They are presented in chronological order, from most recent to earliest.
If you would like to perform any of these pieces, please leave comment here or contact me via Facebook or any of the other addresses provided.
This blog explores how music's creative principles and practices can be applied to everyday life and work.
They are presented in chronological order, from most recent to earliest.
If you would like to perform any of these pieces, please leave comment here or contact me via Facebook or any of the other addresses provided.
Tsurara is inspired by the Tsurara Onna, the icicle woman of Japanese folklore: a figure who appears in winter and vanishes with the thaw.
Rather than retelling the myth, the piece explores the emotional climate she suggests: beauty held in tension, intimacy edged with cold, presence always on the verge of disappearance.
The music unfolds within a world of suspended breath. The orchestra plays sempre non vibrato and at the softest of dynamics, creating a soundscape that feels frozen, fragile and foreboding. Bright percussion glints through the texture like light catching upon ice.
Eventually, a brief, brittle quickening skates upon the stillness: bright, pointillistic, unstable; it threatens to slightly crack the frozen surface of the music.
Then the work’s most intimate moment emerges: a passage where something a little warmer, melting and more vulnerable reveals itself.
Later, like voices heard through falling snow, a soprano chorus begins to sing: bright, insistent, then distant.
They deepen the hypnotic song of Tsurara.
Then the song fades, slowly rising and dissolving into the cold night air.
What remains is a feeling of something glimpsed and too quickly lost: an ethereal beauty of frost, longing, and gentle breath.
Tsurara Onna
Tree withering cold
Frost fingers tap my window:
Light, light, so lightly;
I feel your ice mist stir me…
Strangely welcome in the night.
In winter you come,
To stay with me in the dark:
Feeding on my warmth,
Sharing your seductive cold;
We entwine and slowly merge.
Skin withering cold
Lips finding and kissing me
Through the night softly;
I feel my hot life flowing
Toward your rime-crusted heart;
Soul withering cold;
Your arms are the freezing clouds
That carry me up,
Up toward the aloof stars,
Where you and I disappear.
CML
Hymn to Ignorance by Thomas Gray
Hymn to Ignorance is a tone poem for orchestra and choir, inspired by Thomas Gray’s satirical poem of the same name. Though tone poems are most often orchestral, this work expands the tradition by weaving the human voice into the orchestral fabric.
The choir serves as a Collective Narrator: at times it carries the text directly, guiding listeners through Gray’s words; at other times it merges with the instrumental textures, becoming another timbral color in the symphonic palette. Audiences need not catch every word to grasp the meaning: key phrases and the expressive interplay of voices and instruments are enough to illuminate the narrative.
Rather than adopting the sectional form of a cantata, Hymn to Ignorance unfolds as a continuous arc, portraying the irony, grandeur, and philosophical bite of Gray’s poem in musical terms. The orchestra and choir together embody both the voice of ignorance and the forces surrounding it, creating a sound world that is by turns pompous, playful, and haunting.
This is not a ritual or liturgical work, but a programmatic journey: a meditation on folly and wisdom, expressed through the tonal mix of human and instrumental sound.
I have a friend who, when she wants time alone to relax, goes to stand near or under plants and trees, occasionally reaching out to gently touch the flowers and twigs and branches.
This piece captures these moments, and a little more...
(To T.G.)
Mae’r Mari Lwyd Yn Curo is a symphonic poem that reimagines the Mari Lwyd, the spectral horse‑skull figure of Welsh winter tradition, as an elemental presence arising from the sea.
The work begins within a submerged watery sound‑world: slow tidal movements, distant glimmers and glints, hints of half heard or remembered sea shanties,
and a slow low murmur that suggests something ancient stirring beneath the waves.
As the Mari Lwyd awakens from her slumbers, gradually takes form and moves toward the land, the music gathers momentum...
The scene shifts: a gallop through an eerie forest under a full moon, the rush of cold night air, wind gusting through bare branches, and the unsettling rattle of bones sounding from somewhere unseen.
The landscape is alive, watchful, and charged with silvery strange nocturnal energy.
Eventually, the Mari Lwyd arrives at a grand, warmly lit gothic manor. She knocks loudly upon the door, and the music becomes a dance; a medieval dance transforms into a frenetic waltz, which in turn fragments into music upon the edge of chaos. The knocking persists within the tumult, as if the Mari Lwyd is everywhere at once: both outside the door in the frozen winter night and inside within the heat of the dance.
I hear your prayer:
Stand! Breath! Listen!
(Please take a look at the score as it contains vocal effects that are not possible to replicate in a demo recording.)
Hear me night march down the mountain towards you;
See me flame trees to light my way.
Feel my smouldering song flame within your ears;
Feel the scorching as I kiss your bare feet;
Feel the blistering heat of my bright hot deadly body;
Feel me pour in and burn away your heart.
Comer, come, come:
I lift you from the drift of time;
You catch fire and I burn away your soul;
I breath in the smoke from the embers of your dying.
Amama ua noa:
Your prayer is done.