SKU: PR.16500102F

ISBN 9781491131749. UPC: 680160680276.

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

SKU: PE.EP72698A

ISBN 9790577010519. 210 x 297mm inches. English.

Commissioned by Making Music with funds from the Nicholas Berwin Charitable Foundation

First performance: 12th March 2016, Waltham Singers, conducted by Andrew Fardell, King Edward's Grammar School, Chelmsford.

Music runs through the story of Arion, which begins with a singing competition in Sicily. Arion wins the prize, and this puts his life in danger: his newfound wealth excites the Greed of the sailors who are supposed to be bringing him back to Corinth, and they threaten to kill him.  They allow Arion to sing one last song, and the power of his singing attracts dolphins to the ship.  At The End of his song, he jumps overboard, and one of the dolphins carries him to safety.  So Arion’s musical gift gets him into trouble, but it is also his salvation.  

The idea of being rescued by a music-loving dolphin is very appealing.  In Robert Graves’ account of the myth, the dolphin could not bear to be parted from Arion, and accompanied him back to court, where “it soon succumbed to a life of luxury.”  However, Herodotus says that, after his rescue and return to Corinth, Arion failed to return the dolphin to the sea, and it died there.  Apollo placed the dolphin among the stars, and next to it, Arion’s lyre, in recognition of his musical skill.  This is one of the mythical explanations of the origins of the constellations Delphinus and Lyra.

It seems natural to sing a story that has singing at its heart.  When I was asked by the Nicholas Berwin Charitable Trust to write a choral work for Making Music, something that would be within reach of many choirs, and involve children, this story struck me as ideal: the men of the chorus could be the bloodthirsty sailors, and the women could create an atmosphere of mystery for the arrival of the dolphins, represented by children’s voices.  There would be one solo voice: Arion, the marvellous singer.  Andrew Fardell, the conductor who was advisor to this commission, had suggested that I might use the same instrumentation as a popular arrangement of Orff’s Carmina Burana, a work that, as well as using children’s chorus, features a solo countertenor.  I thought the magical, otherworldly quality of this voice would help to convey the extraordinary effect Arion’s singing had on all who heard it. 

- Jonathan Dove

SKU: BT.DHP-1135396-020

9x12 inches. English-Dutch.

This musical fantasy depicts the history of the Dutch fortified town of Elburg. The work begins with an atmospheric medieval picture of the Convent of St Agnes, the nunnery that was built in the first half of the 15th century. We hear the sound of the convent bells together with an upward motif, which will reappear later in the work. Next, the rest of Elburg is featured, including the fortress - from which the bells of the Sint-Nicolaaskerk (Saint Nicholas Church) are ringing. Then, cheerful sounds can be heard at the Vischpoort (Fish Gate), where a dancing group is performing a 16th century French folk dance (a branle des chevaux). We also hear old wagons rumbling over the town’scobble stones. Trade made this Hanseatic town a lively place. The repetitive upward motif first heard in the introduction now develops into a more distinct feature, reflecting the mercantile spirit of the town residents.Then follows the slow middle movement, in which the clock has been turned back to the time when Elburg was still lying on the Zuiderzee (which was a bay of the North Sea), and was struggling with floods. After the second St. Marcellus Flood (1362) and the water flood of 1367 it was decided that the town would be relocated. We now hear the theme of branle des chevaux in a minor key, followed by a death bell sounding in remembrance of the drowned citizens of the former town. Back in our own time, a slow, expressive theme in Baroque style mirrors Elburg’s tranquil places, such as the Feithenhof (Feithen Court) and the Weduwenhofje (Widow Court). Then the bustle returns with motifs from the introduction, followed by an attractive theme in which present-day Elburg is portrayed with its many tourists. Now, suddenly, there is an echo from the past, depicting the dramatic floods and wars that once plagued the town. This leads to the grand closing theme: branle des chevaux is heard for a final time from the perspective of the historic town centre.

Deze muzikale fantasie vertelt de geschiedenis van de Nederlandse vestingstad Elburg. Het werk begint met een middeleeuws sfeerbeeld vanuit het Agnietenklooster, het nonnenklooster dat in de eerste helft van de 15e eeuw werd gebouwd. We horen de kloosterklok samen met een opwaarts motief, dat ook later in het werk terugkomt. Vervolgens komt de rest van Elburg aan bod, inclusief de vesting - van waaruit de klokken van de Grote of Sint-Nicolaaskerk weergalmen. Dan klinken bij de Vischpoort de vrolijke geluiden van een dansgroep die daar een 16e-eeuwse Franse volksdans (branle des chevaux) uitvoert. Ook horen we oude karren over de kinderkopjes van de stad denderen. Dehandel maakt deze Hanzestad tot een levendige plaats. Het zich steeds herhalende opwaartse motief uit de inleiding krijgt hier een nadrukkelijker karakter en verbeeldt de handelsgeest van de stedelingen.Dan volgt het langzame middendeel, waarin de klok wordt teruggedraaid naar de tijd dat Elburg nog direct aan de Zuiderzee lag en te kampen had met overstromingen. Na de tweede Sint-Marcellusvloed (1362) en de watervloed van 1367 werd besloten dat de stad verplaatst zou worden. We horen het thema van de branle des chevaux in mineur, gevolgd door een doodsklok, die de verdronken inwoners van de voormalige stad herdenkt. Terug in onze eigen tijd verklankt een langzaam, expressief thema in barokke stijl de verstilde plekken in de stad, zoals het Feithenhof en het Weduwenhofje. Dan keert de levendigheid terug met motieven uit de inleiding, gevolgd door een aansprekend thema waarin het Elburg van nu met zijn vele toeristen doorklinkt. Plotseling is er dan nog even een echo uit het verleden: de dramatiek van de overstromingen en oorlogen die de stad ooit teisterden. Hieruit vloeit het grootse slotthema voort: de branle des chevaux is voor de laatste keer te horen vanuit het perspectief van de historische binnenstad.

SKU: PR.11641139S

UPC: 680160682119.

Barcarolles for a Sinking City was inspired by the city of Venice, a place that has long held the fascination of artists, writers and composers, and which I have been lucky enough to visit on several occasions. Sadly it seems that future generations may not be so lucky: in addition to the city's slow sinking and recently discovered tilting, studies predict that if global warming and the resultant rise of ocean levels is unabated, the entire city (as well as many other coastal cities around the globe) will be under water by 2100.   I. Funeral Gondola The late, cryptic piano works of Franz Liszt made a profound impression on me as a young composer, among them two works he entitled La Lugubre Gondola (usually translated as The Funeral Gondola ) which were said to be a premonition of Wagner's death in Venice, his coffin transported through the canals in a black gondola. These late pieces of Liszt acquired even greater significance to me after I spent two summers in Bayreuth under the patronage of Friedelind Wagner, the granddaughter of Wagner and great-granddaughter of Liszt. This movement is a meditation on Wagner, Liszt, Venice and its own evanescence. II. Barcarolle/Quodlibet The Quodlibet (Latin for what pleases) is a musical form dating back to the 15th century where many disparate melodies are juxtaposed. Popular in the Renaissance, sacred and secular melodies were combined, often to comical effect due to the resultant incongruity of the words. The form was considered the ultimate test of a composer's mastery of counterpoint. The most famous Quodlibet is without doubt the final Variation of Bach's Goldberg Variations. As a form the Quodlibet is less common in more recent music, although examples can be found in the works of Kurt Weill and David Del Tredici.   My own Barcarolle/Quodlibet was inspired by the (perhaps apocryphal) story of the funeral where musicians were asked to play a Bach Choral, but due to miscommunication played instead the Bacarolle from The Tales of Hoffmann. Here, the Bach Choral Allen Menschen mussen sterben (All Men Must Die) is heard in the strings pizzicato, with a tempo indication In slow motion. The alto line of the Bach suggests a phrase from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony (Alle Menchen werden Bruder) heard in the muted trombone. Before long, the famous tune from Offenbach's opera is heard, followed by quotations from iconic Barcarolles by Chopin, Mendelssohn and Faure, as well as two Venetian popular songs and more Beethoven.   III. Barcarola/Ostinato/Carillon An ostinato is a repeated musical figure, and carillon is Italian for music box. This movement references the obsolete genre of salon pieces that imitated music boxes: such works by composers like Liadov and Gretchaninov used to be a mainstay of pianists' encore repertoire. This movement is however much darker in conception than those pleasant trifles. Utilizing the full battery of percussion, the carefully notated temporal slowing of the ostinato becomes overwhelmed by a poignant chorale melody before this box is snapped shut.   IV. Barcarolle Oubliee (Forgotten Barcarolle) Marked limpido (still) the final movement begins with the sound of rain produced by a percussion instrument called (appropriately) a rain stick. Halting phrases in the harp coalesce into the accompaniment for a plangent melody heard in the clarinet. The central Adagio of this movement leads to a shattering climax, before the opening phrases return and dissipate into nothingness.