FOUR FANFARES (WITH ASSORTED NIGHTMARES) (2011), for orchestra

Commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Gustavo Dudamel, Music Director

Instrumentation: 3333 4331 timp 2perc hp cel strings

Premiere: April 23 and 30, 2011, Los Angeles Philharmonic, conducted by David Afkham

Duration: 2’

UMBRAS AND ILLUMINATIONS (2004), for orchestra

Commissioned by the Albany Symphony Orchestra, David Alan Miller, Music Director

Instrumentation: 3322 4231 strings

Premiere: April 23, 2004, Albany Symphony Orchestra

Duration: 20’

Program Note:

During a trip to Albany in 2003 for the premiere of a work for chamber orchestra work I wrote for the city’s symphony, I spent a few hours wandering through (and under) the Empire State Plaza. I was struck by the austere power of the block-like buildings, and intrigued by the notion that while (during winter, at least) the plaza itself is virtually empty of people, life proceeds at a rapid pace beneath it, in the subterranean complex of passageways that connect the buildings. I find this inversion of what we ordinarily take for granted (i.e., that the illuminated depths are where human activity is most apparent, and the surface, darkened by winter clouds, comparatively desolate) enormously appealing, and kept these notions much in mind when I sat down to begin work on what became Umbras and Illuminations.

Umbras and Illuminations is essentially an exploration of these contrasts. It has an overtly dramatic shape, and is full of emotional nuance, but is guided by the notion of moving in and out of shadowy places and bright ones. The emotional range of the work is therefore quite broad, and puts into play the metaphorical implications of light and darkness: it is variously bright, yearning, melancholy and fiercely angry, and its textures range from the kinetically charged to the virtually motionless. Ultimately, the work’s impetus derives from three things: the working out of these apparent contrasts, the discovery of their connection as opposites, and the exploration of the notion that these opposites mirror the dynamic equilibrium of life, with its both tragic and euphoric dimensions.

—James Matheson

RIVER, RIVER, RIVER (2001), for orchestra

Commissioned by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for the Civic Orchestra of Chicago

Instrumentation:3333 4331 3perc hp pf/cel strings

Premiere: February 11, 2002, Civic Orchestra of Chicago, conducted by Cliff Colnot, Orchestra Hall, Chicago

Duration: 10’

Program Note:

Although the original impetus for writing River, River, River was purely musical, as I completed it became clear that the particular flow and energy of the piece was highly suggestive, to me, of the rhythm and pace of the river. I then came across T. S. Eliot's poem Virginia, which thematicizes the river, finding in its phenomenology tensions and paradoxes, which struck me as remarkably similar to the music. As one would expect from one of Eliot's images, the river in Virginia is a highly personal one; he does not create a mere naturalistic evocation of the river, but is concerned more with its effect on human consciousness. Through the image of the river Eliot conjures a sense of timelessness and one of paradox: the river is both still and full of a deep motion, and manifests both life and degeneration (“White trees, wait, wait,/Delay, decay./Living, living, Never moving. Ever moving”).

The title of my work comes from the final line of the poem (“Red river, river, river”). In the work, such paradoxes are manifest through ideas which are often harmonically static but full of an inner textural intricacy and activity. While the overall sense of pacing is often slow, each of the piece's four principal sections proceeds on the basis of a continuous flow of ideas, which move with a clear sense of direction and intensification. Thus while, like the Eliot, River, River, River does not depict riverness naturalistically, it does evoke a similar sense of riverly flow, current, and inevitability of destination, while at the same time evoking the broad palette of emotional textures and images which we, with Eliot, have come to associate with this phenomenon.

—James Matheson

BURN (2001), for wind ensemble

Commissioned by the Cornell University Wind Ensemble

Instrumentation: 2 Piccolos, 3 Flutes, 2 Oboes, English Horn, Eb Clarinet, 3 Bb Clarinets, Bb Bass Clarinet, Bb Contrabass Clarinet, 2 Bassoons, 4 Saxophones (SATB); 4 Horns, 3 Bb Trumpets, 2 Trombones, Bass Trombone, Euphonium, Tuba; 2 String Basses; Piano, Timpani, 5 Percussionists

Premiere: 2001, Cornell University Wind Ensemble, conducted by Mark Scatterday

Duration: 8 ½ Minutes

Program Note:

"Burn," in its use as a metaphor, transforms into physical sensation a state of intense emotionality. Interestingly, the metaphor of burning is used in the seemingly opposite cases of fervor and pique; within our language, one “burns” with both rage and desire, both envy and love. When we feel an unrequited longing for another’s presence we “carry a torch” for him or her, while our current romantic interest is our “flame.” In addition, the volatile, destructive force which fire symbolizes underlies a whole web of metaphors within our discourse on the emotions: we are “consumed” by love or anger, or “ruined” by virtually any of our emotions, while a fire itself “rages.” And when we find ourselves emotionally drained, having labored at an exhausting task, we are, like a house in which destructive fires have raged, “burned out.”

Thus, when we “burn” with an emotion we experience it at its most intense, at the peak of its ability to affect us. Because it is these moments at which we feel most “alive,” there is an interesting reversal here: “burning,” with its overtones of destruction, is simultaneously life-affirming, and works toward our total engagement with the world.

It is this sense of intense emotional involvement which I have sought to capture in this work. Consequently, I have deliberately avoided what appear to be the cliches of the band repertoire, and have approached this medium with the same emotional palette, degree of expressiveness, and seriousness of purpose one more typically associates with the orchestra.

—James Matheson

GLISS (1999), for orchestra

Commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Gustavo Dudamel, Music Director

Instrumentation: 3333 4331 3perc time hp pf/cel string

Premiere: Augist 17, 1999, Hartwick College Summer Festival of Music and Dance

Duration: 12’

Program Note:

“Gliss” is the commonly used abbreviation of the French/Italian hybrid word glissando, meaning sliding. In the work, this technique of sliding from one pitch to another is woven into the sonic fabric of the piece. Part of the strangeness of the timbral world of Gliss derives from the pervasiveness of the glissandi and from their employment in instruments rarely called upon to produce them; in Gliss, these slides are required of the flutes, clarinets, and timpani no less than of the trombones and strings.

The general idea of sliding governs the structure of each of the three principle sections of the work as well; within each, ideas are presented and repeated with subtle variations. The changes in timbre, harmony and melodic material emerge gradually as the product of more minute alterations of instrumentation or of the lengthening or contraction of musical ideas.

The first large section consists of the repeated alternation of two rather simple ideas: a short glissando motive presented initially by the first clarinet, and a somewhat mechanical melodic fragment introduced by the bass clarinet. But for the intercession at two points of a third idea of chromatically shifting major triads, the two ideas are continually repeated and continuously varied. There is a gradual process of intensification throughout this section culminating in the abrupt introduction of a fast but heavy music underneath one iteration of the second idea. Orchestral outbursts cut the music off just as it has gained some forward momentum, and the slow process of intensification begins again.

The middle section of the piece is based on a slow, winding melody presented at first in the winds and punctuated by bell sounds and pizzicato strings. As in the first section, the constituent material is repeated over and over, and again the changes from one repetition to another are gradual. Here, however, the transformation is primarily cumulative: with each repetition new elements are introduced which add to the complexity of the overall sound. The tension condenses into an explosive fast music that surges and then eases its way into the final section.

Markedly shorter than the first two, the third section reintroduces material from the beginning. Rather than simply recapitulate, however, this section continues and brings to a conclusion the process of gradual transformation introduced at the outset.

—James Matheson

COLONNADE (2003), for 12 instruments

Commissioned by the Albany Symphony Orchestra, David Alan Miller, Music Director

Instrumentation: Flute, Oboe, Bb Clarinet, Bassoon; Horn; Vibraphone/Marimba;  Harp; 2 Violins, Viola, Violoncello, Contrabass

Premiere: March 8, 2003, Albany Symphony Orchestra, conducted David Alan Miller 

Duration: 18’

Program Note:

Colonnade is inspired by Albany’s majestic New York State Board of Education Building, and written on a commission from the Albany Symphony Orchestra. Colonnade's composition was an intriguing task, in part because in order to accept the commission I had to agree to write a work “inspired by” a building I had not yet seen. This problem was compounded by the fact that, for me, the very notion of extra-musical inspiration is a complex one, particularly with respect to literary or visual sources. I generally find ideas and abstracted notions more generative of musical ideas than specific ones (a poem, an experience, a painting). So when I went to see and tour the building, I looked for fundamental formal aspects which I could process into musical ideas. In the end, two characteristics of the building stood out as noteworthy and undiminished by time (compared with, for instance, the building’s rotunda, which contains a series of quaintly outdated allegorical paintings): the exterior colonnade and a beautiful interior vaulted ceiling, designed by Rafael Guastavino.

For me, a colonnade is an apt metaphor for the tension between knowledge and perception. We all know, for instance, that the columns are of the same height and are equidistant from each other. Nevertheless, while the mind comprehends this, it is also the case that there exists no place—no standpoint or viewpoint—anywhere in the universe—from which one can perceive this; the columns always appear to be of uneven height and spacing. If one then adds motion to perspective—a walk along the colonnade, for instance—the fixed, even, rigidly identical columns acquire elasticity, and begin to change kaleidoscopically—they shrink, grow, become closer, and then further apart. Further, the details of the building’s façade behind the colonnade shift into and out of visibility, with different portions obscured by the columns from each vantage point.

These considerations underlie the outer sections of Colonnade, in which a continuously repeated, continuously varied rising figure—suggestive of a column—dominates. The iterations of this elastic, evolving figure are interspersed with other music—suggestive of the building’s façade.

The second feature of the building that caught my attention was Guastavino's vaulted ceiling in one of the building’s largest rooms. The ceiling enhances the room's spaciousness, giving it an openness and lightness that is quite captivating. The middle section of Colonnade has this openness at its core, and is dominated by long, arching lines that, to me, suggest the ceiling's refined beauty.

—James Matheson

VIOLIN SONATA (2007), for violin and piano

Commissioned by Brooklyn Friends of Chamber Music

Premiere: April 20 and 22, 2007 by Tereza Stanislav and Roberto Giordano

Duration: 16’

LA SEINE (2007), for solo english horn or alto saxophone

Commissioned by the Albany Symphony Orchestra

Premiere: March 2007 by Nat Fossner as part of the Albany Symphony Orchestra's American Music Festival

Premiere of Alto Saxophone arrangement: September 2007 by Tim McAllister at the University of Arizona Museum of Art

Duration: 4’

Program Note:

A virtuosic tour de force, after Joan Mitchell's expressionist painting La Seine.

—James Matheson

CONTACT (2005), for alto saxophone and piano

Commissioned by a consortium of nineteen saxophone/piano duos

Premiere: Various locations, 2005–6 season

Duration: 14’

Program Note:

I find it mysterious that human beings continually seek new ways of connecting with each other that, paradoxically, have the collateral effect of distancing them in other ways. Etched stone tablets, books, letters, phones, faxes, e-mails, online chat rooms—even the printed music that makes tonight’s performance possible—all of these are means of disembodied communication. They allow for the possibility of reaching out across great distances, across national borders, even across time. What they supplant—or try to—is the actual magical, physical presence of another living being. So while they are bridges for discourse, they are also obstacles for physical interaction—they simultaneously, and profoundly, connect us to the world and distance us from it, in the sort of dynamic equilibrium that fuels so much human endeavor.

Contact is an exploration—in music—of this impulse to connect, and of the tensions and paradoxes inherent in our desire and efforts to make the world “smaller.” It is by turns lyrical and severe, gentle and brutal—in short, a microcosm of the various modes of our interactions with others. As a both physical (through live presence) and disembodied means of communication, Contact is ultimately a short reflection on one of the most fundamental aspects of being human.

A final, related, note: ours is a time in which recordings have come to vastly overshadow live performances as the primary means by which people experience music. The advantage of recordings is, of course, that anytime, anywhere, each of us has access to an astounding variety of music. For me, though, the drama of live performance, the excitement of watching virtuosos struggle with a demanding work, and the irreproducible sound of live instruments will always trump the convenience of recordings. Contact is an extraordinarily difficult work that requires performers of the highest technical and musical caliber—I invite you to truly relish the opportunity to see and hear it brought to life.

—James Matheson

FALLING (2000), for piano trio

Premiere: June 11, 2000, Chicago Symphony Orchestra (Chamber Music Series)

Duration: 13’

Program Note:

Falling represents the coming together of a variety of influences which affected me at various points during the course of its composition. First, the death of the pianist and composer Leo Smit, with whom I had come to have a rather unique relationship. Despite working as his copyist for several years, I had met Leo face-to-face only once, at a concert devoted to his music. We nevertheless came to know each other well, through many letters and countless hours logged in phone conversations. As might be expected, these conversations, at first focused on the work I was doing for him, developed a very personal side as well, as he coached me, with his nearly infinite patience and generosity of spirit, through some very difficult times. Falling is dedicated to Leo’s memory.

The inspiration to try my hand at a set of variations comes from the second major influence during this time, the music of John Harbison. A frequent composer of variations, Harbison has approached the form in a variety of ways, arousing enough interest on my part over the years that his use of variations became the topic of my doctoral thesis. Although Falling differs markedly in its approach to the form when compared to most of Harbison’s sets, the piece owes a great debt to his music, as to me these works demonstrate the continuing ability of such a form to bear the weight of modern musical materials.

Falling is a comparatively loosely-structured set of variations, a fact underscored by the absence of a theme per se. The opening, for piano alone, introduces a very simple descending sequence (the simplest form of musical process), distributed throughout the range of the instrument. It is this notion of process, conjoined with the idea of descent, which governs the structure of these variations, more than a tune or harmonic progression as is more traditionally the case with such works.

The title refers, of course, on the one hand to the descent inherent in the piano’s introduction. But the piece draws its emotional impetus from the idea of falling as well. As metaphor, “falling” generally represents a degeneration: we fall from grace, fall apart, or have a falling out. The expressive world of Falling reflects very much this sense of progressive degeneration, which reaches its lowest point toward the end of the work. Almost as if to suggest, however, the truth of the notion that at some point there is nowhere to go but up, the final variation presents a brighter twist on the idea of falling (after all, we also fall in love); while the musical material continues to fall, the expressive content of this material takes on a decidedly more optimistic tone.

—James Matheson

POUND (1999), for solo piano

Premiere: Xak Bjerken, May 4, 1998, Barnes Hall, Cornell University

Duration: 11’

Program Note:

Pound is in three movements, played without pause. The first movement is meant to suggest the illusion of two pianos. This illusion is accomplished through the use of two simultaneous layers of music. The first is a simple pulse that begins with one note and builds to massive chords by the conclusion of the movement. The second layer is both more complex and more melodic. By separating these two layers registrally, the movement becomes virtuosic not because it of its notiness, but because of the difficulty posed by the wide leaps across the keyboard required of the performer. The overall shape of the first movement is that of an outwardly expanding wedge; it begins softly, with a single note and expands outward to the extremes of the piano’s register, while simultaneously building in intensity and volume until the climactic chords, which bring it to a close.

The second movement is somewhat more traditional, at least as regards its construction. At the outset, an ostinato in the bass accompanies a simple tune in the treble. This combination of melody and accompaniment undergoes numerous transformations, eventually leading to a rhythmically driving climactic passage. A brief allusion to the opening of the movement brings it to a dramatic and exhilarating end.

The final movement is comprised of three basic sections. The first juxtaposes two ideas—sharply articulated chords at the outer extremes of the instrument, and dense, outwardly expanding chords toward the middle. These ideas alternate, gaining in momentum, and lead to a second, rhythmically lopsided but more lyrical section. This too gains in intensity and leads to a final section, closely related to the first, but more explosive in character.

—James Matheson

PULL (1995), for alto saxophone and piano

Commissioned by Samuel Lorber

Premiere: March 29, 1995, Samuel Lorber and Ossie Borosh, New England Conservatory

Duration: 6’

Program Note:

Pull—light, hot and virtuosic—is a brief but intense struggle between two groups of musical material. Pungent, pounding chords open the work, followed by fleet, cascading arpeggiated figures which enter about a minute later. These blocks, and a few structurally related offspring, are repeated and varied, but retain their essential characteristics throughout the work. They tug at each other, try to influence each other, vie for preeminence. But in the end neither dominates and there is no resolution of the internal conflict. There is only the push and pull of contrary, though complimentary, forces.

—James Matheson

BAGATELLE (2012), for 3 pianos, 12 hands

Commissioned by the International Beethoven Festival

Premiere: September 16, 2012 at the International Beethoven Festival, Chicago. The pianists were James Giles, Matt Hagle, George Lepauw, Daniel Schlosberg, Anthony Molinaro and Mischa Zupko.

Duration: 4½’

Program Note:

Bagatelle is based on materials from the end of the final movement of Beethoven's Eroica Symphony as part of a larger collection of works commissioned by the International Beethoven Project to celebrate and elucidate the the theme of Revolution in Beethoven's milieu. Beethoven's themes are pulled apart, recontextualized and ultimately put back together again—stacked and layered, louder, somehow more, illustrating, simply and directly, the simultaneously destructive and synthetic nature of the spirit of revolution.

—James Matheson

Critical praise:

"The most absorbing was a James Matheson bagatelle enlisting all six participating pianists[...] The piece alternated material from the final movement of the Eroica with spectral and torrential washes of sound—think Franz Liszt playing Beethoven on hallucinogens."

—John von Rhein, The Chicago Tribune

FAULT LINES (2009), for violin, viola, violoncello and piano

Commissioned by Mayfest

Premiere: May 21, 2010 by Nicholas DiEugeno, violin; Roberta Crawford, viola; John Haines-Eitzen, violoncello; and Xak Bjerken, piano; Barnes Hall, Cornell University

Duration: 10’

Program Note:

I composed most of Fault Lines while living briefly in L.A., where the continuous buzz of activity coexists with one’s constant half-awareness of the earth’s underlying tectonic discontent. Life in that great city, so often associated with sunshine and frivolity, glamour and wealth, hard bodies and the pursuit of eternal youth, attains a unique and surprising—and perhaps ironic—richness when considered in the context of these occasional subterranean rumblings. Quaking earth might be a gently threatening reminder from the gods that beneath L.A.’s extravagant façade, massive, ground-shaking movements—capable both of toppling buildings and forging mountains—are at work…

Fault Lines shifts between various emotional and textural landscapes, while remaining more or less fixated on a few underlying ideas. The opening, for piano alone, is sparse and melancholy, and soon becomes bright, visceral and vigorous; such contrasts pervade most of the music’s 10 minutes. Despite these contrasts, the work as a whole is constructed from subtly shifting, descending chord progressions—as if, like tectonic plates, the music were slowly but persistently struggling toward a rooted stability that, as in life, seems always to elude us…

—James Matheson