Note: Works are currently being updated. Tune back in soon for more or reach out with questions.
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August Joy was written for a close friend of mine, Anthony (Tony) Lanzino. The original title of the piece was “In the Year of Dreams and August Joy”, as within the course of one year Tony suffered the loss of his father and celebrated the birth of his first child, August. The piece’s half-step vacillations and at times superimpositions are an intentional illustration of these extreme emotional events within a short amount of time. I like to think that as one spirit ascended into the afterlife, they met the other spirit in the prelife and embraced. The piece might be best described as a joyful observation of life's certainties and treasures.
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Las Vistas Doradas was written in 2023 for the Denver Young Artists Orchestra. The piece is an unabashed celebration of traditional Americana sounds in both orchestral and film music: The 19th Century played host to many stories of westward expansion —- commonly with the hope of discovering precious metals in the new and unexplored land. Listening closely, we can still hear the spirits of the past. Singing their songs. Playing their familiar tunes. And in the after, celebrating the certainty that the true gold they found exists within the natural beauty that continues to surround them.
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The majority of Press was written over a weekend; the commission came late in my writing schedule and there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity. I postponed a work trip, locked myself in my studio for three and a half days, and forced myself to complete a draft. My assignment — an exciting closing piece for string orchestra and electronics (track), circa five minutes long.
The intense pressure of a limited writing time threw me in several surprising and different directions. I didn't have the time to "get stuck" or develop any blocks in the creative process. I went from paper sketches of the piece, to piano, to computer, then back to paper. I retracted back to college analysis courses and explored compositional systems to help me elongate ideas or create new materials. Additionally, the visceral pressure and excitement I felt at the time was spilling onto the pages. I found myself writing performance notes, such as "as heavy as humanly possible!!" and "with plenty of sass!!", and a few others which I deleted because I found them to be completely inappropriate for high school students.
The word "press" encompasses a few different meanings which found their way into the piece:
The first and most obvious meaning is it accurately describes my feelings during the creative process — "pressed" to finish the piece. These feelings translate into the music with phrases that build intensely through rhythmic and harmonic density and dramatic variations in volume. I imagine myself on a train in Tokyo during rush hour. The over-crowded train forces travelers to smash up against each other with a limited amount of room to breathe. We arrive at the next stop. There is a brief, but short-lived sigh of relief when travelers exit. Soon enough though, the next wave of travelers immediately swarm into the train, leaving us crammed and short of breath again.
Secondly, the term "press" refers to when a person formally dresses up, ironing or "pressing" their attire, and achieving a resplendently "pressed" look. ("With a healthy amount of swag" is another performance note that charmed its way into the piece.)
The third meaning is the noun "press." The media. Those responsible for our generational opinions (not really). The piece is certainly not about "the press" in any philosophical or political manner, and quite the opposite — I only used press clips of which I like the articulated sounds of speech, regardless of content. This created an interesting rhythmic and textural quality for me.
The piece was commissioned by Michael Boitz for the Saratoga String Orchestra, and premiered at the 2014 Midwest Clinic. The performers in this orchestra were such a pleasure to workshop the piece with, despite staring strangely at me when asked to "play their violins like guitars" or "slap the back of [their instrument] with an open palm." Many of the percussive sounds in the track were sampled from these performers as well.
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Say Less. Dance More. was commissioned in 2024 by Jager Lloyd for the Central Texas Philharmonic Youth Orchestra.
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In March of 2012, Michael Boitz and I met at an Izakaya restaurant in Saratoga, California. He said to me, "I'd like to commission an orchestra piece from you for the Saratoga High School Symphony Orchestra, and I'd like the piece to be dedicated to Takako Hasegawa." Many of my close friends raved about how wonderful Takako was and I knew she was a big part of the Saratoga High School Music Program — but I didn't know her personally. The piece was to remain a secret, so in gaining information to conceive the piece I had to take a detective-like approach and find out as much about her as possible.
Upon meeting Takako, everyone's positive reactions and endorsements for her character were immediately understood. She was/is exceedingly warm, positive, helpful and organized; always working tirelessly for the program. One of her favorite composers was Mahler (his Fourth Symphony her favorite), and she was extremely knowledgeable about orchestral repertoire (much more so than I):
"The last movement of Beethoven's Sixth Symphony has no timpani part. Don't you know this? It is very common knowledge."
(As a percussionist, put in my place) — "I'm sorry, I guess I forgot."
I loved this so much.
I also found out early on that Takako's eldest son, Shota, died in his sleep 7 years prior (in 2007).
This was the information to work from. The last point about Shota seemed an important place to start, but it was also the most paralyzing: The pain of losing a child is unimaginable to anyone without children, thus trying to write a piece with this detail in mind greatly risks the danger of becoming disingenuous. But, it would be disrespectful to write a piece dedicated to Takako without at least acknowledging this loss in some way. All of these points played out in the back of my mind and then one day it hit:
In the thin space between asleep and awake, Shota Hasegawa extends his hand out to his mother and asks "will you dance with me?"
I immediately heard the dance in my head. This was the first part of the piece that was realized. I knew where I was going and felt the colors that I wanted to paint with the orchestra. Shota played the trumpet; this was a clear place for homage. Takako herself plays the violin. At one point in the piece — perhaps toward the beginning — there should be a conversation between the trumpet soloist and violin(s).
Overall, the piece felt like a through-composed and somewhat fragmented tone poem, characterized by vacillating ethereal "dream-like" textures — expanding and contracting — with neo-romantic melodic influences in line with Takako's warm character and musical preferences.
The result was a relatively experimental (and exceptionally gratifying) piece. My first attempt at composing for full orchestra, working through as best I could with a sense of honesty and respect for the dedicatee and her loved one.
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"And will you succeed?
Yes! You will indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed)"The original source material for Moving the Mountain was a sequenced composition inspired by the Dr. Seuss book Oh, the Places You'll Go! — the beloved poem about the ups and downs of life, traditionally meant to encourage young readers, but also to prepare them for life's uncomfortable certainties. The track was completed in the spring of 2008, and shortly after this, a close friend commissioned a wind band piece for his ensemble in Chicago. The youthful energy of the group and the descriptors he used to describe the type of piece he was wanting all led well to a reimagining of the sequenced material for wind band.
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