Composers Workshop III

featuring School of Music students and

Ligament

Anika Kildegaard, soprano, Will Yager, double bass
 

Saturday, May 3, 2025 at 7:30p in the Concert Hall

Program

The prelude portrays the flow of solar energy from dawn to twilight. The musical progression, reflecting this natural phenomenon, is further enhanced through shifts in texture and dynamics, using all three pedals of the grand piano to evoke a range of atmospheric colors. The fugue draws inspiration from the melodic contour and intervallic character of the Beatles’ Blackbird, reimagined through a modern musical syntax. Its rhythmic and pitch materials are reconstructed with a contemporary sensibility and expressed through a palette of nuanced articulations. The subject presents an abstracted version of the original Blackbird motif’s overall shape. In contrast, the countersubject introduces a descending contrary motion, eventually converging into a repeating fragment that echoes the opening pitch of the Blackbird motive. This subtle yet persistent gesture functions as a source of contrast and structural tension, heightening the clarity of the subject’s melodic trajectory.
 

The inspiration for Peculiar Monk comes from a legendary figure in Chinese martial arts fiction—the “Sweeper Monk” (扫地僧), a humble, silent presence who appears unremarkable, yet possesses profound wisdom and hidden power. Though rooted in literature, this archetype transcends fiction: in both the wuxia world and real life, there are those who quietly dwell on the edges of attention—living simply, speaking little, and shunning recognition—while carrying deep insight and extraordinary ability beneath a surface of quiet modesty.
 

In the fateful flight from the labyrinth on Crete, not only did Icarus perish, but Daedalus’ past and future were erased from his narrative. The misfortunes from his flight with Icarus overshadow his legacy as an inventor, architect, and artist. One forgotten story in particular, that of his tutorship of his nephew, paints a cruel irony when paired with his more famous tale. Fearful that his prodigal nephew would surpass his own genius, he flung him from a window only for the gods to turn his nephew into a bird – a bird that would return years later to torment him at his son’s death.
   Text:
      Dear Daedalus,
      You left your wings on a marble plinth. 
      Does Apollon hear your call? 
      Enchanted strings, a dancing labyrinth, 
      All but a prelude to your grief.
 

      Feathers became snowflakes,
      Strings napped like spider webs,
      Melted was flowed like the waves.
      "Don’t fly too high, the sun will melt your wings.
      Don’t fly too low, you’ll be pulled into the sea.”
 

      Dear Daedalus,
      I am the bird that mocks you
      In your solemn grief.
     I am the past that haunts you.
      I am the salty shoreline, rocky reef.
      I am the sun, the light of day,
      Warm once shunned to whom you pray. 
      Sun of seasons, son of reason, 
      Understand today:
 

      Statues came to life at your hands.
      The air was yours to command with sails and masts,
      A world so vast,
      None could match your genius.
      Save I, the forgotten nephew.
      I saw a world built by us.
 

      Dear Daedalus,
      Like the sea, your jealousy, carried me away.
      Given flight through death.
      How fitting, then, it was flight that took your son’s breath away.
 

      Why do we blame the boy for flying so close to the sun?
 

In 2025, I was recommended the book “Tender is the Flesh” by a coworker, and I loved every second of it. I am a horror fan and just came off of reading “The Exorcist” so I was excited when I got this opportunity to compose a vocal piece about it. “Tender is the Flesh”, by the Argentinean author Agustina Bazterrica, is about a future where society consumes humans like cattle due to a worldwide virus that infected every animal. While there are many angles and themes in this novel, I wanted to focus on the aspect of dehumanization. This theme was addressed during the tour of the slaughterhouse, where the main character is showing two applicants the process from start to finish.The text I have chosen is all from the book but has been reduced for musical purposes.
   Text by Agustina Bazterrica, b.1974:
      Slaughterhouse, striking out in silence
      smell of fear
      so white it blinds them
      Go ahead and show them
      naked female, barely twenty years of age
      it's almost impossible for her to move
      The female trembles, tries to free herself
      It’s a sharp strike
      begins to move
      she shakes
      so violent that she frees her feet from the loose straps
      She tries to stand up
      The worker looks at her with indifference
      Pulls the trigger
      unrecognizable
      she's becoming a carcass
      Do they care? 
 

The idea for this song cycle came from a project called Values in 4 Parts I wrote years ago. I wrote for my undergrad thesis, wherein I used specific strictures to structure four separate movements for high voice and alto saxophone. This time, I chose to keep the cycle cohesive by choosing only one text to set. Borrowing the idea from visual arts of studies on a single subject, I wanted to find four unique ways of expressing a single meaning. The strictures themselves come from publications by writers associated with the French literary group the Oulipo, and from the publications by composers associated with the more loosely configured musical counterpart the Oumupo. The result is four connected studies for high voice and contrabass, exploring facets of language, constraint, meaning, and emotion.
   Text by Lola Ridge, b. 1873:
      Last night I watched a star fall like a great pearl into the sea,
      Till my ego expanding encompassed sea and star,
      Containing both as in a trembling cup.
 

   Text from Sonnet LXXIV (The Winter Night) by Charlotte Turner Smith (1749-1806):
      “Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,”
      forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast,
      as my sad soul recalls its sorrows past,
      seems like a summons bidding me prepare
      for the last sleep of death. Murmuring I hear
      the hollow wind around the ancient towers,
      while night and silence reign; and cold and drear
      the darkest gloom of middle winter lowers;
      but wherefore fear existence such as mine,
      to change for long and undisturb’d repose?
      Ah! when this suffering being I resign
      and o'er my miseries the tomb shall close,
      by her, whose loss in anguish I deplore,
      I shall be laid, and feel that loss no more!