Blog
A Letter from our Music Director
Esprit (a vanguard orchestra) operates at the leading edge taking advantage of the special talents of dedicated, highly-skilled musicians to create innovative frontline musical events.
After more than four decades of championing new orchestral music, our season is bigger and more ambitious than ever and we need your support to continue serving you, the community and the cause of advancing music at home and abroad to the fullest degree.
Our inaugural Edge of Your Seat International Festival this Spring brings fantastic pieces to our audience’s ears and minds reflecting the newest global trends and showcasing an abundance of fine home-grown talents plus top visiting composers and soloists.
Esprit’s expanding collaborations with important foreign orchestras include our North American Premiere of music we’ve co-commissioned with the Berlin Philharmonic. We’re increasing our online presence worldwide by expanding recording and video productions.
Esprit’s artistic leadership has been developed thanks to previous support from individuals like you. Your appreciation of our work motivates us to remain worthy of your support.
Please stay up-to-date with where Esprit’s heading and join us on the journey with a contribution demonstrating your belief in the bold, inspiring nature that characterizes Esprit Orchestra.
With the current disruption of Canada Post services due to the strike I ask that you consider making your donation online through Canada Helps: (https://www.canadahelps.org/en/charities/the-esprit-orchestra-lorchestre-esprit/).
Upon receipt and processing of your donation Canada Helps will issue you a tax receipt by email. If you wish to donate by cheque please contact Cameron by phone at 416-815-7887 or info@espritorchestra.com and we’ll arrange to have a courier pick your cheque up. We will issue a tax receipt by email.
Being at the leading edge is what makes it possible for Esprit to give you the
“edge of your seat” experience this season.
Alex Pauk, C.M.
Founder, Music Director & Conductor
VIOLINISSIMO in the Press!
The buzz for VIOLINISSIMO is building! Check out these wonderful previews for our November 27th concert in La Scena Musicale, The WholeNote magazine and Ludwig Van Toronto- click on each image to read the full article!
The WholeNote Magazine
Wendalyn Bartley
Ludwig Van Toronto
Anya Wassenberg
La Scena Musicale
Eva Stone-Barney
"Carmen Through the Looking Glass" & Reimagining Music of the Past - Blog by Composer Christopher Goddard
One of my favourite pieces in the piano repertoire is Johannes Brahms’s
Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel, op. 24, better known as the Handel
Variations. In his writings, Brahms describes the importance of strictly following
Handel’s bass line to his compositional process: “On the given bass, I invent something
actually new, I discover new melodies in it, I create.” Whereas a work such as
Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations looks squarely into the future, Brahms fashions
something new out of music from the past, even reviving antiquated dance forms to give
the piece an air of Baroque authenticity. The result is a rich synthesis of styles that is
every bit as innovative. From our vantage point in 2022, it’s almost hard to believe that
128 years separates Brahms’s 1861 score from the 1733 keyboard suite that inspired it.
Much as I admire the bracing modernism of Beethoven’s variations, I admit that I
am temperamentally more inclined towards Brahms’s approach. It’s probably my
performing roots, but I’ve always viewed the concert repertoire as a living and breathing
body of work rather than as a rigid set of conventions. For composers like me, it can
also represent a vast reservoir of ideas to be mined. By rediscovering older works, we
can engage in historical thinking while showcasing their value to the present, “bright as
on the earliest day”, as Mahler would say. I’ve found that over time my attitude towards
music has become less existential and more playful; and the canon offers up many
wonderful playgrounds indeed.
When I received my first Esprit commission back in 2017 I was at something of acreative crossroads. At the time I was codifying the compositional method I’d beencultivating in recent years for my doctoral dissertation, which had a somewhat stultifyingeffect on my art. With some doubts about whether that method had enough “juice” in itto produce an orchestral work worthy of the orchestra commissioning it, I started toponder a sharp turn; not necessarily a start from scratch, but something that couldjumpstart the path I was currently on. For years I had been enthralled with thespellbinding aria Les tringles des sistres tintaient from Bizet’s Carmen, in particular theinterpretation by Julia Migenes in Francisco Rosi’s 1984 film adaption of the opera.
Les tringles des sistres tintaient, Julia Migenes, 1984.
The song drew me in not just by its expressive power but also by a tantalizing sense thatthings were happening beneath the surface that I couldn’t quite grasp. I nursed astrange intuition that, at the right moment, probing those mysteries might catalyzesomething of my own that took me to exciting and unexpected places.They were heady days, then, when I decided to leap into the project with bothfeet and began to figure out what shape it would take. With no initial vision for the piece, I went looking for answers in Bizet’s score. I sat in it, contemplated it, examined each ofits tiniest contours…what a joy it was to live inside that sound world! I knew from thestart that I didn’t want to do a postmodern pastiche that crudely rehashed Carmenthrough a contemporary lens. Like Brahms, I sought a degree of continuity – I wanted tomeet the music where it was. It quickly became clear to me that tempo and timbrewould be the cornerstones my reimaginative effort. Tempo, because so much of theoriginal aria is wound up in its escalating character, and timbre, because that specialsound world (alluded to in the title itself) seemed to naturally invite a deeper exploration.
Variations technique is predicated on one musical domain being held constant so that others can be made more salient through development. In the Handel Variations, that fixed role is played by the bass line (and by extension the phrase structure). I wanted to write something more through-composed, that eschewed the genre’s traditional episodic form. For my Les tringles des sistres tintaient, this required somebold choices. Despite a few harmonic detours and embellishments, the pitch material isbasically carried over from Bizet. The piece also sustains a 3/4 meter throughout its entire duration(!) Where the invention comes in is at the level of perception. A sort of timbral alchemy is achieved through unusual instrumental combinations, and there is relentless flux in the rate at which musical events unfold.
This is Carmen “through thelooking glass”, where things are subjected to all manner of topsy-turvy distortions,through which their essence is not obscured, but amplified.
The Carmen premiere that shocked its first Parisian audience took place 147years ago in 1875. We tend to view the intervening years as a period of unprecedentedchange in music, but it could plausibly be argued that the 128 years between 1733 and1861 were equally if not more revolutionary. Brahms bridges that gap by profoundlycogitating his model and projecting his own musical personality onto it. I took on asimilar task in Les tringles des sistres tintaient, to “discover new melodies” in my ownobject of study. I recall feeling a lot of anxiety (more than usual, that is!) leading up tothe premiere in January 2019, uncertain about how Alex and the orchestra would reactto this bizarre project I’d undertaken. Of course, their total commitment andprofessionalism shone through, and the performance was among the most memorableof my life. Heading into their 40th season, Esprit is sounding better than ever, so I hopeyou’ll join us for a mind-blowing evening of music on October 27!
The Mystical World of Sofia Gubaidulina - by Eugene Astapov
“My desire is always to rebel, to swim against the stream” – were the words playing in my head preceding my first meeting with the grand dame of the contemporary music world – Sofia Gubaidulina. After taking one look at her, a fragile, modest woman, it was hard to imagine how difficult a life the composer had, carrying that mantra in her creative mind, before leaving her home in Moscow for the safe haven in Germany. And yet her desire to rebel earned her worldwide recognition as one of the most important musical minds of all time, which came at a cost: “Had I not left, they would have murdered me”, she quietly disclosed in a private meeting with a small group of young composers, “I had no choice, but to leave the country where I built a life for close to 60 years!”.
I had the privilege of meeting and spending some time with Mdm. Gubaidulina at a new music festival in Paris in 2009 while still being a young student at the Eastman School. It was an extremely rare opportunity to get close and personal with such a great musical mind and gain a perspective on her compositional process and inspiration. Gubaidulina is an extremely private and secluded person – one of the last artists in the world who can afford such luxury of not being socially connected to the rest of the world, and therefore making her persona ever more so mysterious and enigmatic. To understand her music, one must grasp at the straws of her rare lectures, seldom program notes and ambiguous history of her life in the Soviet Union.
In the lectures the composer gave in Paris, she talked about the use of Fibonacci series in her music – a tool found in the works of many artists, musical and visual, but it is hard to imagine that there isn’t a more meaningful subtext behind the notes she writes, one filled with deep philosophical understanding of the world around us, as well as acute personal suffering. In addition, Sofia Gubaidulina is a profoundly devout person, who turned to Christianity at a tragic point of loss in her life – her husband and only daughter who passed away way before she was ready to let them go.
It is hard to grasp Gubaidulina’s music without spending time studying her prolific output, however, her piece Fachwerk, that Esprit will present on June 9, is an excellent example of her sound world and philosophy. The composer very often talked about the trajectory of darkness to light and if we listen carefully to many of her works that’s exactly what we hear – a journey taken by the main character presents the overcoming of hardships and reaching a higher, more enlightened state of being. The soloist in Fachwerk represents exactly that and the orchestra represents the evil forces causing the character to suffer. The piece opens with big sustained chords that the composer likes to describe as cosmic vibrations, and quite possibly these chords were derived from the Fibonacci series. This is quite similar to what the composer did in some of her other works including the percussion concerto Glorious Percussion, as well as her second violin concerto In Tempus Praesens. She often described her works not only as a journey within themselves, but also in the grand scope of things one work led to the next and to the next, in other words creating a ladder ascending higher and higher into the of artistic and mental bliss (one can call this heaven).
Very telling is the use of D major in some of her works, including Fachwerk, a key frequently associated with divinity during the Classical period. Interestingly, Gubaidulina justifies the use of this key through the overtone series, for example In Tempus Praesens arrives in D major by the end, and this was the point where the composer indicated in her program notes describing the defeat of evil and triumph of good. In Fachwerk, the harmony brushes on D major, never fully establishing foot in the key, but rather opting to travel over more dissonant and sonorous harmonies. At certain points of the composition, the soloist travels through what feels like desolate, empty space, evoking an image of a voyage through the cosmos where the main character (the soloist) encounters various obstacles and challenges presented by the orchestra. The three works mentioned above create a triptych signifying the Holy Trinity, fulfilling one another with their similarity in content and yet each one is distinct and achieves a different musical and philosophical goal while existing in harmony with one another. At the point of my meetings with the composer she had just finished the 3 works and one could feel great excitement in her tone and see the sparks in her eyes when she described what she called a monumental lifetime achievement. Following the Paris lectures, I had the great privilege of attending the American premiere of In Tempus Praesens performed by Anne-Sophie Mutter with the San Francisco Symphony and speaking with the composer afterwards who seemingly felt great relief of completing this concerto cycle. To me, these works indeed create a turning point in the composer’s career, one where she was able to express all of her personal and musical experience of her entire life.
Gubaidulina’s music is immersive, it is all-encompassing and engrossing, and is best experienced live. I would like to invite everyone to delve deeply into the sound world of this touching piece of music – a work of fine art – and feel affected by every sound and vibration so masterfully crafted by one of my most favorite, and one of world’s greatest composers.
Sofia Gubaidulina: Fachwerk concerto for accordion soloist Canadian Premiere 🍁 - blog by Michael Bridge
Dear Friends,
On June 9, I look forward to giving the Canadian premiere of Sofia Gubaidulina’s magnificent accordion concerto, Fachwerk, with Esprit Orchestra in Toronto’s iconic Koerner Hall. I hope to see you there! Read on for more details…
I believe Fachwerk (2009) is among the best and most exciting works that exist for accordion today. The concerto is scored for accordion solist, string orchestra, and percussion. It has been performed hundreds of times around the world, but not yet in Canada.
Preparing this concerto became a deep personal passion. In September 2021, I travelled to Iceland to hear Geir Draugsvoll (for whom it was written) rehearse and perform the concerto with the Iceland Symphony. He was very generous; we had all our meals together that week, and he shared the story of Fachwerk with me, including his 30-year history with the composer, the evolution of the cadenza, and his experiences performing it—now over 50 times.
Sofia Gubaidulina, one of the world’s foremost living composers, has written 14 works for accordion from solo sonatas to concerti. She was born in the Tatar Republic of the U.S.S.R. but has resided in Hamburg since 1992. Her music is deeply linked to her spirituality and, in the case of Fachwerk, the structure of the accordion itself.
Fachwerk literally means “Wooden Scaffolding” and refers to a style of German architecture where the structural wooden beams are exposed and the joints are visible, forming crosses. The modern concert accordion has several button layouts on one instrument; Gubaidulina’s idea was for the accordionist to play the same button sequence with both hands, but on different button systems so that the mirrored actions produce different tones. Gubaidulina then found an ingenious way to turn this concept into a beautiful cadenza, by locating starting points for each hand that, when layered, sound haunting, austere, and sublime. Hence, she recounts, “The accordion itself wrote the cadenza,” from which the entire concerto blossomed.
Michael
My Friend Claude
I first became aware of Claude Vivier a decade before he became my friend. We met at a university composers’ forum in Montreal held at McGill’s Redpath Hall in the early 70s. There, Harry Somers, a more senior composer who also later became my friend, had been invited to give an address.
In the middle of Harry’s stately, measured presentation, Claude leapt onto the stage behind Harry and began bashing at the drums, cymbals and gongs. He then began wailing, howling, chanting, in some strange unknown language in an unnervingly, yet endearingly humorous, protest. Vivier pressed Somers not to be boring—to generate some action, excitement, controversy—to stimulate and propel us into something new and adventurous. Toronto’s Rosedale (refined, poised, Edwardian) was confronted by Montreal East (brash, outrageous, rough-edged). I can’t even remember what Harry’s overshadowed lecture topic was.
As I got to know Claude years later, such extroverted, explosive episodes became something to expect without warning. Claude’s loud, outrageous, recognizable laugh in any crowd, including in concert halls, and his bold opinions (which were made known to anyone within earshot) became legend. Such expressions of character seemed better suited to “The Pit,” a beerhall dive in Montreal where we often met and where he was even more uninhibited.
Giving you unabashed, spontaneous performances or demonstrations of whatever he was working on at an upright piano in his apartment—at his insistence, like it or not—was one of his favourite things to do. On phone calls he would frequently put the receiver on the piano and play this stuff for whoever he was talking to. He also wasn’t afraid to give you his point-blank, straight-shooting commentary (i.e. criticism) of what you may have been writing or performing at that time.
In the late 70s and into the early 80s it was obvious that travelling the world was becoming more important for him—getting away from what increasingly seemed to him to be a parochial scene in Montreal. He also began asking, “Where’s the money?” meaning “How’s one to be a composer and live in this country without greater support?” He was disillusioned and disappointed in the struggle he endured, as he was sure that he was super-talented and should be appropriately rewarded. Now that he is dead, the riches pile up. Music history repeats itself!
The first time I got to spend considerable time with him and really got to know him was one summer in Quebec City in the mid-70s. He had been commissioned by the National Youth Orchestra (NYO) to write Siddhartha, a work for large orchestra. I had been hired by the NYO as a contemporary music animateur, programming and conducting new music ensembles. For a variety of reasons, Siddhartha did not get premiered that summer. In the turmoil of this disappointing situation, Claude constantly escaped by making the rounds, romping around Quebec City’s dark underground social scene. I began to see what a dangerous life he was leading outside the world of music—a lifestyle that eventually got him murdered.
Ironically, it was not until after his death in 1983 that I conducted so many of his works—works that he wrote during those last tumultuous years when I was getting to know him. The year of his death is also the year that I founded Esprit Orchestra and became able to program Claude’s orchestral and large ensemble works—the first being Zipangu (also written in 1983).
Now it is natural for me to think of programming Claude’s pieces, and so many others in the world think the same way. Ligeti, who Claude studied with, commented that he thought Vivier was the most talented, original, and individualistic composer of his age. It seems that he was right. The period after his passing was when others in the music world also came to understand and appreciate his unique gifts.
On the grand scale, it feels like my friendship with Claude was fleeting and that working with his music after his death has provided a more profound, lasting connection with him. There is a completeness in my friendship with Claude when I perform his music because I know the character that generated those scores. I know how my friend would have wanted them to be interpreted.
By Alex Pauk
Excavated Sound: Unearthing the Auditory
What if sound waves never died? Where would sound physically exist if it did live forever? What if the sound waves were absorbed or embedded into the objects and natural world around us? How could we retrieve them? How would they have changed? The aim of archeology is to study and understand objects and cultures from the past. This resonates strongly with me as a composer, as listening and reflecting on sounds around me and sounds that came before me is an essential part of the compositional process. The sounds I have listened to are held in my body as melodies, timbres, harmonies, rhythmic patterns, and sensorial impressions. When I compose, I dig through my memories to reconstruct and imagine new landscapes assembling these rehearsed, polished, and transformed auditory memories. I imagine if all the sounds from the past were embedded in the actual earth. With the passage of time, the sounds would accumulate, layer over each other, and start to deteriorate and decay, blending together. These bodies of sound, unrecognizable, would lie enmeshed in the earth. Like multiple musical works entwined in our head, they ebb and flow into recognition, differentiating from each other. What elements in these sounds would endure, and which would disintegrate quickly? What details and forms would we recognize, and what would be utterly transformed?
I approached this work as an excavation of sounds. In the beginning, we unearth objects incoherent and fragmented from each other. Their identity has faded, their utility unclear. Some remnants are thinned and stretched, canvassing their bodies over large areas. Others are scattered in small, but intact and detailed fragments. In the first section of the work we are just hearing the separated fragments, like low waves of distant tonalities crashing in on each other. To accumulate textures and sounds I created an electroacoustic version of certain sections of the work. The excerpt below is a small snippet of some of the sounds I worked with for the larger bodies of sound in the opening movement.
Other pieces of sound discovered are more temporally intact, but fragmented and scattered everywhere. They are distant and light like dust in the air.
As the excavation deepens in the second section , we accumulate more pieces juxtaposed layered. We look for vertical and horizontal joints, step back and listen again. We layer them as textiles, creating coherence in the density, and richness in the texture. Slowly the settle and start take up and share the same sonic space.
In the end, we are still left with fragments, but the point is not to construct sound, but to listen to and study it. This piece was a study on the how sound would degrade and accumulate in the earth. How can my ears, and an audiences ears associate and assemble sounds if they are dispersed, faded, and in decipherable ? These audio examples are far from what the orchestral work will sound like. They were intended to be just an inspiration and general shape starting point to create the overall arc of the piece. Keiko Devaux
Concerto Blog, Vol. 2: Shapes in Motion
In the great ‘inspiration vs. perspiration’ debate I must admit that I’ve always been more inclined towards the latter. How exactly the creative process unfolds, with its multitudes of tiny deductions and trial-and-error calculations, remains mysterious to me, to be sure. But I tend to think that ideas are mined through hard work; active attention, not passive reverie, is the path to productivity in my view.
Every so often, however, lightning strikes and shifts your thinking in a direction it would not have otherwise gone. Shortly after receiving the concerto commission I came across the following tweet by Kathryn Schulz, an American author and staff writer for The New Yorker:
A lovely grouping indeed! Social media is usually the death of inspiration, but here it had delivered a small miracle. Something in this conceptual triad of reflections, echoes and rainbows really spoke to me. So I did some digging and discovered that the passage being referenced was from Posterior Analytics, a text that deals with demonstration, definition and scientific knowledge:
Some connections that require proof are identical in that they possess an identical ‘middle’ e.g. a whole group might be proved through ‘reciprocal replacement’ – and of these one class are identical in genus, namely all those whose difference consists in their concerning different subjects or in their mode of manifestation. This latter class may be exemplified by the questions as to the causes respectively of echo, or reflection, and of the rainbow: the connections to be proved which these questions embody are identical generically, because all three are forms of repercussion; but specifically they are different.
It had been the connecting metaphor of repercussion that had resonated with me so powerfully. As a pianist, and especially one focused on new music, much of my time is spent around the instrument’s repercussive action – it is the sonic space to which most of my musical thinking ultimately refers. Could such a generic concept inspire a whole piece? I started to consider how, specifically, the idea of reflections, echoes, and rainbows could be rendered musically. That Aristotle’s connection was archaic and scientifically flawed (the concept of refraction was not understood until relatively recently) did not dissuade me; in fact I welcomed this bit of logical fuzziness. Art is meant to be ambiguous, after all…
I settled on a three-part structure, with each movement bearing the name of one of Aristotle’s repercussive phenomena. For the first movement Reflections I envisioned a music in which sounds heard in one region of the pitch continuum (imagine the low-to-high range of a piano keyboard) are ‘reflected’ onto the opposite region around a hidden axis. Exact symmetry was not my goal, however, and I took steps to deliberately ‘blur’ the reflected image (consider by way of analogy the reflection produced by a disturbed water surface vs. one produced by a mirror).
In the following passage, drawn from the opening pages of the work, you’ll hear clangorous harmonies in the piano’s high register in counterpoint with low, thudding chords in the orchestra accompaniment:
Another passage showcases a purer sort of reflection, with gossamer scales rising and falling and zigzagging over each other in a delicate string texture:
The prior section is reimagined several minutes later, near the end of the movement, altered to be more stretched out in duration and sensuous in character:
Echoes (Movement II) brings the reflections idea into the temporal domain. Here the literal concept evoked by the title is enacted musically through the re-sounding of music quickly after its initial ringing. At times this takes the form of a single note struck by the solo piano that ‘ricochets’ back from the orchestra, as though the initial attack is being played in reverse:
Elsewhere, small melodic fragments are echoed throughout the orchestra to simulate a broad, cavernous space with sounds reverberating throughout:
In Rainbows (Movement III) I wanted to simulate the bending of light by creating a slanted, vertiginous sound world that in effect synthesizes the two ‘rebounding’ modes of the earlier movements. Musically this takes the form of cascading piano patterns that are enhanced in the orchestra by sliding glissandi and percussive exclamations:
The preceding audio samples are but glimpses into a larger musical arc of nearly 25 minutes duration. It has been such a thrill bringing this work to life with the awesome musicians of Esprit Orchestra, and we do hope you’ll join us to experience the whole thing at the exciting world premiere on April 3 in Koerner Hall!
Concerto Blog, Vol. 1: Hurry Up and Wait
I was in Cleveland recording a chamber work when I received, in September 2018, an email from Alex Pauk asking about my interest in composing a piano concerto for Esprit Orchestra that I would premiere as soloist. In the life of a pianist-composer this is the commission you dream about – the one you contemplate from the beginning, far-fetched though it may seem. I took a bit of time to consider the offer (it was after all a substantial thing to commit to) and talked it over with the friend I was staying with at the time. “Should I really do this?” It was a question I already knew the answer to. I passed along my happy assent to Alex the next day.
The previous autumn Esprit had performed my work Spacious Euphony to open their 35th anniversary season, on an ambitious program that also featured Colin McPhee’s Tabuh Tabuhan and Claude Vivier’s Siddhartha. What a revelation it was to see a Canadian orchestra tackle such complex music with utter fearlessness! From the first rehearsal I got to experience Esprit’s fierce musicianship and total commitment to every detail in the score. Composing for a group like this really brings out your best, for the prospect of a near-flawless performance brings with it the sober understanding that any flaws in sound / balance / pacing are yours alone to answer for. Mix in the element of being on stage with them as soloist and your nakedness is complete…!
.....
Why is the concerto an object of such veneration for us composer-performer types? Certainly there are many remarkable pieces in the repertoire that contribute to the genre’s prestige. But I think it has more to do with the vast potential it offers as a creative medium. In my view a concerto is the ultimate vessel for musical expression, a place to try out your boldest and most daring ideas, to ‘show us what you’ve got’, to fully self-actualize. A total blank slate.
When writing for orchestra there are, despite a seeming infinitude of possibilities, hidden guardrails determining what effects a composer might be inclined towards because of the ensemble’s very particular instrumental proportions. In a concerto however the orchestra is no longer the locus of our attention, which lessens the impact of those received strictures. In its place there emerges a sort of ‘orchestra+++’, which subsumes both soloist and ensemble into a broader sonic plane with its own totally unique internal dynamism.
Some canonical works explore this world to astonishing effect. My favourites, including the concerti of Schumann, Brahms and Rachmaninoff, are successful because the roles of the soloist and of the ensemble are in constant flux: at each moment the one might be putting the other into relief via conversation, reaction, amplification, etc. More recently in the 20th and 21st centuries we encounter works where piano and orchestra are fused together in a kind of meta-instrument, in which the latter serves as extension or ‘resonator’ of the former (Messiaen’s Turangalîla-Symphonie, Boulez’s Sur Incises and Unsuk Chin’s piano concerto being noteworthy examples of this approach).
These masterworks are always top of mind for me, and so I deliberately took an expansive vision for my own concerto that could embrace all of the things I’d absorbed through them. I wanted to take listeners on a musical journey that was by turns virtuosic and brilliant, lush and expressive, somber and introspective, playful and mercurial, etc. As I often tell my students, why choose to restrain yourself in a piece when you’realready limited by so many things you’re not even aware of?
The following audio example, drawn from the first movement, gives a glimpse of the variety in character I describe:
It required a full year of work to complete the piece from start to finish. Even with this extensive timeframe I recall a great rush leading up to the original concert date as I frantically orchestrated the final movement, typed up the score and practiced the solo part. What a surreal experience it was, then, when world events unfolded as they did, and the date of March 22, 2020, which had occupied the centre of my thoughts for so long, passed by like any other.
Along with all of my other composer friends during this period I was left to watch the score gather dust on the shelf in the months that followed, wondering when it might eventually be brought to life. As the contours of the piece gently faded from memory I began to question things in it…perhaps I could use the circumstances to tinker a bit, to make some improvements? Does the piece actually come together as a coherent artistic statement? The usual insecurities, now stretched out excruciatingly in time...
After a few false starts and delays we were finally able to gather in November 2021 to rehearse the work and produce a full studio recording. I am thrilled to be able to share excerpts from that session for the first time in this blog series, ahead of the premiere performance that will take place April 3 in Koerner Hall. After two years of waiting we hope to see you at this most exciting event!!
Watch this space for next week’s installment in the blog series, where I’ll introduce some of the central poetic ideas of the concerto and share a few more audio samples.
New Album Now Available: Take the Dog Sled
Esprit Orchestra is thrilled to announce the official release of a brand new album!
Take The Dog Sled by renowned Canadian composer Alexina Louie, featuring Inuit throat singers Evie Mark and Akinisie Sivuarapik.
Now available for purchase/streaming on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music, Google Play and Centrediscs. Buy now.
Learn more about the story behind take the dog sled with alexina louie's three-part blog series, inside scoop: take the dog sled. Read the blog.
Esprit Plans for Exciting Return to Stage in 2021
In our 2020/2021 season, we are proud to reaffirm Esprit’s commitment to supporting living composers through commissioning, performing, and promoting their music. It’s a thrill to share with you some exciting highlights from upcoming concerts and special activities to look towards in the coming months!
In May, we launched our Soundbite and Soundbite Insights series, an initiative we were delighted to bring to online audiences. Hopefully you are enjoying the chance to listen to recently performed works, and hear directly from our extraordinary composers. You can find the full series here.
We are working hard in planning a safe return to the concert hall for musicians and audiences early in 2021. Our programming includes a full line-up of world premieres by a number of Canada’s most prominent emerging composers including Christopher Goddard, Eugene Astapov, Alison Yun-Fei Jiang and Christina Volpini. Esprit audiences will also be treated to a very special work by Anishinaabekwe composer and performer, Barbara Croall, as well as a much anticipated repeat performance of Maki Ishii’s Mono-prism with the electrifying Taiko drumming group Nagata Shachu joining the orchestra.
We are also eager to present most of the music postponed from last season’s New Wave Festival in a revamped version of the festival in April 2021. During several exciting New Wave evenings, audiences will be able to experience the newest sounds cooked up by composers such as Keiko Devaux, Quinn Jacobs, Julia Mermelstein, Stephanie Orlando and many others.
While we await final guidelines on venue health protocols for bringing you back into the concert hall for live performances, we invite you to check out our online initiatives and stay tuned for more details about subscription and single ticket sales for our 2021 concerts.
Update Regarding COVID-19: New Wave Festival Postponed
We have continued to monitor the conditions surrounding COVID-19, and have come to the difficult decision to postpone all three concerts in our New Wave Festival, which was set to take place at Trinity St. Paul’s Centre from April 17-18th. Our decision was made following the declaration of a State of Emergency by the Ontario Provincial Government, and in accordance with the mandate to cancel all events involving 50 or more people in an effort to reduce the spread of the virus. The safety of Esprit composers, musicians, guest artists, staff, volunteers, and patrons is of paramount importance.
This festival is intended to highlight the talent of emerging composers and performers, and is a unique opportunity to launch professional music careers and connect a new generation of audiences to contemporary classical music. Our intention is to reschedule the full festival program to a later date, during Esprit's 2020-2021 season. We are committed to promoting and supporting contemporary classical composers and performers, and we will ensure that the extraordinary emerging artists who are featured on the New Wave concerts will be given a chance to perform these works at a later date. More information about when the performances will be rescheduled will be announced with next season’s programming.
All tickets and festival passes will be fully refunded. Please allow up to 5 business days for refunds to be processed via Eventbrite.
All subscribers who had claimed their free festival pass using the promo code will receive a cancellation notification. Subscribers to the 2019-2020 season will still be granted access to the rescheduled New Wave Festival, and will be contacted with more information when the dates and location have been confirmed.
Patrons need not take any further steps with regard to New Wave Festival ticketing.
As a reminder, Esprit also announced on March 13, 2020 that the Taiko Returns concert at Koerner Hall has been postponed to the 2020-2021 season.
The following options are available for subscribers and single ticket holders for Taiko Returns (Sunday March 22, 2020):
Obtain a refund for the value of the ticket(s). The refundable amount is the value of the ticket purchased, less the Royal Conservatory of Music service charge of $8.00 CAD.
Donate the value of your ticket(s) for a charitable tax receipt. Your support during this challenging time is greatly valued and needed. Your generosity would help us mitigate the financial impact on Esprit and the artists we work with. The donation amount is for the value of the ticket purchased, less the $8.00 service fee.
In order to request a refund or donate the value of your ticket to Esprit, please email the Koerner Hall box office, at tickets@rcmusic.ca. This offer is valid until March 31, 2020.
We would also like to note that Esprit’s administrative office will be closed indefinitely, with staff working remotely. For inquiries and concerns, please feel free to contact us at one of the following email addresses:
Rachel Loo, General Manager - rachelloo@espritorchestra.com.
Amber Melhado, Marketing & Outreach Coordinator - amber@espritorchestra.com.
General inquiries - info@espritorchestra.com.
We urge the wonderful community in which we operate to find comfort in their favourite music as we endure this troubling time. Music has a way of connecting, healing, and inspiring us no matter what situation we find ourselves in. Until we can meet again inside the concert hall, we wish you all happy and healthy listening.
Taking Care of Shkakmigkwe (Mother Earth)
I can hardly believe that it has already been 11 years since the world premiere of my work Mijidwewinan (Messages) at Wesleyan University in Connecticut in 2009. When I got a call out-of-the-blue from Pamela Tatge, Artistic Director of the Wesleyan Center for the Arts, back in late summer 2008 to compose a new orchestral work about the issue of climate change and from an Indigenous woman’s perspective on that, I was so honoured and it was very timely. I had already been working in the field of outdoor education for several years and working closely in schools with Indigenous at-risk youth on artistic projects in conjunction with time outdoors in the woods with them to share knowledge passed down through Elders in my family about Anishinaabeg ways and knowledge about plants. Since that time, it warms my heart to know that many of those youth at that time went on to further their education in meaningful ways to not only benefit themselves in their own life journeys, but to continue to give back to their families and communities in need of support.
As the child of a residential school survivor and direct descendant of hereditary chiefs who signed the major treaties in Ontario and who prior to that fought in many battles during the War of 1812 (and even other colonial period wars before that), these recent years since the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report in 2015 have been trying for me and my family. It was a multi-layered interfacing of many issues linked to history and intergenerational trauma all back-to-back being brought to the forefront and triggering an outpouring of tears. Before, during and since that time, taking part in ceremonies with Elders (some who have crossed over to the Spirit World over the past decade) has been the main source of strength for me. At our ceremonies the most important focus has always been about taking care of the earth, water and skies above us. We are all part of nature, not in control of it nor here to exploit it for personal wealth, power and ego. A lot of our people have continued to seek healing from the many things caused by colonization through our ceremonies (many of which were outlawed by the Canadian government not that long ago).
And now we are in a time that nearly everyone is voicing: that we are in a ‘climate crisis’. It already has been a crisis that many Elders were already talking about at ceremonies and gatherings decades ago, but those messages were not really being received much beyond our communities. As humans, we are the conduits of these messages and signs being communicated to us by the non-human beings that were here on earth before us. The four-legged ones, the winged ones, the crawlers, the swimmers, the plant beings, the rocks, the trees, the waters … have been crying out to all of us for so long to pay attention to what has been going on. Life is out of balance. The femaleness of creation is especially trampled on. Shkakmigkwe (Mother Earth) nurtures all of us, but that requires us to take care of her. There is much suffering, and it will become worse if while witnessing it we just stand there and do nothing. This is what compelled me most when composing Mijidwewinan. As an Anishnaabekwe performer in this work, I represent a transformative character in a female guise who through humility, kindness and courage serves as a kind of conduit for nature around her - those non-human beings who are crying out for attention — ‘calling out’ … ‘demanding’ — with a message that can no longer be ignored.
There are still so many reserves and Indigenous territories worldwide without clean water to drink, to cook food or to bathe in. Not enough healthyfood to eat and too expensive when it can be accessed. Fish, game and plants are contaminated by misguided practices of mining, fossil fuels extractions, logging, transport systems and industry. We are all responsible for the things we do that do not respect life, especially for future generations of all beings to come. How much more devastation needs to happen before we change our ways of today? What things can the wisdom of our ancestors teach us about respecting life and one another?
All photos by Barbara Croall: (1) deep woods outside of Thompson, Manitoba; (2) and (3) shoreline of Naadowewi-gichigami, Mnidoo Mnissing.
Blog Written By: Barbara Croall
Hear Barbara Croall perform in her own piece, Mijidwewinan (Messages) next season - details to come.
New Wave Festival 2020
Esprit is delighted to announce an expanded New Wave Festival for emerging composers. This year, the three-day festival will run from April 16-18th, with all events taking place at Trinity St. Paul’s Centre. The festival is comprised of three concerts, an artist’s panel, and a finale reception. In addition, renowned Canadian composer John Rea will reprise his role as keynote speaker, providing captivating ideas about the vibrant world of contemporary classical music.
65% of festival programming is Canadian, ranging from hot-shot young solo performers, to mixed ensemble, to full orchestra. Single tickets and festival passes are available at both regular and student pricing. Esprit subscribers receive free admission to New Wave events & concerts.
For full festival programming and ticket information, click here!
A Long Lasting Collaboration
A long-lasting and healthy collaboration can be a powerful commodity in the arts. As a composer I have been lucky enough to cross collaborative paths with some incredible artists. These relationships help to remind me that mutual creative experiences can be much more rewarding than anything I do on my own. Finding special collaborative partners allows me to deeply honour and respect the artistic spaces I share with others. Collaboration has provided me with the tools so that I may continue to improve upon my personal architecture – a structure that supports openness, appreciation, and commitment when varying artistic voices come into contact and resonate with my own manner of expression. These relationships have taught me that collaboration, at its essence, isn’t simply about outcomes or benefits – it is about shared values and harmonious contribution.
One of the collaborators with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working with that embodies these values at their most wonderful quality would be violinist Véronique Mathieu. Véronique is an artist possessing superlative talent and musicianship. I have been given the unthinkable gift as a composer – to work with Véronique on numerous projects over the years. This includes the performance of large ensemble pieces to smaller chamber works, several world premieres, recording a CD, and even performing together on stage. We have collaborated in many contexts – moments that have shaped and defined my work as a composer and as a musician.
The premiere of my new piece, Afterglow, is a special occasion indeed. It is a large-scale work for orchestra and solo violin written especially for Véronique as soloist. It is our largest collaboration to date, and I am beyond thankful to Alex Pauk and the Esprit Orchestra for giving us the space and the opportunity to realize this project. Afterglow is inspired by the coloristic effects produced by scattered dust particles in the atmosphere, but it is also about other things. It is an exposed image garnered from the luminous effects of mutual artistic experience. I very much hope to share my new piece, and my ongoing collaboration with Véronique, with those able to come on December first.
Blog Written by:Adam Scime
Don't miss your opportunity to hear the World Premiere of Adam Scime's new work, Afterglow, as performed by Véronique Mathieu as violin soloist!
Sustain
Sunday December 1, 2019
8:00pm Concert | 7:15pm Pre-Concert Chat
Koerner Hall, TELUS Centre for Performance and Learning
273 Bloor St. W.
Concert Photos by Malcolm Cook
Alexina Louie Wins Molson Prize in the Arts
Dear friends,
I'm so pleased that I've been afforded the opportunity to share with you the celebration of Alexina Louie being presented with the Canada Council for the Arts Molson Prize at Esprit's concert on October 6th. The Council asked her a few questions about her art for PR purposes and used snippets of the answers in their announcements. You may be interested in the complete answers that she originally provided - see below!
- Alex Pauk, C.M.
Founding Music Director & Conductor, Esprit Orchestra
1. What inspires you in your art practice?
For me, composing is an act of self-expression and a means of communication. I was an awkward and shy child. Eventually I learned to express myself through music. It didn’t happen quickly nor did it happen easily. I didn’t know then that all the disparate artistic, cultural, and musical experiences I had would ‘go into the hopper’ and contribute to the very complex path of forming my own unique musical voice. So many experiences contributed to the development of my voice – from playing cocktail music in Vancouver’s Devonshire and Georgia Hotels as a university student every weekend (I thought that was déclassé compared to my more esoteric musical studies at UBC), to teaching piano students, following the Chinese Lion dance with its drums and gongs and firecrackers up and down Pender Street every Chinese New Year with my family, or watching the Sunday evening Japanese samurai films at the movie theatre on East Hastings.
Transforming these experiences into meaningful compositions is big task. It’s difficult to explain the amount of skill that my art form takes. After all, composers are dealing with something that is hardly there. Sound is so ephemeral and yet you have to control so many parameters of mere vibrations of air. The result can be so captivating and so profoundly moving.
2. What are you most proud of in your artistic career?
I’m proud of my large catalogue of wildly diverse compositions. They range from pedagogical piano pieces for children, a full-length main stage opera, my ‘ground-breaking’ comedic five minute made-for-TV operas (created with my collaborators, director Larry Weinstein and librettist Dan Redican), to more unconventional, leading edge compositions.
In my pieces I aim to create something captivating, magical, touching, inspiring. It doesn’t matter if the work is meant for a young piano student or the audience of National Ballet of Canada, I cannot be satisfied with my work unless I aim high. I also avoid writing the same piece over and over, a trap that is easy to fall into. However, pushing boundaries and propelling yourself into new personal artistic territory can be frightening.
The compositions listed in my catalogue span many decades. You can hear my musical voice taking shape in the earlier pieces. There are works from those formative years that still affect me deeply. They still ring true after so many decades.
When O Magnum Mysterium: In Memoriam Glenn Gould is performed, it still moves me. On that day in 1982 when I heard of his death, I was full of sadness as I thought about the premature passing of this great pianist. His death made me think about what it takes to be an artist. The absolute devotion required to create art so often totally consumes you. What remains after you’ve given so much of yourself in your life as an artist? Gould died so young. By the time I finished composing this work, I came to realize that if your music is authentic and communicative, it will exist long after you are gone. It was a cathartic piece for me.
3. Is there an anecdote about your career that you would like to share, and, if so, what would it be?
In 2008, I was commissioned by the Montreal Symphony Orchestra to write a piece which would be taken on its first tour of Nunavik in Northern Quebec. It was to be scored for seven members of the Montreal Symphony Orchestra plus two Inuit throat singers with Kent Nagano conducting.
From the time I was a music student, I have been mesmerized by the sound, the power, and the unusual nature of the incredible tradition of throat singing. How do you take such a powerful aural tradition and make a new, meaningful composition in combination with musicians of a fine symphony orchestra? The singers don’t read music and symphony musicians don’t usually improvise.
How do you create a composition that fully and imaginatively integrates the sound world of two great traditions? The challenge froze me to the core. If I didn’t find the right solution, it would be a horrible disaster. You cannot take one tradition and just stick it onto another.
To find the right solution I listened to a recording of throat singing day and night for two months. It was our family’s dinner music. It was playing in the car as we drove our children to their music lessons. I just could not find my way ‘in’.
Then one day, I had the recording playing while I was sitting at the piano. The light finally went on. I remember that moment so clearly. When that breakthrough happens in the creative process, it is a huge relief. It’s a beautiful moment.
I was nervous before the premiere performance up North. How would the people of Nunavik react to hearing their familiar throat songs integrated with instruments (like a bassoon) which they had never seen or heard before? I worried needlessly. They were wholeheartedly enthusiastic when they experienced my piece, Take The Dog Sled.
Years later, the National Arts Centre Orchestra took the piece on their Northern tour. The day after it was performed in Iqaluit, I sat as an audience member in a different NACO concert. I took a seat in a gymnasium beside two elder Inuit women. They looked at me and recognized me as the composer of the piece they had heard the previous night.
“Where are you from?” they asked.
“I’m originally from Vancouver.”
They responded “Yes, but where are you from?”
“Oh...I’m Chinese, born in British Columbia.”
They laughed spontaneously. “We thought you were one of us!”
As I recall that moment, tears come to my eyes. I had truly succeeded in my artistic creation – this despite my fear of failure to do justice to this ancestral Inuit tradition, the limitations placed on me, as well as other challenges. I had touched the people for whom the piece was written. Although the challenges seemed insurmountable and the effort great, the rewards were even greater.
4. Which work by another artist would you like to have created and why?
This is a difficult question. Of course, there are several musical compositions that I could name. Even looking outside my artistic discipline there are so many works of art that amaze me.
I can clearly remember my first visit to the Villa Borghese in Rome. I was awestruck when I saw its Bernini sculptures. The fingers of Pluto pressing into the thigh of Persephone are shockingly lifelike but are carved from Carrera marble. The sculpture seems so real that you can feel the weight of the flesh.
However, it is Bernini’s sculpture of Apollo and Daphne that I find even more virtuosic. Bernini captures the very moment when Daphne is transforming into a laurel tree. Here also, the subjects’ fingers and fingernails are stunningly realistic. But the most impressive element of the work is how the sculptor was able to convey motion in stone. How could he catch this very moment of transformation in time? He created the swirling cloth, the texture of the hair flowing behind a fleeing Daphne as her skin changes into bark and as her fingers spontaneously become laurel leaves. How did he chisel each delicate leaf out of stone without chipping or breaking the marble? The stone is so imbued with life and is so finely carved that it seems translucent. Such skill and artistry is truly inspiring. Standing before these sculptures is a breathtaking experience that cannot be replicated in a photo.
Human beings can inflict such pain, misery, and horror upon one another. In contrast to the dark aspects of human nature, the thought that we are capable of creating works of such brilliance brings me joy and fills me with optimism. These and other visual, musical, and literary masterpieces of such lasting and profound artistry fill me with awe and continue to move me deeply.
Blog Written by: Alex Pauk & Alexina Louie
Don't miss your opportunity to hear music by Alexina Louie, and see her officiallyreceive her Molson Prize at Esprit Orchestra's season opener:
I Hit My Head and Everything Changed
Sunday October 6, 2019 8:00pm Concert | 7:15pm Pre-Concert Chat
Koerner Hall, TELUS Centre for Performance and Learning
273 Bloor St. W.
Composing River Memory
I have always wanted to compose a work about the Niagara Falls. Countless times I have walked along the Niagara River, from the upstreams to the falls, and along the Lower Niagara Water Rapids. Water goes through a series of transformations during its journey downstream. Inspired by the falls and this idea of transformation, I started composing River Memory by first improvising at the piano.
I imagined a watery sound world. Intuitively, I heard a quiet, deep, and gentle sonority flowing out of emptiness. I imagined myself surrounded by an immersive soundscape, as if I was lying in darkness at the bottom of a deep river and just waking up. I began playing chords at the lower register of the piano with my left hand, then adding on top a simple melody with my right hand.
Gradually, I improvised the entire first three minutes of River Memory at the piano by expanding the chordal and melodic materials and blurring the boundaries between lines and textures. Sometimes lines emerge out of textures and become more recognizable to the ear, and sometimes they weave into textures.
After envisioning the work’s opening, I thought about the ending of the work. Usually, I compose linearly along the timeline of a piece and do not conceive the ending till reaching the final stage of composing, but in the case of composing River Memory I had a clear sense of how the work would end. I wanted a short and energetic peroration that would create a sense of “still happening” exhilaration.
To arrive at this final peroration musically, I decided to create two points of full orchestral arrival as signposts prior to the ending, functioning as smaller and more localized climactic points prior to the final climax. The two signposts exhibit different characters: music comes to a burst of joy and brightness that rapidly calms down at the first signpost, and the second signpost is filled with tension, prolonged by dissonances and and turbulent dynamics. Having music arrive at and move away from these signposts was like taking a journey down a river, coming to two major scenic viewpoints along the way before reaching the final destination.
While composing this work, I started contemplating the connection between transformations of water and human. As an immigrant, my cultural identity has been transformed over the years. The sight of the Niagara Falls has always reminded me of where home is, no matter where I am. It reminds of a Canadian identity: being culturally inclusive, open-minded, resilient and free.
Blog Written by: Alison Yun-Fei Jiang
Don't miss your opportunity to hear River Memory performed by Esprit Orchestra at our upcoming concert:
CONSTELLATIONS
Sunday January 20, 2019
8:00pm Concert | 7:15pm Pre-Concert Chat
Koerner Hall, TELUS Centre for Performance and Learning
273 Bloor St. W.
Inside Scoop: Take The Dog Sled (Part 3)
Taking My Rocks To Nunavik
My ‘way into’ the Inuit culture was connecting with the remarkable throat singer Evie Mark. In 2007/2008 Evie and I corresponded by phone and email. She provided me with recordings of throat singing and DVDs about artist elders as I peppered her with questions. I read Inuit stories, finding them affecting as they were often humourous and spiritual. Some were even surprisingly violent and ribald. I began to understand the challenges that the Inuit have faced – the extreme cold, their dependence on the land for survival, the hunting expeditions they undertook each season to bring back food for their families and communities.
Evie is such a remarkable human being. She shared with me so many stories. I took these stories into my consciousness and turned them over in my mind.Evie is a special person. As a young child she learned the art of throat singing from her Inuktitut language teacher. In a recent interview about the throat singing tradition she said “I think it was so strong that it didn’t want to die. So I think it is coming back to us”. She is helping to preserve the Inuit culture as a teacher, performer, journalist, and storyteller.
With her help, I gradually began to formulate an idea of how to convey the challenges and experiences of the Inuit, as well as their sense of humour(!) into a musical composition.
I admit to being a bit nervous before the premiere performance up North. I travelled there on tour with Kent Nagano and The Montreal Symphony in 2008. How would the three communities in Nunavik react to hearing their familiar throat songs integrated with Western instruments? How would they receive my Take The Dog Sled? Would they be offended, bored, indifferent? After all, it was really a piece whose musical language is contemporary. How would they react to their beloved throat singers in combination with instruments (like a bassoon) which they had never seen or heard before? What would they think of my bottlephone and my rocks?
Those three initial communities didn’t have concert halls as we know them. The first performance took place in a school gym (Inukjuak), the second, a community centre (Kangiqsujuaq). The third one took place in the Katitavik Town Hall (Kuujjuuaq). People from these communities – elders, parents, children – filled each of these venues. I remember the faces being so beautiful and so full of life. The audiences were packed into the venues in anticipation of our concerts.
I worried needlessly. They were delighted with our performances of Take The Dog Sled. They laughed at the funny ending of Bug Music! The new sounds didn’t alienate them at all! Of course they recognized these traditional throat songs upon which I based several movements – Sharpening The Runners On The Dog Sled, Snow Goose, The Mosquito, The River, The Dog Sled/The Puppy.
When the National Arts Centre Orchestra took my piece on their Northern tour a few years later, my composition again touched the audiences in Iqaluit, Yellowknife, and Whitehorse. The day after Take The Dog Sled was performed in Iqaluit, I sat as an audience member in a separate concert presented by NACO. I took a seat in a gymnasium beside two elder Inuit women. They looked at me and recognized me as being the composer of the piece they had heard the previous night.
“Where are you from?” they asked.
“I’m from Vancouver.”
They responded “Yes, but where are you from?”
“Oh...I’m Chinese, born in British Columbia.”
They laughed spontaneously. “We thought you were one of us!”
As I recall that moment, tears come to my eyes. I had truly succeeded in my artistic creation – this despite my fear of failure to do justice to this ancestral Inuit tradition, the limitations placed on me, as well as other challenges. I had touched the people for whom the piece was written. Although the challenges seemed insurmountable and the effort great, the rewards were even greater.
Take The Dog Sled is dedicated to the people of Nunavik.
Blog Written By: Alexina Louie, O.C.
Take The Dog Sled is now available as an album! Visit the CMC Centrediscs store to purchase your copy today, or stream on Spotify and Apple Music.
Inside Scoop: Take The Dog Sled (Part 2)
Tuning My Rocks
The small group of musicians and others involved in the northern tour (a couple of orchestral staff members, and a small documentary film crew) were to head out for the Montreal Symphony Orchestra’s first tour of Nunavik to Inukjuak, Kangiqsujuaq, and Kuujjuaq in a small twin engine plane.
As the composer of the piece that was especially commissioned for this tour, not only did I feel compelled to find a ‘new’ solution for the integration of the great traditions of Inuit throat singing and Western art music, but I had to do it with a small, set ensemble.
One of the other pieces on the tour was Stravinsky’s L’histoire du soldat which is scored for seven musicians.
With the MSO’s stipulation that the percussion instruments be limited (because of a lack of space on the small plane) and built around the percussion instruments in the Stravinsky, I feared that this could ‘curb my style’. The percussion list for L’histoire du soldat includes bass drum, field drum, snare drum, tambourine, triangle, cymbal.
Those of you who are acquainted with my love of instrumental colours will know that these are not typically the percussion instruments that provide the shimmering colour (timbre) in my music! I’m used to a plethora of percussion instruments!
Faced with this creative challenge, I was pressed to find inventive solutions. One of the first percussion instruments I heard in my head when I started thinking about the new piece was a marimba. The bad news was that the marimba is a large, bulky (gorgeous) instrument not in keeping with the MSO’s directive.
Of course, the longer I worked on the piece, the more I needed a marimba! What could possibly fit into the underbelly of the small plane?
I sweated over this one for quite awhile, but one afternoon I suddenly got up, ran into the kitchen and unearthed some empty bottles. I started striking them with my kitchen utensils. Different sizes gave you the different pitches from low to high. There was my ‘marimba’ but it was a bottlephone! Not only was it portable, if need be, you could find your instrument along the way! It was great fun playing with different rhythms on my lovely new instrument.
I have always felt that the beginning of any piece is of such great importance. You set the tone of the piece. You capture the ear of the listener. You give a clue about what is to unfold. How to begin a piece that starts you on your musical journey...?
This first movement should be rhythmic in order to parallel the propulsive energy of the throat singing – but how to ‘get into’ the whole piece...I decided to start the composition with the sound of the land.
I have carted with me from my University of California at San Diego days, two hard river rocks. They sit on my piano. The answer to my dilemma about how to begin the whole piece was sitting in plain sight! They are portable (or can be found in any community we would be travelling to) and they are ‘of the land’. Tundra, the first movement begins with the sound of two stones. I found a way to ‘tune’ the rocks by opening and closing my hand as the rock rested in my palm. It must have been a sight to see and hear me improvising on my rocks as I wandered around the house!
The percussion list includes, among other instruments, 4 additional glass bottles for the woodwind and brass players, a slapstick, log drums, a sandblock, and a set of sleigh bells. They are all portable and can fit into the belly of a small plane!
Imagine the sound!
Blog Written By: Alexina Louie, O.C.
To read Part 3 of this blog series, click here!
Take The Dog Sled is now available as an album! Visit the CMC Centrediscs store to purchase your copy today, or stream on Spotify and Apple Music.
Inside Scoop: Take The Dog Sled (Part 1)
Would I write a piece for two Inuit throat singers and ensemble for the Montreal Symphony’s first tour of Nunavik, Northern Arctic Quebec? When I got that call saying that Kent Nagano would be pleased if I accepted, my heart skipped a beat, but I was frozen - yes, frozen with fear.
I thought through the obvious challenge quickly. I had loved throat singing since I was a graduate student in California where I had come across that now famous CBC LP (yes, LP not CD) of a documentary recording of throat singing. The lovely thing about LPs is that they are BIG so the back cover had photos and a lot of information. I remember being mesmerized by the sound and the power and the unusual nature of this incredible tradition.
But how do you take such a powerful tradition, which is aural, and make a whole new meaningful composition with musicians of a fine symphony orchestra? The singers don’t read music and symphony musicians don’t usually improvise.
The MSO brought me to Montreal for a special meeting with Kent Nagano. There were some other realities that I should take into consideration. The tour would take place in three Northern Arctic communities and the touring group would be travelling in a small twin engine Air Inuit plane. The ensemble would be limited to the same instrumentation as the additional piece on the program, Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du soldat, so that meant seven instrumentalists. I could not write for my usual large percussion battery (no room on the plane!). There was a lot to consider. The percussion for the Stravinsky was ‘modest’. Could I be happy with that limitation to the colour of my new work?
The main problem was how to make a composition that integrated fully the sound world of two great traditions. That’s what froze me to the core. If I didn’t find the right solution, it would be a horrible disaster. You cannot take one tradition and just stick it onto another. How do you fully and imaginatively integrate the two?
What were the salient features of throat singing? What characterized their sound and their songs? How long could they go on without stopping? What were these traditional songs about?
I was so focused on finding the right solution that I listened to throat singing literally day and night for two months. It was our family’s dinner music. It was playing in the car as we drove our children to their music lessons. I just could not find my way ‘in’.
Then one day, I had the recording playing while I was sitting at the piano and that was when the light finally went on. I remember that moment so clearly. When that breakthrough happens in the creative process, I cannot begin to tell you what a relief that is. It’s a relief and it’s a beautiful moment.
I began to check off the other challenges once the basic premise was found. The limited number of percussion instruments became a new way for me to become inventive.
Think small. Think portable. Think found.
Blog Written By: Alexina Louie O.C.
To read Part 2 of this blog series, click here!
Take The Dog Sled is now available as an album! Visit the CMC Centrediscs store to purchase your copy today, or stream on Spotify and Apple Music.