The work divides into three sections: the first, an abstract depiction of the violence of the attack; the second, an elegiac hymn in memory of its victims; and the third, a life-affirming chant of defiance, and a call to justice.
The score is dedicated to the memory of all victims of hate, and is inscribed with the following passage from the Book of Psalms (9:13): "The avenger of bloodshed remembers them; he does not forget the cry of the humble."
"The Après-Garde invites all composers to submit contemporary classical holiday music to be performed in December. Pieces should include any degree of improvisation and alternative notation (including graphic and/or prose elements), and they should be inspired by the holiday/winter season (which isn't to say necessarily Christmas). Submissions should be for open instrumentation, meaning any combination of 2-6 instruments. Pieces may also include parts for competent but not professional voice (baritone)."
In an attempt to meet the requirements of this performance opportunity while exerting the least possible creative energy, I decided to appropriate the chord progression of The Christmas Song by Bob Wells and Mel Tormé (secure in the knowledge that chord progressions are not protected by copyright), superimpose a melody of my feeble invention, and steal every word of the lyrics, but rearrange their order. The result is an insult to the American Songbook, a travesty which, in spite of its elemental lack of originality, is original. How's that for your late-capitalist postmodern paradox?
--Annalisa Quinn, The New York Times, Nov. 6, 2017
About the music:
In a striking stylistic departure, Chopin abandons the lithe melodiousness that characterizes his pre-mortem work, and gives vent to a primal, even brutish, mode of expression, an astonishing transformation in a composer who has been dead for 168 years. Although the work's rhythmic energy is akin in spirit (pardon the pun) to that of his Tarantelle in A-flat major, op. 43, the harmonic language is radically more complex. The late Ms. Brown put forth an uncharitable assessment of the composer's newfound harmonic vocabulary, suggesting that, in her words, "Fred is really starting to lose it after so many years as a stiff." Nevertheless, it is heartening to observe that at this stage of his career, Chopin continues to grow as an artist, long after his bloated, pericarditis-ravaged heart was torn from his lifeless chest and consigned to bob in a fetid pool of preservative for centuries to come, and his tuberculosis-blighted corpse rotted into oozing filth. Ars longa, mors in sempiternum.
The work belongs to a peculiar sub-genre of 20th century American chamber orchestra composition (including Aaron Copland's Quiet city and Charles Ives's The unanswered question) in which solo trumpet gives voice to a quintessential solitary human Self adrift in an unknowable cosmos. There are qualities inherent in the instrument, characteristics that defy simple description (unsentimental pathos? self- conscious bravado?), that suit it to that role and its attendant evocations of loneliness, terror and awe. Like the above-mentioned works, On Clearwater Mountain is a tone poem without an explicit program, a narrative-less meditation. It charts a psychological journey towards some elevated locus in the geography of the soul where mystery is embraced, and where the limits of understanding are confronted and humbly, even ecstatically, acknowledged.
If M. Quittard were alive to today, I'd show him what "laborious and puerile" really means: Sacre bleu! is a note-for-note MIDI transcription of the final section of the score, the Danse sacrale (L'Élue), with each pitch mapped to a socially inappropriate but legal public domain audio sample. While not exactly a sacrificial dance of the chosen virgin, the work manages to capture the gentle, wistful, and romantic charm of Mother Russia.