ABOUT THE PROGRAM

The Sorrow And The Beauty

The suspended vocal lines, persistent instrumental accompaniment, and featured celesta recalls poignant moments from Duruflé’s Requiem (e.g. Introit and Agnus Dei).

In the decade since becoming the youngest winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Music (2013), Caroline Shaw (b. 1982) has written over 100 works, including those for Anne Sofie von Otter, Davóne Tines, Yo Yo Ma, Renée Fleming, and Dawn Upshaw. As a collaborator and close contemporary of Burhans, Shaw similarly draws inspiration from her background as a string player and vocalist. She is well-known for her innovative and eclectic use of varying techniques within a single piece.

Limestone & Felt (2012) demonstrates the versatility of both the viola and cello, which seem to converse bilingually as they move between a hard and soft musical language. In the spirit of this program’s theme, Shaw’s piece presents two general techniques of engaging with these traditional instruments that can create starkly opposed sounds: from a spectrum of pizzicato—including a few sharp slaps to the cello’s top—to some lush and vibrant harmonies flowing from the arco, or bowing of the strings. The two contrasting soundscapes are repeatedly lost and found between the instruments, with each rediscovery showcasing a more nuanced understanding of the title’s tactile subjects.

Eric Whitacre’s (b. 1970) choral music embraces colorful dissonances and vivid text settings and has been a staple among all levels of choirs for over two decades. Originally written as a commission from a high school choir, Cloudburst (1995) is one of the composer’s earliest successes and features the text of the poem “El cántaro roto” (“The Broken Water Jug”) by Octavio Paz (1914–1948). The piece is a fitting finale for our program as Whitacre’s lush choral and orchestral soundscape transports us to the juxtaposition of sorrow and beauty at the brink of a desert cloudburst.

Whitacre’s setting is multifaceted with a cappella passages, spoken text, and a prominent orchestral presence in the latter half that features a “thunder sheet ” made of a large, thin sheet of metal. The piece begins with the choir’s parched calls for la lluvia (“the rain”) that slowly build to a powerful storm, awakening both the restless human spirit and the quenched natural world. Aleatoric music—music left to chance during performance—is one of Whitacre’s compositional signatures and one he showcases prominently here: first through individually chosen entrances of sung and whispered words (“Ojos de aqua de sombra,” etc.), and eventually with snapping fingers and clapping hands cascading together in the climax of this sensory feast.

—Evangeline Athanasiou