SKU: HL.277282

UPC: 840126915006. 6.75x10.5 inches.

Program note:

Looking Up is a piece for large chorus and orchestra, and is in three sections, played without pause. In the 16th century, a variety of psalters in meter were printed in England, with the idea of making psalm-singing something that could happen easily at home, with the rhyming meter being an aid to memorization. These translations are wonderful exercises in brevity and sometimes clumsy rhymemaking, and were usually prefaced by a lengthy explanation as to their merits; the title of one of the first such volumes in English is: The Psalter of Dauid newely translated into Englysh metre in such sort that it maye the more decently, and wyth more delyte of the mynde, be reade and songe of al men. I thought it would be appropriate to set one of these introductions, and the first section of Looking Up sets the preface to Thomas Ravenscroft's psalter (1621), in which he writes: “The singing of Psalmes (assay the Doctors) comforteth the sorrowfull, pacifieth the angry, strengtheneth the weake, humbleth the proud, gladdeth the humble, stirres up the slow, reconcileth enemies, lifteth up the heart to heavenly things, and uniteth the Creature to his Creator.”

It begins meditatively, but eventually grows agitated and fervent, with a vision of the “quire of Angels and Saints” “redoubling anddescanting” - an ecstatic and terrifying vision of the skies opening up. Ravenscroft then encourages the use of instrumental musicfor worship, at which point, a long, acrobatic orchestral interlude with jagged edges antagonizes the choir, who sing a kind of private, anxious meditation on two pitches.

One of the most delicious biblical texts is an Apocryphal prayer known as the Benedicite or the Prayer of the Three Children (the same who were rescued by an angel after King Nebuchadnezzar tried to have them burnt in an oven for not bowing to his image). The text is repetitive, obsessive, and a gift to composers - each line is an invocation of an element of the natural world, followed by the phrase, “blesse ye the Lord, praise him & magnify him for ever.” In Looking Up, the setting begins with three solo voices, and then grows to include the whole choir, itemizing the whole of creation. The idea that these boys are spared from the furnace and then five minutes later are saying, “O ye the fire and warming heate, blesse ye the Lord...” has always felt very loaded to me, and the orchestra plays with this conflict between joyful praise and a more terrible (in the 16th-century sense) awefor the divine.

The text for the third, and shortest, section is taken from Christopher Smart's (1722-1771) A Song to David, purportedly written during his confinement in a mental asylum. This ode to King David points out how David, as the author of some of the Psalms, observes the whole world from the “clustering spheres” to the “nosegay in the vale.&rdquo.

SKU: PR.362034230

ISBN 9781598069556. UPC: 680160624225. Letter inches. English.

When the Texas Choral Consort asked Welcher to write a short prologue to Haydn's The Creation, his first reaction was that Haydn already presents Chaos in his introductory movement. As he thought about it, Welcher began envisioning a truer void to precede Haydn's depiction of Chaos within the scope of 18th-century classical style - quoting some of Haydn's themes and showing human voices and inhuman sounds in a kind of pre-creation melange of color, mood, and atmosphere. Welcher accepted this challenge with the proviso that his prologue would lead directly into Haydn's masterpiece without stopping, and certainly without applause in between. Scored for mixed chorus and Haydn's instrumentation, Without Form and Void is a dramatically fresh yet pragmatic enhancement to deepen any performance of Haydn's The Creation. Orchestral score and parts are available on rental.
When Brent Baldwin asked me to consider writing a short prologue to THE CREATION, my first response was “Why?”  THE CREATION already contains a prologue; it’s called “Representation of Chaos”, and it’s Haydn’s way of showing the formless universe.  How could a new piece do anything but get in the way? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.  The Age of Enlightenment’s idea of “Chaos” was just extended chromaticism, no more than Bach used (in fact, Bach went further).Perhaps there might be a way to use the full resources of the modern orchestra (or at least, a Haydn-sized orchestra) and the modern chorus to really present a cosmic soup of unborn musical atoms, just waiting for Haydn’s sure touch to animate them.  Perhaps it could even quote some of Haydn’s themes before he knew them himself, and also show human voices and inhuman sounds in a kind of pre-creation mélange of color, mood, and atmosphere. So I accepted the challenge, with the proviso that my new piece not be treated as some kind of “overture”, but would instead be allowed to lead directly into Haydn’s masterpiece without stopping, and certainly without applause.  I crafted this five minute piece to begin with a kind of “music of the spheres” universe-hum, created by tuned wine glasses and violin harmonics.  The chorus enters very soon after, with the opening words of Genesis whispered simultaneously in as many languages as can be found in a chorus.  The first two minutes of my work are all about unborn human voices and unfocused planetary sounds, gradually becoming more and more “coherent” until we finally hear actual pitches, melodies, and words.  Three of Haydn’s melodies will be heard, to be specific, but not in the way he will present them an hour from now.  It’s almost as if we are listening inside the womb of the universe, looking for a faint heartbeat of worlds, animals, and people to come.  At the end of the piece, the chorus finally finds its voice with a single word: “God!”,  and the orchestra finally finds its own pulse as well.  The unstoppable desire for birth must now be answered, and it is----by Haydn’s marvelous oratorio. I am not a religious man in any traditional sense.  Neither was Haydn, nor Mozart, nor Beethoven.  But all of them, as well as I, share in what is now called a humanistic view of how things came to be, how life in its many forms developed on this planet, and how Man became the recorder of history.  The gospel according to John begins with a parody of Genesis:  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”   I love that phrase, and it’s in that spirit that I offer my humble “opener” to the finest work of one of the greatest composers Western music has ever known.  My piece is not supposed to sound like Haydn.  It’s supposed to sound like a giant palette, on which a composer in 1798 might find more outrageous colors than his era would permit…but which, I hope, he would have been delighted to hear.