Consolation

I did not intend to write a musical response to the events of September 11, 2001, and I still believe I haven’t done so. That is to say, I think I haven’t done so — at least not consciously. Like all Americans, I was shocked, saddened, angered, and profoundly changed by the events of that day. And like most artists, much of what I do is to translate into music those things which impact my life, both philosophically and more literally. But to me this is different. This is so powerful, so far-reaching I truly believe it is not possible to do justice to nor in any way represent the profundity of the loss suffered on that day and the subsequent courage of those both directly and indirectly involved. And indeed that of the country as a whole. What, after all, could I say that has not been so perfectly stated by the visual images with which we have become so painfully familiar?

This said, as work progressed on this piece I found the basic tenor was changing, becoming more contemplative. The materials began to simplify into bold, direct statements, replacing the subtler and more complex scheme that I had originally envisioned. Scored for chamber ensemble with solo violin and piano, it is constructed of two basic elements. First is the unison, a single sustained pitch presented mostly by brass and woodwinds. This unison is realized most often with violent dynamic and timbral shifts, working against the surrounding materials with linear precision. Second is a series of repeated chords which are presented in two ways: in the climactic moments of the piece they are powerful, vertical entities which define a sort of barrier; at other times, they are cast in soft, pulsating rhythms which lend an air of pacification and almost a sense of being gently rocked. To these are added the solo violin and piano. The violin part touches lightly on the traditions of the fiddle, albeit in a mostly veiled way. It works throughout the piece much like an insistent child, demanding our attention in ways that are alternately plaintive and more agreeable. The piano, with its alternating lyricism and heart-beat rhythms, is a steady contrast and a voice of reason.

The pitch material for the entire work is drawn from a three-note cell: D-E-C#. As I worked with this set, the first phrase of a familiar melody kept coming to mind, being constructed of the same three pitches. It occurred to me this was either deeply significant or a trifling coincidence, much like seeing an elephant in the clouds (is the shape of the cloud sparking associations in our imagination or is our imagination projecting an image onto what is in reality shapeless?). Nevertheless, I decided to explore it in the closing moments of the work, though again in a rather veiled way. Not all of the pitches of the actual melody are present — just enough to plant the suggestion in the imagination of the listener.

Consolation was commissioned by Cleveland Chamber Symphony for the 2001-2002 concert season and was premiered by that ensemble in March of 2002.

E.M.