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: BT.9781408105306

ISBN 9781408105306. English.

The perfect book for pupil and teacher.

• Tunes you know and want to play.
• Technique carefully graded.
• Clear fingering diagrams.
• Concise theory explanations.
• New Duets.
• Fresh new look.

SKU: PR.16500101F

ISBN 9781491131725. UPC: 680160680252.

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: ML.013780090

The Spanish war galleon with 64 cannons, built in Cuba between 1770 and 1771 for an English shipowner in the service of the King of Spain left Peru for Cadiz in 1784 with a huge cargo of copper, gold, silver and other valuables on board. There were also more than 400 people on board, including passengers, crew and Inca prisoners after a revolt. The Atlantic crossing went smoothly, passing Portugal to take advantage of favourable winds. The shipwreck off Peniche was the result of human error, apparently due to French maps with dramatic errors in the position of the islands of Berlengas and neighbouring islets. On 2 February 1786, the sea was calm and the night clear, but they hit the rock formation Papoa and the hull immediately broke in two. The bottom sank quickly, while the deck remained afloat for some time. 128 people lost their lives, including many Indians who were trapped in the basement. This shipwreck is considered one of the most important in maritime history.

What the composer wants to convey, and what can be felt as one listens, is first of all the sound of power, of hope, of the glory of conquest, of the splendour of wealth. This is followed by the perception of the maritime environment, the harmony with the softness of the ocean, the gliding of the hull in the foam of the sea on sunny, blue days. But along with this tranquillity, you soon hear a rhythmic chain that makes you feel a representation of the hustle and bustle, of the busy crew, of the hard work of a sailor, of the desperation of an exotic people imprisoned in a dark, damp cellar. A distinct rhythm that reminds us of the salero of Andalusia, with its Arab influences and its people, the soothing of the resignation of others who are forced to submit. Then we clearly hear a crescendo that makes us imagine the agony of the collision that precedes the shipwreck. The breaking of the hull, the water flooding everything, the despair, the clash of bodies on the rocks, the tragedy to come. Before the grand finale, in which the return of musical softness reminds us that the story is over. The supremacy of nature over human greed. The waves, though gentle, sweep the wreckage, the lives and the treasures of the New World to the bottom of the sea.

Het Spaans oorlogsgaljoen met 64 kanonnen, gebouwd in Cuba tussen 1770 en 1771 voor een Engelse reder in dienst van de koning van Spanje vertrok in 1784 vanuit Peru naar Cádiz met een enorme lading koper, goud, zilver en andere kostbaarheden aan boord. Er waren ook meer dan 400 mensen aan boord, waaronder passagiers, bemanning en Inca gevangenen na een opstand. De oversteek van de Atlantische Oceaan verliep vlot, waarbij Portugal werd gepasseerd om te profiteren van gunstige winden. De schipbreuk bij Peniche was het resultaat van een menselijke fout, blijkbaar te wijten aan Franse kaarten met dramatische fouten in de positie van de eilanden Berlengas en naburige eilandjes. Op 2 februari 1786 was de zee kalm en de nacht helder, maar ze raakten de rotsformatie Papoa en de romp brak onmiddellijk in tweeën. De bodem zonk snel, terwijl het dek nog enige tijd bleef drijven. 128 mensen verloren het leven, waaronder veel indianen die vastzaten in de kelder. Dit scheepswrak wordt beschouwd als een van de belangrijkste in de maritieme geschiedenis.

Wat de componist wil overbrengen, en wat men kan voelen als men luistert, is allereerst het geluid van macht, van hoop, van de glorie van verovering, van de pracht van rijkdom. Dit wordt gevolgd door de perceptie van de maritieme omgeving, de harmonie met de zachtheid van de oceaan, het glijden van de romp in het schuim van de zee op zonnige, blauwe dagen. Maar samen met deze rust hoor je al snel een ritmische ketting die je een voorstelling geeft van de drukte, van de drukke bemanning, van het harde werk van een zeeman, van de wanhoop van een exotisch volk dat gevangen zit in een donkere, vochtige kelder. Een duidelijk ritme dat ons doet denken aan de salero van Andalusië, met zijn Arabische invloeden en zijn mensen, het sussen van de berusting van anderen die gedwongen worden zich te onderwerpen. Dan horen we duidelijk een crescendo dat ons de lijdensweg doet voorstellen van de aanvaring die voorafgaat aan de schipbreuk. Het breken van de romp, het water dat alles overspoelt, de wanhoop, het botsen van lichamen op de rotsen, de tragedie die komen gaat. Vóór de grote finale, waarin de terugkeer van de muzikale zachtheid ons eraan herinnert dat het verhaal voorbij is. De overmacht van de natuur over de hebzucht van de mens. De golven, hoewel zacht, vegen het wrak, de levens en de schatten van de Nieuwe Wereld naar de bodem van de zee.

Le galion de guerre espagnol de 64 canons, construit à Cuba entre 1770 et 1771 pour un armateur anglais au service du roi d'Espagne, a quitté le Pérou pour Cadix en 1784 avec à son bord une énorme cargaison de cuivre, d'or, d'argent et d'autres objets de valeur. Il y avait également plus de 400 personnes à bord, dont des passagers, des membres d'équipage et des prisonniers incas à la suite d'une révolte. La traversée de l'Atlantique s'est déroulée sans encombre, en passant par le Portugal pour profiter des vents favorables. Le naufrage au large de Peniche est le résultat d'une erreur humaine, apparemment due à des cartes françaises comportant des erreurs dramatiques dans la position des îles de Berlengas et des îlots voisins. Le 2 février 1786, alors que la mer est calme et la nuit claire, le navire heurte la formation rocheuse de Papoa et la coque se brise immédiatement en deux. Le fond coule rapidement, tandis que le pont reste à flot pendant un certain temps. 128 personnes ont perdu la vie, dont de nombreux Indiens qui étaient coincés dans les sous-sols. Ce naufrage est considéré comme l'un des plus importants de l'histoire maritime.

Ce que le compositeur veut transmettre, et ce que l'on ressent à l'écoute, c'est d'abord le son de la puissance, de l'espoir, de la gloire de la conquête, de la splendeur de la richesse. C'est ensuite la perception de l'environnement maritime, l'harmonie avec la douceur de l'océan, le glissement de la coque dans l'écume de la mer par des journées bleues et ensoleillées. Mais à côté de cette tranquillité, on entend bientôt une chaîne rythmique qui nous fait ressentir une représentation de l'agitation, de l'équipage affairé, du dur labeur d'un marin, du désespoir d'un peuple exotique emprisonné dans une cave sombre et humide. Un rythme distinct qui nous rappelle le salero d'Andalousie, avec ses influences arabes et son peuple, l'apaisement de la résignation des autres qui sont obligés de se soumettre. Puis on entend clairement un crescendo qui nous fait imaginer l'agonie de la collision qui précède le naufrage. La rupture de la coque, l'eau qui envahit tout, le désespoir, le choc des corps sur les rochers, la tragédie à venir. Avant le grand final, où le retour de la douceur musicale nous rappelle que l'histoire est terminée. La suprématie de la nature sur la cupidité humaine. Les vagues, bien que douces, emportent les épaves, les vies et les trésors du Nouveau Monde au fond de la mer.

Die spanische Kriegsgaleone mit 64 Kanonen, die zwischen 1770 und 1771 auf Kuba für einen englischen Reeder im Dienste des spanischen Königs gebaut wurde, verließ Peru 1784 in Richtung Cádiz mit einer riesigen Ladung Kupfer, Gold, Silber und anderen Wertgegenständen an Bord. An Bord befanden sich auch mehr als 400 Menschen, darunter Passagiere, Besatzungsmitglieder und Inka-Gefangene nach einem Aufstand. Die Atlantiküberquerung verlief reibungslos, wobei Portugal passiert wurde, um die günstigen Winde zu nutzen. Der Schiffbruch vor Peniche war das Ergebnis menschlichen Versagens, das offenbar auf französische Karten zurückzuführen war, die in Bezug auf die Position der Inseln Berlengas und der benachbarten Eilande dramatische Fehler enthielten. Am 2. Februar 1786 stießen sie bei ruhiger See und klarer Nacht auf die Felsformation Papoa und der Rumpf brach sofort entzwei. Der Boden sank schnell, während das Deck noch einige Zeit über Wasser blieb. 128 Menschen kamen ums Leben, darunter viele Indianer, die im Keller eingeschlossen waren. Dieses Schiffswrack gilt als eines der bedeutendsten

Was der Komponist vermitteln will und was man beim Zuhören spürt, ist zunächst der Klang der Macht, der Hoffnung, des Ruhms der Eroberung, des Glanzes des Reichtums. Es folgt die Wahrnehmung der maritimen Umgebung, die Harmonie mit der Sanftheit des Meeres, das Gleiten des Schiffsrumpfes im Schaum des Meeres an sonnigen, blauen Tagen. Doch neben dieser Ruhe hört man bald eine rhythmische Kette, die die Hektik, die geschäftige Mannschaft, die harte Arbeit eines Seemanns, die Verzweiflung eines exotischen Volkes, das in einem dunklen, feuchten Keller gefangen ist, wiedergibt. Ein ausgeprägter Rhythmus, der an den Salero Andalusiens erinnert, mit seinen arabischen Einflüssen und seinen Menschen, der die Resignation der anderen besänftigt, die gezwungen sind, sich zu fügen. Dann hören wir deutlich ein Crescendo, das uns die Qualen des Zusammenstoßes, der dem Schiffbruch vorausgeht, erahnen lässt. Das Zerbrechen des Rumpfes, das Wasser, das alles überflutet, die Verzweiflung, das Aufeinanderprallen der Körper auf den Felsen, die bevorstehende Tragödie. Vor dem großen Finale, in dem die Rückkehr der musikalischen Sanftheit uns daran erinnert, dass die Geschichte zu Ende ist. Die Vorherrschaft der Natur über die menschliche Gier. Die Wellen, so sanft sie auch sein mögen, spülen die Trümmer, das Leben und die Schätze der Neuen Welt auf den Grund des Meeres.