Scarcely anyone has heard the music I want to share today. Except for the musicians who recorded it and the recording engineer, you will be the first.

I wrote my Suite for Three Violins in 1989 but it has never been performed. Two summers ago it was recorded and after a long wait, the editing has been completed and the recording is ready to be heard.

Everything happens slowly in the world of classical music. It can takes years to share a new composition. By then, the piece is no longer new, strictly speaking. Still, it’s new to the listeners.

After another long wait, a CD featuring the Suite for Three Violins along with two other chamber works of mine and four by my friend and co-producer of the CD, Mark Louis Lehman, was finally released.

The new CD is entitled Notes from the Midwest: Seven Chamber Works by Two Cincinnatians.

In keeping with my policy of sharing my work, free, to the greatest extent possible, I am giving away this new CD to friends and fans, near and far.

Meanwhile, to hear the second movement from my Suite for Three Violins, played with snap and verve by three superb Cincinnati violinists -- Kris Frankenfeld, Frankie Howard and Elizabeth Steva — and recorded by the great Cincinnati sound engineer John Burgess, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Feb. 7, 2016

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You must have heard it. When National Public Radio acknowledges the support of the National Endowment for the Arts, the announcement concludes with a terse, no-nonsense assertion:

“Art works.”

Word play on “artworks.” I get it. Clever.

Still … may I grumble?

(As our world slides toward chaos, my grumble is small stuff. But you might get a smile out of it. Bear in mind that I’m half-joking….)

Saying that “art works" seems to imply that art needs to be justified … that it is somehow effective "after all" ... that it demonstrates competence and productivity, workplace virtues highly prized in a workaday world.

Art, it turns out, has a function! Art has value. Why? Because it works!

Art, we are assured, is on the job. Busy! Occupied!

Who knew?

To be sure, announcing that 'art works’ makes that valid claim that art is an industry, an employer of thousands.

I remember this when I hear of schools dropping art and music classes on the grounds that such subjects are not career-related. I want to shout, “What about ME?”

The music classes of my 7th-12th grade years were the foundation of my entire career. For me, those courses were a crucial preparation.

In the phrase "art works” I also hear the notion that art is somehow an antidote to societal woes, a remedy for sundry public malaises, good medicine for our culture. Duly noted. Art can sometimes be a panacea of sorts.

Still, the phrase has the same slightly defensive tone we hear when someone goes to bat for alternative medicine, “Acupuncture works!”

The phrase implies that, in an ongoing argument about the efficacy of art, our side is losing, that ours is the uphill struggle, the battle against the odds. Maybe so. Maybe it’s not enough just to “do” art. Maybe we must also try to convince whoever is listening that the conventional wisdom about art (that it doesn’t work) is wrong. The NEA is rallying us, defiantly shouting back: “But, don’t you see? It does work!"

To my ear, the phrase strikes pre-emptively against the assumption that artists are slackers who expect the rest of us to support them.

Not so! But … no wonder there are so many grumpy artists!

I read about a study some scholar undertook, probing the psyches of The Great Composers. The scholar read all their letters and diaries and all that was written about them by their acquaintances, in the hope of plumbing the depths of their being. In plain American, he wanted to get a handle on what kinda guys they were, psychologically-speaking-wise.

The scholar discovered that The Great Composers had one trait in common: irritability.

I had to laugh. I’m sure it’s true.

Bach, Beethoven and Brahms were notoriously grumpy. Chopin threw a chair at a student. You didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Wagner. Charles Ives was a grouch of the first magnitude. Sibelius, permanently ticked off, composed nothing in the last thirty years of his life. That showed ‘em.

Whoa.

What was it that irked them so?

Some slob sidled up to them at a party, stood too close, put an unwelcome arm around their shoulders and, puffing beer breath into their face, slurred out the words, … “Lemme tell ya somethin', old timer. Art works!"

Harrumph!

Be that as it may, you’re invited to listen to the fourth movement of my Suite for Three Violins, beautifully played by three superb Cincinnati violinists -- Kris Frankenfeld, Frankie Howard and Elizabeth Steva — and recorded by the great Cincinnati sound engineer John Burgess. It’s a pretty piece — but does it work? To find out, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Dec. 4, 2016

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Three of the four movements of the “Sunny Days” Suite offer an American treatment of Belo-Russian folksongs. In the “Waltz” movement, which I want to share with you today, I tried something different. No folk tunes are quoted; the tunes are my own. Instead, I attempted to blend a Russian style — something like Rachmaninoff’s -- with my own American style.

I admire Rachmaninoff. He didn’t cave. When the modernism of Schoenberg and Stravinsky overtook the musical world, he carried forward the banner of Romanticism. His best music is unabashedly tonal, melodic and ‘from the heart.'

He demonstrates that Romanticism is not confined to a particular era. It is one end of a timeless spectrum; the other end is Classicism. The ancient Greeks mythologized these opposing artistic impulses as two gods: Dionysius and Apollo. Any artwork of any era takes a position on this spectrum. On one end, the Dionysian/Romantic extreme, hysteria and chaos reign. At the opposing Apollonian/Classical extreme, order and an austere calm are imposed.

Rachmaninoff’s best works veer toward the warmer end. That’s not to say that his work is chaotic or hysterical (he’s not Tchaikovsky). Rachmaninoff emphasizes passionate feeling and expressivity.

The beginning and ending of the little Waltz movement from my “Sunny Days” suite aspire to the warmth of a good tune by Rachmaninoff. The longer middle section is warm, too, but sounds very American, a gentle Appalachian folk song.

Another duality is in the scoring. The piano opens the movement alone, then falls silent while the violin and clarinet play together. The three come together only when the American-sounding music begins. Then the piano goes silent again while the others play. Then it’s just clarinet and piano. Then just violin and clarinet. Finally the three reunite, the violin strumming guitar-like pizzicatos. The piano repeats the music of its opening solo, the other instruments finally joining in, closing the movement.

To hear the Waltz from Sunny Days played tenderly and beautifully by violinist Paul Patterson, clarinetist Anthony Costa and pianist Phil Amalong, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Dec. 11, 2016

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A lot of my music is “programmatic,” i.e., more or less about something non-musical. A season, a place, a personality, an idea, an homage to or parody of another composer or musical genre.

Music that is not “programmatic” is called “absolute music,” i.e., not intended to be about anything. It’s just music; make of it what you will.

Yet, for many people, music -- all music, any music — brings vivid images to mind. At the reception after a performance of one of my pieces — I forget which piece exactly but it was not a “programmatic” piece -- a lady told me that she had “especially liked the part where the squirrels were playing in the leaves.” I had no idea what she was talking about but I nodded and said, “Thank you."

That was a comical moment for me but I am sure the lady was serious; she was certain her image was accurate and precise and that I would know to which part of the piece she was referring.

Who is to say, after all? Once a piece is written, the composer is just another listener; his opinions are not definitive. For all I know, maybe metaphorical squirrels were at play in that section.

When I hear the third movement from my Suite for Three Violins, an example of “absolute music,” I find myself imagining a long, narrow, brightly-colored, silk pennant rising and falling in a gentle breeze.

I suppose I could title it, “Long, Narrow, Brightly-colored, Silk Pennant Rising and Falling in a Gentle Breeze.”

Such a title would have almost as strong a claim as, “Squirrels Playing in the Leaves.”

Music sometimes prompts these mysterious mental responses.

I wonder what images piece might elicit from you. Maybe none at all. Maybe you’ll shrug and say, “It’s just nice music.”

That’s OK, too.

To hear the third movement from my Suite for Three Violins, played with snap and verve by three superb Cincinnati violinists -- Kris Frankenfeld, Frankie Howard and Elizabeth Steva — and recorded by the great Cincinnati sound engineer John Burgess, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
May 15, 2016

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My composer friend Mark Lehman summed it up:

"Always the composer must balance inevitability and surprise: the "givens" of his piece that unify it, and the surprising transformations that make it into a journey worth taking. And of course the ideas a composer chooses to develop must be somehow appealing and shapely, or striking, pregnant with at least the possibility of emotional charge."

Marvelous! Re-read it, carefully. It describes, precisely and eloquently, the composer’s challenge.

But, my Lord in Heaven, WHAT a TALL order! Bach, Beethoven, Mahler, Sibelius … they live up to it, at least some of the time … and when they do, the effect on mere mortals is so humbling as to be almost stifling.

At this very moment, upon mentioning those august names, I would bare my head … except that I happen not to be wearing a hat!

After those guys, what’s the point of writing music? What could we possibly contribute to the art form they still dominate?

While they pirouette from Himalayan peak to peak, Mark and I know ourselves to be a couple of worms creeping along from clod to clod. "A pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas….”

I wonder if practitioners of the other arts feel the weight of past Masters as heavily as we composers.

Do contemporary playwrights shrivel at the thought of Shakespeare? Are the writing hands of living novelists withered by Tolstoy? Do today’s painters drop their brushes because of Monet?

Past Masters can squelch the likes of us. Knowing we’ll never top, equal or approximate what The Great Ones achieved, how shall we muster the gumption to proceed?

One way is to steer clear of the genres those masters command. Modern-day playwrights would be well advised not attempt the writing of five-act verse-dramas in iambic pentameter.

Contemporary novelists probably ought not to try their hand at the writing of 1500-page-long epic tales of society in crisis, top-to-bottom, displaying the empathy of God Almighty for more than 500 characters therein, from servant girl to aristocrat.

Most likely, painters nowadays should petition whatever dieties they acknowledge, asking that they be led not into the temptation of painting water lilies.

As for living composers? Shall they busy themselves writing all-out grand operas? heroic hour-long piano concertos? epic symphonies scored for expanded orchestra, chorus, a children’s chorus, off-stage trumpets and an oboist perched in the rear balcony?

Some do and I say, "God bless them, every one.” (Or, as Robert Benchley said, “God help us, every one.”)

Me? Writing a suite for three violins, I briefly escaped the long shadows of Beethoven, Sibelius and the rest, insofar as none of those johnnies ever stooped to write a thing so common and simple as a lowly suite for a mere three violins.

To hear the first movement from my Suite for Three Violins, played very sweetly by three superb Cincinnati violinists -- Kris Frankenfeld, Frankie Howard and Elizabeth Steva — and recorded by the great Cincinnati sound engineer John Burgess, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

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Although these weekly messages are not written uniquely to you, I try my best to give them the tone of a personal expression, a letter to a good friend.

I began writing and sending these ‘mpFrees’ (my daughter’s coinage for this curious literary form, a mini-essay about a piece of my music + an mp3 of a performance of the piece + a PDF displaying the score) to about 85 friends. Namely, everyone in my church choir, some local instrumentalists who have enjoyed playing my works, and a dozen non-musician friends, near and far.

After 3.5 years, the list of recipients for these ‘mpFrees’ has grown to 635. Here’s how it happened. One of you will forward a message to a friend and then that friend will send me an email with “yes” in the subject line, indicating that they want to be a recipient.

Also, every time someone emails me about my music — perhaps they heard a piece of mine on the radio and are inquiring about sheet music — I reply with an email describing my ‘mpFrees’ project and offering to include them as a recipient. Many reply in the affirmative.

Some of you have kindly suggested that the best of these ‘mpFree’ messages ought to be compiled into a book. I don’t agree. A book could not include active links to mp3s and PDFs. It would be nice if books could do that. Who knows? The technology that could equip a book with internet access may be just around the corner. But until then I could only print the website addresses of the mp3 and PDF; someone was curious to hear the music and see the score would have to type the addresses into the search field of their browser, etc. Tedious! Few would bother.

Too, a book is a very expensive thing to create. How well I know. I’ve written and published a half dozen of them. The only way to recover the investment is to sell the books. But I don’t want to sell anything to my friends. No commercialization! That is my promise to everyone who permits me to share in this way.

I would like to post all of these mini-essays on a vast on-line resource which anyone could access and to which I could add a new essay every week. But I don’t know how to do it and the friends who DO know how are so busy with other things that I hate to burden them with this chore.

So, for now, I chug along, writing new ‘mpFrees’ weeks in advance, always excited about the one that’s coming soon..

In spite of my having invented and mastered this little digital / literary art form, I’m really a bit of a Luddite — I have no cell phone, no Facebook, nothing much in the way of e-this or e-that. I have a good website but only because a dear friend put the time into developing it, in part so that he could share it with other prospective clients who might hire him to do the same. Nowadays he has moved on to other things.

I plan to continue to sending these weekly emails for years and years to come.

After about fifty more mpFrees, I will have sent out an email which will have featured every recording I have of my music. What then? I’ll start over with the musical selections, devising new verbiage to go with them the second time around. Music stays the same but we change, events change; there are always new things to verbalize.

Writing these ‘mpFrees’ has become my chief creative activity and I enjoy the work of crafting them. I think of you, my friends, while I’m writing them, trying to make them into something I fancy y'all would like to read. I try to offer something that will be worth your attention.

Which brings me to today’s music: the Finale from my five-movement Suite for Three Violins. It’s a beautiful example of ‘the reconciliation of opposites.’ It opens with Violin I playing a rollicking, slightly jazzy tune that zips along like a ‘perpetual motion machine’, with Violin II slipping in before long, joined by Violin III sounding the “G” string, the violin’s lowest note, as a pedal point.

At 1:26 comes a big contrast. The music settles down with a hymn-like tune, the violins ‘singing’ together like a choir. Several variations on the hymn tune follow. Listen carefully and you’ll hear the rollicking opening tune gradually ‘invading’ the hymn tune, between phrases.

At 3:42 the rollicking opening tune returns in glory. Now it’s the hymn tune’s turn to invade! At last the two tunes are reconciled, standing together as equals, and as friends.

I particularly like the ending. Two quiet, American-sounding chords, like an “Amen” at the end of an anthem. The reconciliation is complete!

To hear the final movement from my Suite for Three Violins, played with all due verve by three superb Cincinnati violinists -- Kris Frankenfeld, Frankie Howard and Elizabeth Steva — and recorded by the great Cincinnati sound engineer John Burgess, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.