Dusty Books (2019)
String Quartet + Fixed Media
12 minutes
commissioned by the 45th Parallel Universe
premiered by Pyxis Quartet (Gregory Ewer, Ron Blessinger, vn; Charles Noble, va; Marylin de Oliveira, vc)
2/14/2019, the Old Church Concert Hall, Portland, OR USA
It is an absolute honor of mine to participate in this wonderful project, “I Spat in the Eye of Hate and Lived,” by writing a new piece for string quartet and fixed media. Micah Fletcher was taking a music theory class from me when the tragic event, the MAX stabbing, occurred, and his courage left a very strong impression on me.
My piece, Dusty Books, is based on a poem written by Micah with the same title – a poem that addresses his personal transformation after the tragic event by asking several hypothetical questions. In my work, a plain melody that suggests the writer’s pristine psyche is intertwined with sound effects that translate the images of dust and water. These various musical components undergo dramatic metamorphoses creating subdued, violent, and hypnotic scenes. The surreal atmosphere of this piece was inspired by the “Portland Psychedelic” exhibit at the Oregon Historical Society Museum, which offered a fascinating perspective on how music has been interacting with the society and politics in this particular community.
Following is the poem Dusty Books by Micah Fletcher.
If you opened up middle school photo album,
Tucked in dusty cabinet long forgotten to the walls of my parents’ house,
If you were willing to flip through pages of oblivious innocence,
You would come to the picture of someone who's got a face and a name that is a lot like mine.
That kid died a long time ago. And it is my recollection that I asked him to hold onto my good will, to take good care of it, I gave him simple instructions.
Water it regularly.
Feed it the right nutrients.
Make sure it sits in the window, so that it can know the balance of day and night.
And it’s not the kid’s fault he failed in his mission.
We never hear the bullet that gets us.
We only ever see the blade that gave us what we never asked for.
I wonder if he ever wondered if he asked for it.
If his autistic brain had to violently apologize the violence and the utter lack of apologize into something resembling logic. I wish I could give him the liquid rage antidote early, but I can't. And if he saw what it would turn his inside into, I’m not sure he would take it anyways.
He always was smart that way.
12 minutes
commissioned by the 45th Parallel Universe
premiered by Pyxis Quartet (Gregory Ewer, Ron Blessinger, vn; Charles Noble, va; Marylin de Oliveira, vc)
2/14/2019, the Old Church Concert Hall, Portland, OR USA
It is an absolute honor of mine to participate in this wonderful project, “I Spat in the Eye of Hate and Lived,” by writing a new piece for string quartet and fixed media. Micah Fletcher was taking a music theory class from me when the tragic event, the MAX stabbing, occurred, and his courage left a very strong impression on me.
My piece, Dusty Books, is based on a poem written by Micah with the same title – a poem that addresses his personal transformation after the tragic event by asking several hypothetical questions. In my work, a plain melody that suggests the writer’s pristine psyche is intertwined with sound effects that translate the images of dust and water. These various musical components undergo dramatic metamorphoses creating subdued, violent, and hypnotic scenes. The surreal atmosphere of this piece was inspired by the “Portland Psychedelic” exhibit at the Oregon Historical Society Museum, which offered a fascinating perspective on how music has been interacting with the society and politics in this particular community.
Following is the poem Dusty Books by Micah Fletcher.
If you opened up middle school photo album,
Tucked in dusty cabinet long forgotten to the walls of my parents’ house,
If you were willing to flip through pages of oblivious innocence,
You would come to the picture of someone who's got a face and a name that is a lot like mine.
That kid died a long time ago. And it is my recollection that I asked him to hold onto my good will, to take good care of it, I gave him simple instructions.
Water it regularly.
Feed it the right nutrients.
Make sure it sits in the window, so that it can know the balance of day and night.
And it’s not the kid’s fault he failed in his mission.
We never hear the bullet that gets us.
We only ever see the blade that gave us what we never asked for.
I wonder if he ever wondered if he asked for it.
If his autistic brain had to violently apologize the violence and the utter lack of apologize into something resembling logic. I wish I could give him the liquid rage antidote early, but I can't. And if he saw what it would turn his inside into, I’m not sure he would take it anyways.
He always was smart that way.