Sunday evening was Church of the Servant’s Lessons & Carols service. As always, it was the highlight of Advent and Christmas for me. The highlight for me from a compositional standpoint, was that after 12 years I finally got a good recording of “My Soul Will Magnify the Lord.” Take a listen and you’ll figure out why it hasn’t been performed or published much. It’s hard.
As we enter that blessed season known to music ministers as “when will this ever end?” I find myself considering a Magnificat that is near and dear to my heart. I wrote “My Soul Will Magnify the Lord” while I was at Bellefield Presbyterian Church in Pittsburgh. It’s part of a series of pieces based on the wonderful canticles found in Luke. The ingredients are choir, rhythm section, brass and soloist, all boiled up in a pop/rock/classical/jazz stew. And they’re all blazingly difficult to pull off well. (I’d get published a lot more if I could tame my muse.)
One of the most unusual features of this particular Magnificat is that it ends with the genealogy found in Luke 3. Crazy, you say? Like a fox, I say. No, really, it is strangely powerful to hear Mary sing about God’s mercy extending from generation to generation, and then hear their names sung one after another. One choir member at the time thought the idea was so unique that I should patent it.\
Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good recording from the Bellefield performance, so all I can share with you as the “choir of Greg” version. You can see the music here. I might include it in this year’s Lessons & Carols service on December 13 at 6pm at Church of the Servant, so if you’re in the Grand Rapids area you should plan to join us.
As work on the Bliss InnerCompass episode progressed, it became clear that the show needed to include a montage of footage from the Chalk Flood event, and that music was needed to match the fast-paced, playful feel of the footage. Even casual followers of this blog will realize that this was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. But the turn-around time was tight–as in, it needed to be finished in a day or two or else the editors would use some non-descript, pre-packaged music like they use in used car ads.
I quickly decided that the music style should be frenetic minimalism. But I didn’t have time to compose one of my intricate, evolving pieces like Crossfade. It would probably have to be comprised of only percussion. As I thought about it, it struck me: what better percussion instrument could be used than pieces of chalk? Chalk produces a wonderful, visceral sandblock sound when you’re writing with it, and a clear ping when tapped against cement. So that morning I went out into the garage, set up my recording equipment, found the most resonant chalk in the boys’ collection, and began scratching/tapping out a rhythm that had been on my mind.
Yesterday was Easter, and we had a blow out celebration of Christ’s resurrection at Church of the Servant. The service included my new setting of Psalm 118, the day’s lectionary Psalm. Okay, I went a little overboard with this one. It’s more than 7 minutes, includes parts for soprano solo, strings, brass and timpani, and the full score is 40 pages long. And it’s hard. But it was Easter, so a little extravagance seemed entirely appropriate. Listen to the COS choir and strings performing it with Melissa Simon on soprano and Brandan Grinwis on timpani: MP3.
Just cant get enough? Check out the “bouncing ball” version of the score:
This is one you’ll either love or hate. Rhythm Shift is something I wrote while in grad school at a time when I was studying a lot of minimalism. Like a lot of Steve Reich, two instruments repeat the same motive and slowly move out of phase with one another. In Rhythm Shift, I wanted to see if I could write something simple enough for two musicians to play live. I have fond memories of grabbing unsuspecting pianists, hauling two pianos into the same room, and playing this. No matter what you think of it as a listening experience, it is a ball to play. If there are any marimba duos or piano duos who want to have a mezmerizing musical experience, I’ll get you a score. For those of you who are listening at home, I recommend headphones.
A while back I posted a recording of the Chagall String Quartet playing the piece they commissioned from me, called “6.” The string quartet that preceded that is a zippy little thing called “Jig.” Whereas 6 explores African rhythms, Jig is a melding of Celtic style and classical string quartet, with a little Bach and Dr. Who thrown in for free. I’m still waiting for the Kronos Quartet to adopt this as an encore piece. If anyone knows them, put in a good word for me…
Back in grad school I took a computer music class. About the same time I got really into minimalism. As luck would have it, I got a visit from my Austrian friend Martin Pellizzari right when my final project was due. So I recorded Martin reading a poem by Wilhelm Busch, then sliced and diced, looped and lapsed, added a surprise ending, and voila! Out came Fritze.
In 1987, when I was just a fresh-faced lad attending the University of Rhode Island, I wrote a piano piece called “River.” I had the good fortune of living in a very small state, so it was chosen to be performed the following year at the Rhode Island Composers Festival at URI and Brown. The main thing I remember about the performance is that I was very excited and felt a bit like a real composer. I also remember that in one of the performances the page-turner turned a page too early, but the pianist Arlene Cole flipped it back without missing a note. I thought that was pretty impressive.
So here on its 20 year anniversary is a recording of River.