Originally written for the University of Iowa’s 24+24 concert, Ys was guided structurally by a simple trajectory of pitch material expansion. The first passages are restricted to C4; contrast is provided only by dynamics, rests, and two eighth-tones. As the piece progresses, further microtonal deviations are combined with rhythmic agitation to create a drive outward from C4, eventually allowing pitch differentiation to become the primary source of contrast. As expanded pitch material becomes the norm, however, the contrasting role returns to dynamics, rests, and microtones; air noise also provides contrast as material that sounds but is nearly devoid of pitch.

In “go or cross over”, the piano becomes prepared throughout the piece in an effort to understand qualities of the double reed sound. The bassoonist and oboist play with their bells positioned towards the soundboard of the piano to create a more extended and homogenous sound world within the resonance of the piano. Because of the performer’s proximity to this resonance, their experience of the total sound world is significantly different than that of the audience. This adds an extra element to the existing performer-audience relationship, which I chose to examine by using microphones to occasionally reveal the performer’s sonic experience to the listener in the audience.In “go or cross over”, the piano becomes prepared throughout the piece in an effort to understand qualities of the double reed sound. The bassoonist and oboist play with their bells positioned towards the soundboard of the piano to create a more extended and homogenous sound world within the resonance of the piano. Because of the performer’s proximity to this resonance, their experience of the total sound world is significantly different than that of the audience. This adds an extra element to the existing performer-audience relationship, which I chose to examine by using microphones to occasionally reveal the performer’s sonic experience to the listener in the audience.

Pained Memories reflects on the psychological scars left by tragic events in one’s life. The piece’s development conveys the journey of a suffering individual making endless associations between events in everyday life and the tragedy itself. Thus, the opening motive represents the harmless event of an individual in a melancholic state of mind. As the piece progresses, this motive is transformed and expanded, reflecting the different ways in which this initial thought is associated throughout each aspect of the tragic event. This transformation also conveys the growing intensity of the individual’s anxiety as the memory becomes more and more real to them. As the first section comes to a close, this anxiety turns to a brutal sadness, as the tragedy overcomes the individual. Thus, when the individual once again returns to the original thought, the thought takes on a very numb and hollow character. From this numbness, the individual loses all control of their thoughts, and the torture of the tragedy takes over every aspect of their being. When this torture finally subsides, the individual is left to cope with the tragedy again. They do so by trying to embrace the life they had before the tragic event. This is represented musically by a brief, peaceful soliloquy. However, this peace is short lived. The individual opens their eyes to see a familiar world around them, but knows it will never be the same again.

I am [electric] is a realization of the intangibility of one's self . As humans, we've always thought of the self as an internal process, a source for everything we are..."I am", one of the shortest sentences in the English language, is also the most basic and indisputable piece of knowledge one can possess. We consider our identity to come from somewhere within, formed from the complex and unique "wiring" of the brain. At its core, the self is nothing more than data, receiving constant edits by electrical signals from synapses. If this is what it is to "be", then we are all electric.

Concepts are instances of instability. Relativity of time might be a mean for expression or interpreted in a shape of visualized meaning. A musical gesture is an individual concept. However, it earns it’s meaning in relation to surroundings. Although abstract concepts can be presented in a variety of art forms, they may be identical. Suspended Notions is a sonic realization of visualized thoughts detached from time. Physical density forms musical expression, effecting dynamic, and orchestration, while time receives its essence from the realization of this density.

The title of this piece seems to evoke some sort of existential brilliance, but I promise you, its origins were quite basic. See, percussionists spend hours of their lives with their snare drums, playing rudiments, learning solos, practicing techniques - and eventually, this makes them all go a little bit insane. So one day, one of these insane drummers stepped out of his practice room after a long - but not nearly long enough - practice session, and he began to personify his drum: "I think my snare drum wants me to practice a little more", to which another insane percussionist replied, "I don't think the snare drum thinks." And it was such a perfectly ridiculous title that I couldn't not use it.
    This piece was commissioned by and written for Wade Selkirk, the originator of the title, a wonderful percussionist, and - believe it or not - a surprisingly great karaoke performer.

The inspiration for this piece comes from a line in the poet David Whyte’s “The Sea In You”, in which a man compares the aspects of his sleeping wife to those of the sea.

"Septa Thresholds" means "seven doors," thus the title of this piece is referring to seven different interpretations, possibilities. This piece is loosely related to Belà Bartok’s one-act opera, Bluebeard's Castle in that the titles of certain movements are shared with Bartok’s opera—“A House of Weapons,” “A Storehouse of Riches,” “A Secret Garden of Great Beauty,” “A Window,” “A Lake of Tears,” “Dawn, Midday, Dusk, and Night.” The piece explores timbral possibilities for combining melodica and string quartet.

Written for the Donald Sinta Quartet in 2014, Hell or High Water is music rife with diabolical motives and hellish figures. Sinewy harmonies and a constant, pulsating rhythmic undercurrent drive the four saxophonists to a stinging finish, come hell or high water…