Program Notes

Aurora Awakes by John Mackey

Aurora now had left her saffron bed,

and beams of early light the heav’ns o’erspread

When, from a tow’r, the queen with wakeful eyes.

Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.

- Virgle, The Aeneid, Book IV, Lines 584-587

Aurora – the Roman goddess of the dawn – is a mythological figure frequently associated with beauty and light. Also known as Eos (her Greek analogue), Aurora would rise each morning and stream across the sky, heralding the coming of her brother Sol, the sun. Though she is herself among the lesser deities of Roman and Greek mythologies, her cultural influence has persevered, most notably in the naming of the vibrant flashes of light that occur in Arctic and Antarctic regions – the Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis.

John Mackey’s Aurora Awakes is, thus, a piece about the heralding of the coming of light. Built in two substantial sections, the piece moves over the course of eleven minutes from a place of remarkable stillness to an unbridled explosion of energy – from darkness to light, placid grey to startling rainbows of color. The work is almost entirely in the key of E-flat major (a choice made to create a unique effect at the work’s conclusion, as mentioned below), although it journeys through G-flat and F as the work progresses. Despite the harmonic shifts, however, the piece always maintains a – pun intended – bright optimism.

Though Mackey is known to use stylistic imitation, it is less common for him to utilize outright quotation. As such, the presence of two more-or-less direct quotations of other musical compositions is particularly noteworthy in Aurora Awakes. The first, which appears at the beginning of the second section, is an ostinato based on the familiar guitar introduction to U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name.” Though the strains of The Edge’s guitar have been metamorphosed into the insistent repetitions of keyboard percussion, the aesthetic is similar – a distant proclamation that grows steadily in fervor. The difference between U2’s presentation and Mackey’s, however, is that the guitar riff disappears for the majority of the song, while in Aurora Awakes, the motive persists for nearly the entirety of the remainder of the piece:

“When I heard that song on the radio last winter, I thought it was kind of a shame that he only uses that little motive almost as a throwaway bookend. That's my favorite part of the song, so why not try to write an entire piece that uses that little hint of minimalism as its basis?”

The other quotation is a sly reference to Gustav Holst’s First Suite in E-flat for Military Band. The brilliant E-flat chord that closes the Chaconne of that work is orchestrated (nearly) identically as the final sonority of Aurora Awakes – producing an unmistakably vibrant timbre that won’t be missed by aficionados of the repertoire. This same effect was, somewhat ironically, suggested by Mackey for the ending of composer Jonathan Newman’s My Hands Are a City. Mackey adds an even brighter element, however, by including instruments not in Holst’s original:

“That has always been one of my favorite chords because it's just so damn bright. In a piece that's about the awaking of the goddess of dawn, you need a damn bright ending -- and there was no topping Holst. Well… except to add crotales.”

~ Program note by Jake Wallace

Soulström by Jodie Blackshaw

Soulström was originally a work of music theatre based around a tale of a solitary individual lost in the center of a storm. The work originally featured a narrator who told the dramatic story of a freak, alien storm that used the energy of people to fuel its fury. In the center of the storm, a lone person was searching for their lost love, and locked inside its fury was the key to freedom: the beauty and grace of love itself.

About halfway through the composition it became apparent that this original story was indeed an allegory pertaining to my very own struggle with depression and grief over the loss of my beloved Father in 1997. In the story, the lost love was revealed as my lost life and the storm, the epitome of the depth of my depression suffered since his passing. In realization of this, the work transformed and the narrator's role is now completely non-existent.

Beginning with resignation and a still misty morning, the lost soul recalls painful memories which slowly enter consciousness. Gradually the memories build and layer upon one another to the point of becoming unbearable before a brief glimpse of hope —a glowing happy memory recalled. But hope is soon lost and the individual sinks back into depression. Fighting overwhelming anger, resentment and rage the individual finally defiantly breaks the hold of the grief to emerge strong, jubilant and free.

The compositional process became a passionate, cathartic experience. What began as a piece based around a storm, a desperate person and the search for lost love, became so much more. I hope it will touch hearts and help others find freedom.

~ Program note by Jodie Blackshaw

O rose of May by Harrison J. Collins

O rose of May is a musical response to Hamlet, the world famous and deeply influential play by William Shakespeare. The work focuses on the character arc of Ophelia, Hamlet’s would-be love interest, and her internal struggle amongst the external conflict of the play. In the play’s early stages, Ophelia is torn by her love for Hamlet—her brother, Laertes, and her father, Polonius, urge her not to pursue him further, and Hamlet himself begins acting strangely towards her. She is pushed further and further by Hamlet’s confusing and seemingly insane actions until he kills Polonius. Overcome with grief, Ophelia is driven mad, and in her last appearances in the play she is hysterical, singing songs and sharing flowers with other characters. Before it is announced that she has died (likely by suicide), Laertes sees her in this state and calls to her, saying:

“O rose of May,

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!

O heavens, is ’t possible a young maid’s wits

Should be as mortal as an old man’s life?”

Represented by a solo clarinetist, Ophelia is depicted as singing a solitary, peaceful song in the opening of the work. After this introduction, an agitated melody takes over, representative of the conflict between the characters of the play. Ophelia’s song reappears—but every time it is more and more twisted. A brief respite suggests relief from the conflict, but the song is unable to begin again. It bends to the will of the conflict, the voices of the surrounding characters overpower her, and as Ophelia descends into madness, her song becomes a hysterical celebration. The final bars are a wild chromatic descent into the last note of the work—a reflection on Ophelia’s final moments, falling from her tree branch into the brook in which she drowns.

~ Program note by Harrison J. Collins

Alegría by Roberto Sierra

transcribed for Wind Ensemble by Mark Scatterday

Puerto Rican composer Roberto Sierra was born in 1953 and is known for his fusion of European modernism and Latin American folk elements. He calls this style “tropicalization.” Alegría is a perfect example of this. Fleet, tonally centered, and brightly colored, it expresses alegría (happiness) with joyous exuberance. Originally written for orchestra, it was commissioned and premiered by the Houston Symphony Orchestra in 1996. Mark Scatterday did the transcription you will hear for the Eastman Wind Ensemble in 2010. Its rapid pulse plays rhythmic games with the fact that six beats can be stressed as either two groups of three or three groups of two (known as hemiola), a characteristic of much Hispanic and Latin American music. Occasionally the euphoric whirl takes some of the musicians beyond measured bounds, as Sierra asks players to rush a pattern as fast as possible, independent of the rest of the ensemble. Sierra contrasts different sections of the music and different dynamic levels, and pushes the excitement envelope with uneven accents and aa pell-mell 5/8 dash to the final cadence.

~ Program notes adpated from John Henken

Give Us This Day by David Maslanka

The words “Give us this day” are, of course, from the Lord’s Prayer, but the inspiration for this music is Buddhist. I have recently read a book by the Vietnamese Bhuddist monk Thich Nhat Hahn (pronounced “Tick Nat Hahn”) entitled For a Future to be Possible. His premise is that a future for the planet is only possible if individuals become deeply mindful of themselves, deeply connected to who they really are. While this is not a new idea, and something that is an ongoing struggle for everyone, in my estimation it is the issue for world peace. For me, writing music, and working with people to perform music, are two of those points of deep mindfulness.

Music makes the connection to reality, and by reality I mean a true awakeness and awareness. Give Us This Day gives us this very moment of awakeness and awareness so that we can build a future in the face of a most dangerous and difficult time.

I chose the subtitle, “Short Symphony for Wind Ensemble,” because the music is not programmatic in nature. It has a full-blown symphonic character, even though there are only two movements. The music of the slower first movement is deeply searching, while that of the highly energized second movement is at times both joyful and sternly sober. The piece ends with a modal setting of the choral melody “Vater Unser in Himmelreich” (Our Father in Heaven) – No. 110 from the 371 four-part chorales by Johann Sebastian Bach.

~ Program note by David Maslanka