There are certain melodic ideas that come up over and over again throughout the history of music.  My choir members know I am famous for finding the first four notes of “How Dry I Am” in practically every piece ever written. There’s a reason for this – the shape of this phrase is beauty itself. A leap of a fourth, going from a weak beat to a stronger beat, gives the impression of suddenly turning one’s head to pay attention. Then, a simple three-note rising scale continues to lift the head – making us feel taller, alert, and engaged with the world. A bit of a stretch? Perhaps. But I believe there is something deep here that evokes a universal (or at least nearly universal) response in every human.

Another universally loved musical gesture is the melodic shape found in “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Here, the melody rises a fifth (creating tension), then gentle falls back down to the starting note by gradually descending. The effect? We start from a place of bored contentment. Then, we ascend to a high note – there is tension and excitement in our lives! What will happen? Well, one note at a time, we relax until we have returned to our starting place. However – we are no longer bored, because we have just had a thrilling journey! A bit of a stretch? Perhaps. But maybe this overly-simple example can give us an idea of what makes great pieces of music, well, great.

Here is a movement from “My Homeland” by Bedřich Smetana, a gorgeous musical painting of a Czech river, Vltava. You can hear the little rushing brooks, eventually flowing into a wide expanse of water. The melody, though, is the same as “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”, only beginning in a minor key, and triumphantly ending in major.

I originally had written a different post for today, but Saturday night’s tragic event forced me to publish it earlier than expected.

A year ago today, nine people in Charleston were killed in an act of hatred and terrorism. Sadly, we Americans hear this story a couple of times a year. It’s all too familiar; we humans are very capable of some very disturbing behavior. If you want to read about that, you can find it by searching any media site. Instead, I want to counter this frighteningly common, disturbing behavior, with the fact that humans are also capable of creating things of beauty – things that uplift our species and help us to look forward, even though there are some of us who behave like animals.

Composer Parker Kitterman was deeply moved by the 2015 Charleston tragedy, both because of the senselessness of the crime, and because of his deep south roots. His response to the massacre was to write a Requiem in nine movements – one for each of the victims of the attack. As the Charleston shooting was intended to incite a racial war, Kitterman responded by writing a work that seamlessly blends the sounds of European Art Music with that of African-American Gospel. The end result is a brand-new work (less than a year old) that will hopefully carry the banner of love and help bring healing to a sick world.

Kitterman’s Requiem was premiered on November 1st, 2015, on the Feast of All Saints’, when the Christian Church remembers those who have died in the last year. I am very proud to be participating in the second performance of this work, this evening.

This recording, from the Nov. 1 premiere, is the Introit, which gives just a little taste of the work. This performance is for choir and organ alone; tonight’s performance will use piano, drums, and bass as well.

A couple of years ago a I composed an opera based on H. P. Lovecraft‘s short story “The Beast in the Cave.” There’s an aria in it where the main character falls into despair and basically gives up on life. I was particularly proud of the sweeping, romantic melody I came up with for this aria. That is, until I later realized that I didn’t write the melody at all; it was identical to a melody from a trombone piece I played as a teenager.

The notes were floating around in my head, and I hadn’t heard or thought about that melody for twenty years when I was composing the opera. I suppose it was lying dormant in my brain until I needed it. Maybe the opera character’s despair somehow channeled my teenage angst. I don’t know. But I’m not going to change it now. Thankfully, the piece, Morceau Symphonique by Alexandre Guilmant, is in the public domain, so I need not fear any copyright lawyers.

And it is a smashing good melody. I’m so glad I thought of it.