Marching Band

Marching Band was composed by drawing from the tradition of the classical art music of Western vocal music composition. Whilst one of the characteristics of its form is that it is strophic, the music of Marching Band was purposefully given equal importance with the lyrics, principally through the opening languid incipit and almost contemplative bridge, which also serves as a coda that brings the whole piece to an end. The perceptive and attentive listener will hear that the music of the opening incipit and the closing bridge/coda — through the use of no time signature and overly perceivable tempi — are deliberately contradicting the implication of rhythm hinted by the work's title. The music symbolises the belief that the intellect ought to reside in one's heart.

Alma Redemptóris Mater

for three voices

Alma Redemptóris Mater is a Catholic Marian hymn composed in the (very dear to me) fauxbourdon style of the Burgundian School of the early XV century France, Netherlands and Belgium. Whilst the style of the hymn is set, its use of harmony at times harks back to the time of older masters such as Guillaume de Machaut.

Moreover, I wanted this work to sound organic or ‘freely improvised’, hence the indication of free time in the sheet music, but another reason for this approach of composing are the words of the hymn themselves. I believe it was essential to musically depict the meaning of this ancient antiphon’s words. To that end, I took great care in connecting the words of the Latin text with the aspects of melody, phrasing and interaction between the voices.

For instance, the word “Genitorem” (Creator) carries an important and unique meaning. Musically, I decided to engage all the voices at that point with the somewhat sudden introduction of the tenor, which sings a major tenth below alto. This creates an effect of depth and dimension, and the long-held opening syllable portrays the act of contemplation or reflection. To further underline its significance, it is adorned with the longest counterpoint and the most elaborate cadence. Another example is the beginning of the fifth verse or ‘foot’ that begins with the word “Virgo” (Virgin). Here, cantus firmus begins with what I hold is the most beautiful melody in the work, but is then joined by an alto voice. My intention here was to also emphasise motherhood and femininity, as represented by the female voices.

The work is dedicated to my maternal grandmother, Kata, with whom I have had a very special bond since early childhood.

Nocturne No. 1

for solo piano

At the outset, my intent was to write a moderately simple piece of music for piano dedicated to my nephews Luka and Vuk. The work would comprise of 4-5 musically painted ‘scenes’ from a child’s life. Apart from the dedication, nothing quite went according to this plan. Soon after starting to compose, I realised that this new music had ‘picked’ an entirely different avenue and what this work ought to be. It became clear it was emerging as one of the most distinctive genres of music repertoire for solo piano, evocative and inspired by the night: the nocturne.

Somewhat traditionally, nocturnes are tranquil and lyrical, and while these attributes are present in this work, they are not at all the most significant part. The music in this nocturne is most befittingly described as the depiction of my inner musical intuition, discernment and expression, but also the revelation of the iridescent garland of harmonic language that has been flourishing since my childhood.

Rather than an imitation of birds twittering and the sounds of other earthly creatures, I felt the need to depict a chaotic but also not-yet-realised potential that merely reminds one of the distant constellation that the night sky reveals. The chordal cluster progressions and phrases prevalent in the early part of the piece express this, but as the work progresses the music gets more lyrical and deceptively ‘defined’.

Perhaps the main particularity of this work is the pervasiveness of ambiguity and atonality, and while these two aspects of the work are ubiquitous, they are not to take centre stage. Rather, they represent a kind of venturing into the far-away places where ‘lighthouses’ of temporary tonality provide a ‘promise’ of respite, a safe passage, and a hint of where ‘home’ is. That said, this harmonic ‘reprieve’ is always fleeting.

Another essential facet of this nocturne—which requires great care by the performer and considerable attention from the listener—is the sound itself. There is an abundance of places where the particular note that constitutes harmony is ‘detached’ from the main body of the chordal or melodic group of notes by being played significantly early, so that its long string still vibrates by the time the main part of the harmonic phrase or theme is played. This creates a syncopated overlapping of the harmonic parts that, again, contributes to and reaffirms the ambiguous sentiment.

There is much beauty and significance in letting strings vibrate freely, especially when the work is performed on a piano with a longer body which necessarily translates into a larger sound board.

These ‘trails’ of dissipating sound left by uninterrupted strings require just as much attention as the moment of hammers hitting the strings. For this reason, much of the time, the sustain pedal remains pressed. I find much exquisiteness in piano harmonics—that is to say, the sympathetic resonance—because I believe it reminds one of the Silence that gives birth to all things.

This music requires the most attentive listener as they have an almost participatory task of often recognising the sparsity, latency and, again, ambiguity of relational harmonic building blocks. There is almost no solidity of harmonic ground here, yet each of the 173 bars of music is harmonically tethered to, or in relationship with, a neighbouring one in some—at times immediate but other times distant—way.

Nocturne No. 1 is a distinctive work due to its most uneconomic kind of writing process. There was sincerely no desire to write this work under any other circumstances except when I felt inspired to write, which meant dedicating and applying myself to the highest degree. There were many times when I stumbled upon ‘fertile ground’ and the beauty thereof overwhelmed and made me motionless—at times even for hours—which sometimes resulted in music not being written down at all. Considering the time period (about five years), this way of writing, I realise, represents an exceptional luxury of time, but I believe that was the only way for this work to be written. This extended time period brought a rewarding peculiarity which I did not anticipate: that of the subtle differences in writing styles. Furthermore, the process of composing this work taught me a number of things about myself, which I won’t elaborate upon here, but two of which are certainly a love for counterpoint and harmony.

Nocturne No. 1 has no repeating sequences, melodies, themes or phrases as everything begins, lives, then flies away out of ‘sight’, or it morphs into a new living thing. The music doesn’t repeat, nor does it develop into some elaborate and ornate musical structure; rather, in this work—with its hints of polystylistic idiom—there are endless beginnings or births and lives without end, with the only exception being at the very end when the tonic/mediant dyad of F major is heard and we find ourselves at the work’s conclusion.