Hello —

“The music should sound like The West.”

So said Oregonian Elizabeth Cooper when she and her Trio da Camera commissioned me to write a work for them, to be scored for violin, clarinet and piano.

I immediately knew what she meant: music that evoked the film scores of the great Hollywood westerns: The Magnificent Seven, High Noon, How The West Was Won, The Big Country. Also the TV westerns I grew up watching: Wagon Train, Bonanza, The Rifleman, Gunsmoke.

To my generation, those themes are what The West sounds like.

Those scores have an expansive sweep, a galloping excitement; they evoke high-spirited adventure and the feel of wide-open spaces, My challenge was to capture a little of all that in a work scored for just three humble instruments.

Like a ‘good guy’ in a cowboy movie, I did my best.

The five movements I came up with were inspired by five photographs of Mt. Emily, the most prominent feature of the landscape near LaGrande, OR, the trio’s home town. The photos were the work of Carol Haddock, sister of Elizabeth Cooper, the trio’s pianist. The titles Carol selected for her photographs also serve as the titles for my five movements.

When the third piece, "Here Comes Spring," was finished, I quietly announced, “My work here is done.”

As I rode off, the musicians asked one another, “Who was that man?”

A puzzled pause ensued.

Finally, one of them said, “Why, that was The Lone Composer.”

“Heigh-yo, Silver! AWAY!"

To hear “Here Comes Spring,” third movement of my Trio #4 for violin, clarinet and piano, subtitled “Images of Mt. Emily," exuberantly performed by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Apr. 9, 2017

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Happiness and pleasure are not the same thing.

I begin almost every day by steeping in a hot bath for twenty minutes or so, letting my mind wander. It's one of life’s great pleasures.

Still, twenty minutes is enough. Much longer and this great pleasure turns irksome.

Happiness is not like that. For one thing, you know right away when something is pleasurable but oftentimes you don’t realize how happy you were until you look back. In fact, in my experience, it’s rare to be totally happy and to KNOW, at that very moment, that you ARE totally happy. I can count on one hand the number of such moments I’ve experienced.

One came last December, when I took a bow after the superb and, for me, unforgettable, performance of my cantata, The Harvest of a Quiet Eye, by the Harvard-Radcliffe Community Chorus.

When the last note sounded and the conductor motioned me to join the performers on the stage, I leapt to my feet, rushed forward, embraced the soloists, shook the conductor’s hand and took my bow. I was so happy that I found myself lifting my hands and eyes upward though I can’t explain exactly why. I could not stop smiling, though there were tears in my eyes.

It was one of the supremely happy moments of my life, right up there with the day I was married and the days on which our two children entered the world, healthy and whole.

All this begs the question, what do we mean when we use that word “happy”?

“Happiness,” Aristotle said, “is the exercise of vital powers along lines of excellence in a life affording them scope.”

That’s a muscular, dynamic definition, primal, Greek, Western. No mention of our duty to God or humble service to others or letting go of selfish desires or opting for love instead of power.

For an aspiring Christian like myself, Aristotle’s is definition is incomplete, though galvanizing. It has served me well and I commend it to others.

A few weeks ago, on the last day of the school year in the school where I teach (in addition to four levels of French, I also teach courses in Music Theory, and the Art of Storytelling), I wrote Aristotle’s definition on the blackboard and challenged the students to ponder it, to ask themselves how it applied to them, how they measured their own notions of happiness against it.

“What are your vital powers?” I asked them. “Some of mine are music, writing, storytelling and teaching."

“Once you’ve discovered your vital powers,” I said, "exercise them! Learn all you can about the fields of action where such powers are in play. Find someone who has mastered the skills required to join in the play and ask that person to teach you what they know.

"Practice your vital powers along lines of excellence, doing the best you can. When you do the best you can, even if you fail, as you sometimes will, you can look back and say, ‘Well, at least I did the best I could.’ This will be a great comfort. It has been for me.

“What does Aristotle mean by ‘scope?’ He means you’ve got to create for yourself an adequately large field of action for your talents. It’s not enough to simply do you own thing as best you can, all by yourself in some obscure corner. You’ve got to find an audience! You’ve got to bring your gifts to ‘the world,’ whatever you understand that to mean."

I don’t know how much they got out of all this but they were listening. I could see it in their eyes.

How much scope DO we need to make us happy? Aristotle can't say because each of us must answer that question for ourselves.

Scope is tricky. One’s first thought would likely be: “The more scope, the better!”

But it’s not that simple. There were only three students in my most advanced French class this year. Would my scope have been greater if there had been thirty? or three hundred? No. In fact, greater numbers would have reduced the scope.

With just three students, I was able to work closely, helping them master the subtleties of pronunciation, vocabulary and grammar. Three students gave me plenty of scope and I was very happy all year long.

Consider the roster of recipients for these emails you kindly permit me to send your way each week. Three-and-a-half years ago I started by sending them to about a hundred friends and fans. These recipients sometimes forwarded the emails to others who subsequently signed up to receive them.

The total number of recipients has grown to six hundred.

The scope has increased numerically but my happiness in sharing these messages has neither increased nor decreased. I am just as happy sharing them now with six hundred as I was when I shared them with one hundred. I still think of y’all as a small group of friends. And if the number would grow to six thousand, I would be no happier, I know, than I am, right now, writing this message for you.

The right amount of scope is in the eyes of the beholder and each of us must decide for ourselves how much scope is enough to render us happy.

But enough philosophizing. Let’s listen to some happy music!

To hear “Good Morning, Miss Emily,” the opening movement of my Trio #4 for violin, clarinet and piano, subtitled “Images of Mt. Emily," exuberantly performed by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
June 25, 2017

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In “Reflections,” which I’ll share today, I made the instruments ‘mirror’ one another, first by having each instrument repeat a three-note motif an octave lower, then repeating a longer figure, then longer yet, until a melody emerges, born into the world ‘before our very ears.’

To me, this music sounds like The West in a quiet, movie-like way. It might serve as the musical backdrop for a love scene or a montage of beautiful western scenery. I saved the rootin-tootin’ stuff for the other, more ripsnorting movements. The music in this movement is appropriately “reflective.” It’s a tender prayer ending with a quiet plagal cadence, like a congregation singing “Amen” at the closing bars of a hymn.

When musicians request the PDFs of the score and parts for this Trio, subtitled “Images of Mt. Emily,” I always send along Carol Haddock's five photos as well, suggesting that the musicians arrange to have each photo projected during the playing of the movement that it inspired. Audiences love to see these photos.

To hear “Reflections” from Trio #4 for violin, clarinet & piano: Images of Mt. Emily, beautifully played by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

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“Silent Sentinel,” which I’ll share today, sounds like a quiet moment in a film score for a western. It might serve as the musical backdrop for a love scene or a montage of beautiful western scenery. Or a final resting place.

I reserved the rootin-tootin’ stuff for the other, more ripsnorting movements. The music in this movement is a tender prayer.

When musicians request the PDFs of the score and parts for this Trio, subtitled “Images of Mt. Emily,” I always send along Carol Haddock's five photos as well, suggesting that the musicians arrange to have each photo projected during the playing of the movement that it inspired. Audiences love to view these photos while hearing the music.

To hear “Silent Sentinel” from Trio #4 for violin, clar. & piano: Images of Mt. Emily, beautifully played by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

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Hunkering down has plunged many into depression, loneliness, overdoses, a decline in mental health.

Now here comes the undersigned, right on schedule, offering a medicinal dose of prose and a thimbleful of music. Really?

In the context of all that’s transpiring, yet another ‘dose & thimbleful’ is absurd, I know. Nevertheless … the sharing of thoughts and tunes might ease matters a little.

Seven years ago, when I began sending weekly emails to ‘friends and fans,’ I did not foresee that it would become a sort of ‘ministry’ during a dark time.

Writing these weekly emails lifts my spirits. I tweak ‘this week’s message’ every day and plan the upcoming series. It gives me something to do other than chores, riding the bike trail, painting toy soldiers and “rustlin’ up some grub fer supper.”

I sometimes feel a little silly doing this in such a dire time, like someone passing out ginger snaps to shipmates as we all sink.

Then again, if I actually found myself on a sinking ship and someone slipped me a ginger snap, I would be grateful. I am very fond of ginger snaps! Munching a crunchy ginger snap while the water swirled about my ankles would be a whole lot better than just standing there, hoping the Coast Guard will arrive in time.

So … let’s recall that it’s October, the favorite month of many. The trees are ecstatic, “trooping their colors and shouting hosannas.”

October is evoked in my "Harvest Time: Prayer & Hymn," the final movement of my Trio #4 for violin, clarinet and piano, “Images of Mt. Emily” commissioned by the Trio da Camera of LaGrande, Oregon. The five movements respond to photographs of Mt. Emily, the most prominent feature of the landscape near LaGrande, made by Carol Haddock, sister of the trio’s pianist, Elizabeth Cooper.

The outline of the mountain is musically represented, first by a sustained high note to evoke the mountain's flat summit, next by notes that descend and then rise a bit, as the mountain's outline. 'reading' from left to right, slopes down, slightly up, then down again.

This musical silhouette of Mt. Emily is heard at the beginning of the opening and final movements, a tribute to this changeless, feminine mountain. I like to think that dear old Mt. Emily is amused by the doings of the hasty, short-lived humans who dwell in her shadow.

In the titles of the five movements, Emily's human neighbors wish her good morning, observe her reflection in water, rejoice in the coming of spring, memorialize their dead and, in the last movement, offer prayers and hymns of Thanksgiving for the harvest.

All the while Mt. Emily, is simply there, ancient and majestic.

The finale movement, "Harvest Time: Prayer & Hymn," opens with the outline of Mt. Emily, followed by a tender prayer, then a hymn (originally written to be sung at a party celebrating a major birthday of another great feminine spirit, our friend Nan Costello). Lastly, the musical silhouette of Mt. Emily returns, ending the piece.

To hear "Harvest Time: Prayer & Hymn" beautifully played by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

To see the photo that inspired this movement, copy and paste this link:
http://www.sowash.com/recordings/mp3/harvest_time.jpg

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My piece “Reflections” gives musical expression to the image of a distant mountain reflected in a nearby body of water, one of Nature’s most beautiful displays. The piece is easy to play and to hear and to understand.

That being the case, I’ll offer some thoughts -- another meaning of the word “reflections” -- on a different subject ...

Because I wrote a couple of books intended for children in grades 4 and 5, I was often engaged to present assembly programs in schools. I did this for many years, visiting over 2,000 schools in all. Visiting a school in Akron, I was asked by a teacher, “Did you know that there is a composer who has your same name?”

She had heard my music on WKSU, broadcast from nearby Kent, Ohio. Given the oddness of my last name, I’d have thought she would have realized that that composer was standing in front of her. But the notion that a writer could also be a composer, or the other way about, was so alien to her that she assumed there must be two artists with the same unusual name.

Composer-writers are rare. Anthony Burgess composed quite a lot of music before achieving fame as the author of “A Clockwork Orange.” The novelist-composer Paul Bowles comes to mind and composer Ned Rorem published his diaries.

Vaughan Williams, Copland and Bernstein published books about music, but these composers were lecturers, not storytellers.

Berlioz, who achieved fame as a critic before he began composing music, wrote a book on orchestration and his memoirs are admired; I haven’t read them. Robert Schumann wrote music criticism; he it was who introduced the world to the works of Chopin, an important contribution.

Virgil Thomson was a critic and wrote an autobiography. Charles Ives gave us his “Essays Before a Sonata” which he self-published and distributed in conjunction with his “Concord Sonata.”

Let me be a bit fanciful; I want to raise some questions.

Where are the short stories of Gershwin that might have taken us behind the scenes of his life, to the backstages of Broadway or the doings of an American in Paris? Samuel Barber had such feeling for the texts he set to music; where is the poetry he might have written? What novels might the Oklahoman symphonist Roy Harris have given us about life on the prairie? Can we imagine the fiction of Louis Armstrong, mining his tough experiences growing up in New Orleans? Such questions are fanciful … but why?

People in the other arts try their hand at literature … why not composers?

A few paint. Mendelssohn, Gershwin, Schoenberg.

Polymaths are more common in the other arts. Many actors write. It’s almost expected of them. It’s apt, as their profession demands their involvement with “words, words, words.” I have found the memoirs of famous actors to be disappointing but I wonder about the novels of Erroll Flynn, Robert Shaw and Gene Hackman. Are they good to read?

What about actor-composers? Anthony Hopkins wrote music in his younger years. Lionel Barrymore, whom we remember from “You Can’t Take it With You” and “Captains Courageous” and as Old Man Potter in “It’s a Wonderful Life” was, if I’m any judge, a gifted composer. I found several of his orchestral works on line, the best of which, I thought, was his “In Memoriam John Barrymore,” written for his brother. Its tunes are deeply felt, richly harmonized and masterfully orchestrated; the piece is stylistically consistent. It sounds a little Mahler-esque, a little English, like Finzi, and more than a little like Korngold, Max Steiner and the other composers of the great film scores of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Rightly so, in a memoriam for a movie star.

See if you agree. The technical quality of the only recording I could find on line is poor. At times it sounds as if sheets of paper are being crushed, close to the microphone. The strings play with the swooping portamentos that were fashionable in an era quite different from our own. However, after a dark introduction, the tune, arriving forty seconds into the piece, warms me and awakens my curiosity -- where will it go? The tune develops, probing into distant keys, growing in depth and tenderness, reaching a satisfying climax and a wistful denouement. The recapitulation of the tune, at 8:12, moves me; the ending makes a lovely use of the orchestral chimes. If you’re curious, listen to the piece here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYPnidCHh3k

If we could ask the great composers why they didn’t write books, I suspect they would answer that they were too busy writing music and that, given their compositional abilities, they considered themselves more likely to write good music than good books. They might have felt that the world already has a superabundance of good books but, comparatively, a paucity of good music.

Then there is the undersigned. I’m a composer first, a writer second. Four hundred musical works, eight books plus these emails I’ve written and shared weekly for more than eight years. A friend is slowly assembling the best of these into a single, searchable on-line “book” that will be accessible, for free, on line. These Sunday morning emails are the essays / vignettes / anecdotes of a composer who also happens to be a writer of sorts. I wonder if any other composers do this?

To hear “Reflections” from Trio #4 for violin, clarinet & piano: Images of Mt. Emily, beautifully played by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen -- click on the link above.

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

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The highest praise a composer can offer is, “I wish I had written that.”

That is what I say when I listen to the late Beethoven string quartets, the symphonies of Sibelius, the best of our American symphonies and the best Hollywood film scores.

Certain pieces of writing prompt the same response from me. One of these is the following, (slightly edited to make it easier to read in an email message), a Proclamation issued by Connecticut Governor Wilbur Cross on Nov. 12, 1936.

“Time out of mind at this turn of the seasons when the hardy oak leaves rustle in the wind and the frost gives a tang to the air and the dusk falls early and the friendly evenings lengthen under the heel of Orion, it has seemed good to our people to join together in praising the Creator and Preserver, who has brought us by a way that we did not know to the end of another year.

In observance of this custom, I appoint Thursday, the twenty-sixth of November, as a day of Public Thanksgiving for the blessings that have been our common lot and have placed our beloved State with the favored regions of earth ...

-- for all the creature comforts: the yield of the soil that has fed us and the richer yield from labor of every kind that has sustained our lives;

-- for all those things, as dear as breath to the body, that quicken our faith in humanity, that nourish and strengthen our spirit to do the great work still before us;

-- for the humane word and act; for honor held above price;

-- for steadfast courage and zeal in the long, long search after truth; for liberty and for justice freely granted by each to all and so as freely enjoyed;

-- and for the crowning glory and mercy of PEACE upon our land;

-- that we may humbly take heart of these blessings as we gather once again with solemn and festive rites to keep our Harvest Home.”

I wish I had written that! It moves me. When I tried to read it aloud to my wife, I had to stop twice, a lump in my throat, tears blurring my vision. It comes near the Gettysburg Address. Such eloquence lifts my spirits.

Writing these weekly emails lifts my spirits, too. Every day I tweak the message I’m going to send to you on the coming Sunday. Looking ahead to the Sundays to come, I carefully select the pieces of music I will want to share and try to devise a suitable vignette to introduce them.

Today, in keeping with the spirit of Wilbur Cross’ proclamation, I want to share with you my "Harvest Time: Prayer & Hymn," the final movement of my Trio #4 for violin, clarinet and piano, “Images of Mt. Emily” commissioned by the Trio da Camera of LaGrande, Oregon. The five movements are each a musical response to photographs of Mt. Emily, the most prominent feature of the landscape near LaGrande, made by Carol Haddock, sister of the trio’s pianist, Elizabeth Cooper.

The outline of the mountain is musically represented, first by a sustained high note to evoke the mountain's flat summit, next by notes that descend and then rise a bit, as the mountain's outline. “reading” from left to right, slopes down, slightly up, then down again.

This musical silhouette of Mt. Emily is heard at the beginning of the opening and final movements, a tribute to this changeless, feminine mountain. I like to think that dear old Mt. Emily is amused by the doings of the hasty, short-lived humans who dwell in her shadow, consumed with the sundry “artifices of fashion, business and politics.”

The final movement opens with the outline of Mt. Emily, followed by a tender prayer, then an original hymn. Lastly, the musical silhouette of Mt. Emily returns, ending the piece.

To hear "Harvest Time: Prayer & Hymn" beautifully played by three fine Cincinnati musicians -- violinist Nick Naegele, clarinetist Jeff Carwile and pianist Mark Tollefsen, click on the link above.

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

To see the photo that inspired this movement, copy and paste this link into your browser:
http://www.sowash.com/recordings/mp3/harvest_time.jpg