The notion of observing Indigenous Peoples’ Day is quickly gaining momentum, and will probably soon eliminate Columbus Day altogether. Its first official celebration was, ironically, on the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ voyage, in 1992, in the form of a protest.

Like any other human culture, Native Americans have been making music for thousands of years. Sadly, with the decimation of their nations and people, there are only a handful of living Native American composers today. The good news is that efforts are being made to promote and encourage music by Native American composers, especially by the First Nations Composer Initiative, part of the American Composers Forum. One of the Institute’s advisors is Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate, a member of the Chickasaw, who were among the tribes who walked the infamous trail of tears.

This work by Tate is a longer listen, but well worth it. The following description (slightly shortened) comes from Tate’s website:

Iholba’ (The Vision) is a work inspired by the composer’s native Chickasaw culture…. The musical material for Iholba is based on a Chickasaw Garfish Dance song and work is sung in the Chickasaw language. The text is original poetry by the composer…. The work is in two movements, entitled Halbina’ (The Gift) and Iholba’ (The Vision)…. Iholba’ is dedicated to my grandmother, Juanita Foshi’ Keel Tate.

Don’t do drugs, kids. But if you do, do it like Scriabin.

Alexander Scriabin wrote plenty of perfectly normal pieces; he was a brilliant pianist who wrote his own set of piano preludes and etudes, similar to the great Chopin and Liszt. But once he turned 25, things began to get weird. He developed his own system of harmony based on the whole tone and octatonic scales. At the time, this was edgy, but not groundbreaking; it makes his music sound similar to French impressionism. What sets Scriabin apart is his synesthesia, the “color organ” he invented, his devotion to Theosophy, his rambling writings, and his wild music inspired by religious visions. His two most famous pieces are the Poem of Fire and the Poem of Ecstasy.

Scriabin himself approved this description of The Poem of Ecstasy, which will describe it far better than I:

The Poem of Ecstasy is the Joy of Liberated Action. The Cosmos, i.e., Spirit, is Eternal Creation without External Motivation, a Divine Play of Worlds. The Creative Spirit, i.e., the Universe at Play, is not conscious of the Absoluteness of its creativeness, having subordinated itself to a Finality and made creativity a means toward an end. The stronger the pulse beat of life and the more rapid the precipitation of rhythms, the more clearly the awareness comes to the Spirit that it is consubstantial with creativity itself. When the Spirit has attained the supreme culmination of its activity and has been torn away from the embraces of teleology and relativity, when it has exhausted completely its substance and its liberated active energy, the Time of Ecstasy shall arrive.

I’ll say it again, kids: don’t do drugs.

I’m ending the last weekday of the Jewish High Holy Days with the final movement of Bernstein‘s Chichester Psalms. You can read about the piece and hear the first movement here. The second movement is famous for a beautiful solo sung by a young boy, singing the popular text “The Lord is my shepherd …”; this serene solo is contrasted by a choral “why do the nations rage …”.

The final movement, however, is my favorite. It opens and closes with music identical to what you hear in the beginning of the first movement, making this a cyclic piece (that’s a fancypants word that just means that musical material you’ve heard before comes back in a different movement or section, solidifying the multi-movement work as a “complete thought” as opposed a separate ideas pasted together for the sake of making a concert. The most famous example of this is the lover’s theme of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique.) But after the angular melodic opening (it uses quartal harmony – harmony based on a wider interval (a fourth) as opposed to thirds (the longstanding standard)), the music melts into a gentle swaying lullaby. The meter is 5/4 – five beats per measure; this is also out of the ordinary, but Bernstein succeeds in making it feel completely natural. It also helps prevent the lullaby from falling into a “too-much-of-the-same-rhythm-seasickness”. The melody is deceptively difficult to sing; the close chromatic notes are hard to keep in tune.

After the lullaby, the cyclical quartal melody returns, but soft and sweet, with a feeling of gemütlichkeit. It’s almost like a mother rocking her baby to sleep, and as she puts it down in the cradle, she whispers the words of the psalm, “how good and pleasant it is …”