Hello —

Tonight the moon is full, a good reason for sharing a Nocturne.

A nocturne? Most of my music is sunny. I can't help it. I’m like the fellow Samuel Johnson described, who "tried all his life to be a philosopher but cheerfulness kept breaking in."

I have written a few darker pieces. A handful are sad and a few are mysterious. These are not often heard because classical music radio stations rarely broadcast them and musicians shy away from performing such music for audiences. It's understandable.

Except at funerals and commemorative events, we rarely welcome sad music. I love Puccini’s saddest music; it makes me weep big, salty, cathartic tears. But generally I avoid sad music. If I turn on the radio and find myself in the middle of the last movement of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique Symphony, I switch to NPR. Life is sufficiently difficult without having to endure that master’s final, despairing utterance yet again.

Mysterious music isn't so offputting, though … when the full moon illuminates our familiar surroundings with a strange, silvery luster, mysterious music might be just what we want.

The Nocturne from my Trio #6 for clarinet, cello and piano, subtitled "Goddess of the Moon," is my attempt to evoke the mystery, beauty and a little of the madness we associate with the moon, moonlight and Diana, the ancient Greek goddess of the moon.

Think of this music as a love duet, sung by a mezzo and a baritone in a moonlit landscape, a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, taking place simultaneously in ancient Greece and rural England.

Think of the clarinet as the mezzo and the cello as the baritone. Think of the piano as the moonlit landscape, its white keys gleaming through the gloom of the black keys, like the full moon glimmering through a criss-cross of black branches.

That’s a pretty thought. Strangely, what I most want to say about this music must remain unsaid for lack of a suitable word.

For all its richness, this language we’ve borrowed from the English and adapted to meet the needs of the New World, occasionally abandons us, leaving us hobbled and halting. At such moments we’re made to know that this glorious vehicle of expression, the language of Shakespeare, is ramshackle after all.

The word that’s missing is an adjective that would refer directly to the moon, to its unique character. The same holds true for the sun. Consider that the sun crosses our sky every day and the moon, too, most nights. Odd, no?, this paucity of pertinent verbiage?

I suppose every language has these curious gaps, these voids that leave writers grasping and speakers gasping.

We have perfectly good words for the heavenly bodies themselves: the moon, the sun. But scarcely any adjectives.

We use “moony” to refer to someone who seems dreamy, unaware of their surroundings, disconnected from reality (usually because they are in love) but we never use the word to refer to the moon itself. We never say, “That Nocturne is distinctly moony.” Or “Last night seemed moonier than usual, didn’t you think?” Or “Tonight marks the mooniest night of the month."

Dare we improvise? … venturing something like “moonish?” or “moon-ique?” "moonistic?” or “moon-esque?” “moon-icious?” Yikes!

Our sole recourse is the Latinate word “lunar.” It serves us well enough for scientific stuff. We speak of lunar landings or the lunar calendar of ancient Babylon. But if I were to assert that, in this movement, I had attempted to write lunar music, you’d smile. Moony music? You’d chuckle. Moonish music? You’d sniff and roll your eyes. Moonistic music? Please.

It’s the same with the sun. True, we have the word ’sunny’ but, like ‘moony,' it has a special, homespun meaning. We speak of a sunny smile, a sunny disposition. But who speaks of 'the planets in the sunny system?’ Again, for scientific things, we use ’solar.’ Jo and I will soon have solar panels (not ‘sunny’ panels) on our rooftop. But a solar smile? a solar disposition? solar music? We speak of solar rays, but never of solar days.

Curious, isn’t it? that an English-speaking composer is thus forestalled. A fissure in our linguistic landscape, a crevasse too wide for leaping, precludes the expression of a simple, obvious aspect of this music — and it's something that I really want to get said!

I’ll try one more time: I wanted to fashion a music that would be …. what ... ‘moon-image-derived?’

Whoa. That’s hideous. As my friend Chris Miller would say, “Jeezle Peets!"

Then again, if it's obvious to listeners that the music is “moon-image-derived,” then it doesn’t need to be stated in words. The music will express the notion musically. See what you think.

To hear my Nocturne played with dark, beautiful passion by clarinetist Joe Rosen and some friends of his (Joe recorded it in his living room some years ago and can no longer recall which of his many musical friends were playing the cello and the piano on that occasion), click on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Oct. 16, 2016

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There's a full moon this weekend.

Most of my music is sunny, optimistic, bucolic. I can't help it. I like to make people smile. I'm the fellow who "tried all his life to be a philosopher but cheerfulness kept breaking in."

I have written a few darker pieces. A handful are sad or mysterious and one, just one, is really angry. These are rarely heard because classical music radio stations shy away from broadcasting them and musicians shy away from performing them. Do audiences really want to hear such stuff? Who needs sad, angry music? Isn't life sufficiently difficult with that?

I hesitate to share them, even with you. Maybe sometime.

Mysterious music isn't so offputting, though ... and the full moon is upon us. I hope you have ten minutes to listen to three short nocturnes from my Trio #6 for clarinet, cello and piano, subtitled "Goddess of the Moon."

This music is my attempt to evoke the mystery, beauty and madness we associate with the moon, moonlight and Diana, who was, for the ancient Greeks, the goddess of the moon.

Think of these three little nocturnes as love duets from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." What is the clarinet but a mezzo? What is the cello but a baritone? What is the piano but a moonlit landscape? Think of the piano's white keys shining through the black keys, like the full moon glimmering through black branches criss-crossed like claws, a dreamy, moonlit scene where the clarinet and the cello meet, embrace and entwine.

To hear Trio da Camera playing Three Nocturnes from Trio #6 "Goddess of the Moon," click on the link above.

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

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
August 9, 2014

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After discovering the scherzo from my “Goddess of the Moon” trio two days ago, several of you asked to hear the other movements of that five-movement work.

The movements are organized thusly:

I. Prologue (short)
II. Nocturne (long)
III. Interlude (short)
IV. Scherzo (long)
V. Epilogue (short)

The first, third and final movements aspire to the gorgeousness of Debussy’s best-loved piano work, “Claire de Lune.” The lengthy second movement evokes a powerful and frightening encounter with Diana, goddess of the moon. The scherzo is a sinister joke.

The second and fourth movements can be performed as a single entity: “Nocturne & Scherzo for Clarinet, Cello & Piano."

The first, third and fifth movements can be presented as “Three Nocturnes for Clarinet, Cello & Piano."

Or the entire work can be presented as “Trio #6 for for Clarinet, Cello & Piano: Goddess of the Moon."

In spirit, all five movements are nocturnal, mysterious.

I have written a scant handful of mysterious pieces. These are not often heard. Classical music radio stations rarely broadcast them and musicians shy away.

Yet mysterious music can be delicious … when the moon illuminates familiar surroundings with a strange, silvery luster, mysterious music might be just what we want.

Parts of this Nocturne can be heard as a duet, rich and strange, sung by a mezzo and a baritone in a moonlit landscape.

Think of the clarinet as the mezzo and the cello as the baritone. Think of the piano as the landscape, it's white keys gleaming through the gloom of the black keys, like the full moon glimmering through black branches, criss-crossed.

Other parts are suggestive of what it might feel like to be lost in the woods at night … and then, toward the end, to find one’s way again, to return, as we do at the end of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream."

To hear my Nocturne played with dark, beautiful passion by clarinetist Joe Rosen, cellist Adiel Shmit and pianist Taisiya Pushkar (recorded during one of Joe’s frequent and much-loved living room recitals), click on the link above.

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

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There's a full moon this weekend and thus, an excuse for me to invite you to listen to three short nocturnes from my Trio #6 for clarinet, cello and piano, subtitled "Goddess of the Moon."

The entire work has five movements:
I. Prologue (short)
II. Nocturne (long)
III. Interlude (short)
IV. Scherzo (long)
V. Epilogue (short)

This music is my attempt to evoke the mystery, beauty and madness associated with the moon, moonlight and Diana, who was, for the ancient Greeks, the goddess of the moon.

The Prologue, Interlude and Epilogue can be performed as an independent work titled, “Three Nocturnes.” Similarly the second and fourth movements can be performed as a work titled, “Nocturne & Scherzo.”

Think of these three short nocturnes as love duets from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." What is the clarinet but a mezzo? What is the cello but a baritone? What is the piano but a moonlit landscape? Think of the piano's white keys shining on either side of the black keys, like the full moon glimmering through black branches, a mesh of criss-crossed claws, a dreamy, moonlit scene where the clarinet and the cello entwine.

Listen prudently! Moonlight can enchant. Be particularly mindful of the final phrase of the Epilogue, It confers a delicate closure on both the Three Nocturnes-version and the entire “Goddess of the Moon” trio. Wistfulness opens hearts during that passage, as it does in Puck’s final speech. It may be my most touching ending.

To hear Trio da Camera playing Three Nocturnes from Trio #6 "Goddess of the Moon," click on the link above.

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

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Bach never composed a nocturne. Nor a rhapsody, nor a tone poem.

Strange to tell, neither did Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven or Schubert.

Those genres were conceived by the Romantic composers who strode onto the scene after those earlier masters had passed. Liszt developed the rhapsody and the tone poem. Chopin made the nocturne his own, a musical evocation of the beauty of the night.

Certain artists have an affinity for the night. Have you seen the paintings of Ralph Albert Blakelock? One of his ‘night paintings’ is on display at the Cincinnati Art Museum, depicting moonlight sifting through the branches of trees in the upper regions of the canvas and reflected in water below. During the eight years I worked as a part-time security guard at the CAM, I passed many a pleasant hour in the company of that painting. It moves me.

I am moved, too, by a certain ‘verbal nocturne’ by Odell Shepard, so moved that I have tried to set these beautiful words to music.

“Solemn, indeed, the beauty of the night may be, but it cannot be sad while the breeze is talking among the leaves and the stars go forth on their golden traffickings.
Infinite ages before we were here, they began their enormous dance, and they will go on for infinite ages after we have disappeared. They need us not at all. We have no part in their majestic scheme.
Still, we may look to the dawn, for our human spirit, though everywhere hindered and thwarted, has yet done marvelous things and nothing we know or can surmise about the stars will ever surpass it in beauty and wonder.
Even the darkest night is prelude to the ancient and ever new miracle of dawn.”
-- from The Cabin Down the Glen

A beautiful thought deserves beautiful music. But my attempt to set those words to music fell short of my aspirations. I have returned to it several times over the years but I have not yet been able to devise music that rises to the level of intensity and feeling that these words demand.

So, instead, I invite you to listen to a wordless “Nocturne,” the second movement of my Trio #6 for clarinet, cello and piano, “Goddess of the Moon.”

Remember as you listen that an ominous and murky uncertainty is as much a feature of the night as the occasional flashes of silvery moonlight. Keep in mind Theseus’ warning in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”:

“In the night, imagining some fear,
how easy is a bush supposed a bear.”

To hear my Nocturne played with dark, beautiful passion by clarinetist Joe Rosen, cellist Adiel Shmit and pianist Taisiya Pushkar (recorded during one of Joe’s frequent and much-loved living room recitals), just click on the link above.

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

I'd love to know what you think about this music; reply if you're inclined. But please don't feel that you are expected to reply. I'm just glad you let me share my work in this way.

As always, feel free to forward this message to friends who might enjoy it.

Anyone can be on my little list of recipients for these mpFrees (as I call these musical emails). To sign up, people should email me at rick@sowash.com, sending just one word: "Yes." I'll know what it means.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
June 18, 2023

P.S. As Abraham Lincoln might have put it, my new book “How Music Means” has now sold two score and seven copies. If my math is correct, that’s very nearly half a hundred books, snatched up by an eager public.

The hard copy book may be purchased for the low, low price of $25. The Kindle version goes for less than $10.

If you enjoy these emails, you’d certainly enjoy this book. Too, the book is exceedingly rare. In fact, there are fewer extant copies of “How Music Means” than there are Gutenberg Bibles. Think of that!