SKU: PR.16500104F

ISBN 9781491132159. UPC: 680160681082.

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: 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: HL.44010826

UPC: 884088555818. 9.0x12.0x1.738 inches. English-German-French-Dutch.

Atlantic Odyssey was commissioned by the band program at Oakton High School in Vienna, VA, and its director, Dr. Cheryl Newton. The piece is in two extended movements and seeks to portray an imaginary yacht journey off the eastern seaboard of the USA. The first movement, Sunrise at Sea and the Ocean Awakes, opens with an atmospheric depiction of dawn at sea. Floating woodwinds soar above surging brass until a climax heralds the rising sun. Daylight reveals distant horizons and the prospect of a calm voyage, but the sea is never tamed and a light breeze whips up spray around the boat until a couple of high waves rock the boat alarmingly. But the sea soon calms again and the journey continues serenely. The second movement, Homeward Bound and Spindrift, sees us turn for home, the boat scything calmly through the gentle waves in perfect sailing conditions. But once again conditions change, a stiff breeze tugs at the sails and for a moment we are once again at the mercy of the wind and waves. A moment of calm returns but we are suddenly sprayed by spindrift as a gale picks up. The boat is in danger of overturning but we manage to trim the sail and take advantage of the strong winds to enjoy and exhilarating journey home.

SKU: PR.144407530

ISBN 9781491136614. UPC: 680160687992.

A violinist herself, Lauren Bernofsky has described SONATA FOR SOLO VIOLIN as drawn from autobiographical inspiration, including gestures from Bachâ??s beloved Partita in E Major. Bernofsky opens with a Preludio movement whose references to Bach may be disguised, but they are surely lurking. The second movement is lusciously contrapuntal with the idiomatic finesse of a violinist composing for her own instrument, while musically journaling the emotional pain of living through 2020. The third and final movement is aptly marked â??white-hot,â? and the music certainly is.
My SONATA FOR SOLO VIOLIN was commissioned by violinist Megan Healy as part of The Maud Powell Project, which celebrated the 100th anniversary of the ratification of the 19th Amendment. The project included the creation of five new works for solo violin inspired by and dedicated to the memory of pioneering American violinist Maud Powell (1867-1920). Healy premiered the sonata on May 8, 2021 at PianoForte Studios in Chicago.Among the works Powell most frequently performed in her recitals was the â??Preludioâ? movement from Bachâ??s E major Partita, and I decided to refer to that music in my own first movement, also titled â??Preludio.â? The beginning subtly reflects Bachâ??s opening three-note motive, wherein the music dips down a semitone and then comes back up. This melodic material returns throughout the movement in various forms. I also refer to Bachâ??s sixteenth-note dominated texture, and the gesture in the third measure, which outlines a perfect fifth and then fills it in with notes that alternate between a scale and a pedal tone. The corresponding passage in my piece occurs in the same place, measure 3. Apart from these references to Bach, my sonata is much more modern sounding, especially in its chromatic character.I was still thinking of Bachâ??s solo violin writing while composing the second movement, particularly the polyphonic nature of the slow movements, where the melodic interest moves around between the voices. Emotionally, I wanted my movement to reflect the acute sadness I had been experiencing over the political and social situation in the United States as I wrote the piece. I realized that this is a historically noteworthy time in U.S. history, marked not only by political unrest, but also by a challenge to the very values that I consider essential to what makes a person fundamentally human. I wanted to create a record of that pain in my music.The final movement is marked â??White-hot.â? It is imbued with a relentless, passionate intensity. Wanting again to reflect aspects of our own time, I included glissandi that refer to rock music, specifically the â??fall-offsâ? I frequently hear played by electric guitarists. I borrowed from another (completely different) musical tradition as well, one that is near-and-dear to my heart: Klezmer. Klezmer (Eastern European Jewish folk music) is characterized in part by scales colored by augmented seconds, and is often performed by solo instrumentalists who improvise embellishments like quick grace notes. The second, more lyrical theme in this movement is my nod to Klezmer style.While this piece is an homage to Maud Powell, I also think of it as my own musical autobiography, as it combines some of my favorite aspects of music, and is played on my own instrument.

SKU: PR.11440719S

UPC: 680160011087. 8.5 x 11 inches.

Sambuca, which most people know today as a licorice-flavored liqueur, was the name the Greeks gave to a kind of sharp, shrill-sounding harp, of Eastern, possibly Jewish origin. The Greeks then gave this same name to a wooden flute made from the elder bush, and in the middle ages it was also associated with the viol, at least to the extent that the Hurdy-gurdy, an instrument shaped like a viol and played by means of a rotating wheel, was sometimes called a Sambuca rotata. Thus, the word Sambuca is tied up with the ancestors - in each case, ancestors of ow birth, as it were - of the modern harp, flute, and viola. Somehow, the present-day association with alcohol seems very meet, in that a certain objectionable quality seems to have gone with the name - in 1545 one George Ascham wrote, This I am sure... all maner of pypes, barbitons, sambukes... be condemned of Aristotle. The word Sambucistria - for a female Sambuca player - was used by Plutarch and others to evoke a feeling of foreign-inspired decadence [Grove's Dictionary of Musical Instruments, 1984]. Currier's work is truly a Sambuca sonata. Written for the three Sambuca instruments, Currier has first of all seemingly endeavoured to make the harp part particularly Sambuca-like (i.e., sharp and shrill) with its many nail and xylophonic effects, but more importantly, has used musical material that corresponds to the low-brow, somewhat Dionysian, indeed, today even Bacchanalian implication of the name - thus, rock music seems to inspire a great deal Currier's work [the Samba, an appropriately Bacchanalian Brazilian Carnival dance, in duple meter with syncopations, while apparently having no etymological connection to Sambuca, might seem to be musically involved, too]. The Sambuca which lies behind this rather drunken piece is probably the only musical instrument which became a model for an instrument of war; one Craxton wrote in 1489 that Sambuce is an engyn whiche is made in manere of a harpe able to perce a walle. But whether talking of the modern liqueur or the ancient instrument condemned of Aristotle and mentioned four times in the Book of Daniel, it is a shame that Debussy - inspired by the Dionysian side of classical culture (as in Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune) - seems to have remained ignorant Sambuca, a word which to some extent must lie behind all works for this wonderful instrumentation which he invented, and which I might seem to have striven unconsciously, equally ignorant, to make the sole basis of Currier's work - until, having completed this piece, written for harpist Marie-Pierre Langlamet, and rummaging around for a title, I chanced upon it in an old dictionary.