dances and Other Movements is partially based on a 12-tone set, the style of this composition is indebted primarily to such diverse sources as the music of Bartok and Stravinsky, Latin-American popular music, traditional and modern jazz, and Eastern-European folk music.
The 12-tone set of Dances . . . is derived from part of the melody of a well-known jazz "standard"; this borrowing is a hidden tribute to one of the leading creative forces of modern jazz.
In Dances and Other Movements I have explored and tried to integrate contrasting rhythmic styles. Extensive portions of this composition are notated in "traditional" meters . . . , and the beat in these passages is often very easily distinguishable. In several movements, however, the beat is sometimes obscured by a variety of non-traditional rhythmic techniques and notational devices. It is hoped that the listener will hear transformations or "modulations" from one rhythmic style to another in certain passages; the most extended example of rhythmic transformation in this work can be heard in "Finale."
The basic 12-tone set of Dances and Other Movements is rotated (i.e., systematically reordered) and otherwise used rather freely throughout the composition. Less primitive than the 12-tone structure of this work is its use of registral and timbral constants as prime referential elements. Pitch classes tend to be associated with only one or two specific octave locations in each of the three instruments. It is hoped that the listener will perceive and, without much special effort, aurally remember the registral locations of pitch classes and that this will enhance the listener's understanding and enjoyment of the work. (1983)
Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet, (sop., alt., ten., bar.), 1981 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Show Program Notes)
Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet, (sop., alt., ten., bar.), 1981 (Dorn Publications, Inc.) (Close Program Notes)
Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet (1981)
Three Blues for Saxophone Quartet was composed in 1981 for James Forger and the Michigan State University Saxophone Quartet. Stylistic and formal elements from traditional jazz are pervasive in this work, but Three Blues is virtually devoid of improvisation except that the performers are expected, in much of the work, to play the given notes, rhythms, and dynamics in a style that sounds improvisational. A fine performance of Three Blues will capture the spirit of good jazz improvisation.
The structure of Three Blues is an arch form in three movements. The central movement is the longest and most complex of the three. After a brief introduction, the second movement begins with a "neo-bop" section featuring the alto and tenor saxophones. After the first statement of a short ritornello that punctuates the second movement, an extended contrapuntal passage leads to the apex of the arch for the entire composition, after which a variant of the "neo-bop" section ends the movement.
Both of the framing movements are shorter and lighter in style than the second. The first movement, marked "Charliechaplinesque," evokes the enthusiastic and lighthearted mood of some '20s and '30s jazz (although it uses the harmonic and rhythmic style of more modern jazz). Movement I is based on a repeated harmonic progression that is systematically shortened and then restored to its original length as the movement evolves. This progression is derived in part from the first two measures of the third movement (incidentally, these measures of the third movement contain the first ideas to be composed for the entire composition).
The last movement ("relaxed but not sloppy"!) caricatures, in a friendly way, some blues idioms that jazz enthusiasts will recognize easily. Two functions of this movement are to provide an architectonic balance to the first movement, and to develop some of the rhythmic ideas of the previous two movements. In this last movement, although the prevailing meter is 4/4, beats frequently get displaced, lengthened, or shortened by unexpected durations creating, it is hoped, a controlled elasticity of meter and tempo. The wellsprings of these rhythmic ideas are jazz and, to a lesser extent, the music of Igor Stravinsky. (1981; rev. in 2000)
Studies for Clarinet and Vibe, 1979-1980 (Show Program Notes)
Studies for Clarinet and Vibe, 1979-1980 (Close Program Notes)
Jeanjean - from Studies for Clarinet and Vibe (1979-80)
In "Jeanjean,". . . I have tried to write a very flexible and expressive, but sometimes vague and understated, clarinet melody over a static and rigidly steady accompaniment in the vibe. The quality of rhythmic "rightness" (for lack of a better word) always found in good jazz, is the main inspiration for this movement. The melodic-harmonic style of this piece, however, stems not at all from jazz but from other twentieth-century sources—-including the clarinet etudes of the French composer, Paul Jeanjean." (1980)
Hocket Variations, for piano and prepared piano, 1978 (Show Program Notes)
Hocket Variations, for piano and prepared piano, 1978 (Close Program Notes)
Hocket Variations - for Piano and Prepared Piano (1978)
"Hocket Variations for Two Pianos" was commissioned by the Michigan Music Teachers Association and was composed during August and September, 1978.
Although no theme is stated at any point in the composition, certain rhythmic, melodic, harmonic, textural, and formal elements are introduced, repeated, and varied throughout. Some of the more important of these elements are: hocket (a compositional device perfected in the middle ages consisting of the rapid alternation of two or more voices or instruments with single notes or groups of notes) and pointillism (a twentieth-century manner of composition in which single notes or small groups of notes are separated or isolated by musical space, timbre, dynamics, rests, etc.)—-the two of which should be regarded as closely related in this composition; the opening chords of Variation 1 (which, incidentally, is only one measure in duration); the long series of pitches which is first stated in Variation 2; repeated notes and chords played accelerando (first found at the end of Variation 2) . . . ; the melodic and harmonic material first stated in Variation 3; the pitch class B-natural and the E major triad; and, trills and grace notes (first stated in Variation 6). It is hoped that even on first hearing a careful listener will recognize most of these elements much of the time when they are present in the work. As a successful performance of this composition unfolds, a creative and sensitive listener should intuitively or subconsciously construct an abstract "theme" (i.e., collection of compositional constants). So this work is, in a sense, a theme and variations.
Most of the variations are for two pianos, Piano I being "prepared" (i.e., physically modified, in this case by placing plastic screw anchors between the wires of all of the double and triple strings) to help clarify the hocket passages and provide timbral richness. Of the 20 variations three (5, 10, and 16) are for one piano. These solo variations not only provide some timbral and textural contrast, but also serve to introduce and recapitulate materials for two groups of variations.
In homage to the Goldberg Variations Variations 11, 14, and part of 15 of "Hocket Variations" are canons. However, the canons in Variations 11 and 15 are unmetered, and all three canons are as much timbral-textural-rhythmic "effects" as examples of strict counterpoint. (October, 1978)
Now Welcome, Somer, with Thy Sunne Softe, for chorus and percussion, 1978
Songs from Emily Dickinson, for soprano and chamber ensemble, 1974
Jazz Compositions and Arrangements, (ca. 75 works), 1965-2006
Copyright Notice: While copying, printing, or quoting a small portion (i.e., up to 20%) of these program notes is permitted, under no circumstance may any alterations or additions be made to this written material or any part of this material without the prior written permission of the author, Charles H. Ruggiero. No use (other than the copying, printing, or quoting of a small portion) of these program notes (in whole or part) is permitted.
Content copyright 2008 by Charles H Ruggiero unless otherwise noted.
Charles H Ruggiero is solely responsible for all content contained within this site