Works

I. Cantabile

II. Toccata

III. Canon

In this three-movement concerto, I wanted to explore the qualities I find most compelling about the horn: its warmth, lyricism, and flexibility. Throughout the work, the relationship between soloist and orchestra continually evolves. At different moments, the horn leads, accompanies, blends with, and is absorbed into the larger ensemble, reflecting the instrument’s unusual versatility.

The first movement, Cantabile, presents the horn as a lyrical voice, emerging naturally from the surrounding orchestra rather than dominating it.

The second movement, an energetic Toccata, explores a more rhythmic and virtuosic character. It concludes with the piece’s only extended cadenza, showcasing many of the horn’s virtuosic capabilities before leading directly into the finale without pause.

The final movement, Canon, is built around a prolation canon—a very old technique in which the same musical material unfolds simultaneously at different speeds. As additional musical material is layered into the texture, the soloist and orchestra inhabit the same musical landscape while moving through it in different ways.

Midi Realization:

I. ♩. = 60

II. ♩ = 44

III. As fast as possible

Although writing a symphony made little practical sense, I had always wanted to compose one. When I first heard the brass at the end of the second movement in my head, I knew I would attempt it. That initial idea began a six-year journey culminating in this twenty-eight-minute work.

The symphony is cast in three movements, each built around a distinct large-scale formal framework. The first movement, occupying approximately half of the work, alternates between tumultuous music—often driven by a ritualistic ostinato—and a delicate, wordless song.

The second movement is a passacaglia that continually accelerates and intensifies, like a car shifting through its gears. Above its recurring theme, fragments, repeated figures, and larger musical ideas accumulate, leading to a radiant climax that fades almost as quickly as it arrives.

The finale explores the transformation of a single musical idea, though it is not a traditional theme and variations. Instead, the movement unfolds through a succession of evolving textures in which musical ideas are refracted, recontextualized, and recombined across the orchestra.

Symphony marks an important point in my development as a composer. It is both the largest work I had composed to that point and the first written entirely in the musical language that has informed all of my subsequent compositions.

Score:

Recording (Anna Watson, Emily Fritz-Endres, Danny Hoppe, David Kornfeld & Glenn Greenberg)

The Tell-Tale Heart sets selected passages from Edgar Allan Poe’s short story of the same name. Rather than retelling the entire narrative, the work concentrates on the narrator’s obsession, from his insistence that he loved the old man through the final confession.

Scored for mezzo-soprano, bass clarinet, cello, piano, and bass drum, the music unfolds through recurring fragments of text that accumulate in intensity. Repeated musical figures and increasingly insistent rhythms mirror the narrator’s growing fixation, while the bass drum evokes the inexorable beating of the old man’s heart.

Midi Realization:

The Way plays on the tuba’s reputation as a bumbling, bouncy instrument—an unfortunate stereotype for one capable of remarkable beauty and agility—to project the dogmatic insistence on doing something a certain way, even when it is absurd.

This is not a serious piece to take seriously; it is a musical response to anyone who insists, “This is the way we do things here.”

Midi Realization:

I. ♩ = 120

II. ♩ = 76

Pandemic Preludes was written during the COVID-19 pandemic and reflects some of the emotional landscape I experienced during that time. Rather than presenting sharp contrasts, subtle changes in harmony, texture, and pacing keep the preludes within a remarkably consistent sound world and emotional space.

Recording (Aimee Toner)

Fulmar takes its title from the seabirds commonly seen gliding above the ocean near Reykjavík. Rather than depicting the bird itself, the work seeks to capture something of the feeling of that place—its stillness, openness, and quiet sense of contemplation.

Written for solo flute, the music unfolds as a single, continuous line whose gradually shifting contours favor lyricism over display. Moments in the flute’s highest register briefly suspend time before the music quietly resumes its course, allowing the work to end with the same sense of calm with which it began.

Score

Recording (Joseph Havlat):

I. Numb

II. With Sadness

III. Aching Anger

The Piano Sonata unfolds in three movements played without pause. Although each inhabits a distinct musical world, recurring musical fragments bind the work together. The first movement, Numb, immediately introduces the primary motif that shapes the sonata. Unlike many sonata movements, it is slow and quiet, juxtaposes two closely related sound worlds, and contains only a brief development section. With Sadness departs into a markedly different musical language, reflecting my interest at the time in juxtaposing contrasting styles. Cast in ABA′ form, it provides emotional and musical contrast in the center of the work. The rondo finale, Aching Anger, draws these ideas back together before a surprise ending that gives the preceding music new meaning.

Score:

Midi Realization:

Scherzo was written during a particularly difficult period in my life. The title acknowledges Chopin’s Scherzo No. 1, a turbulent work that inspired the emotional character of this piece.

Cast in ABA′ form, the outer sections are relentless and uncompromising, continually reshaping a small body of musical material without ever relinquishing their underlying energy. The central section provides the work’s only sustained moment of reflection before being interrupted by an even more explosive return of the opening music, culminating in a brilliant and ferocious conclusion.

Score:

Midi Realization:

Lake Tarleton takes its title from a lake in New Hampshire where I spent summers kneeboarding. Rather than depicting the place itself, the work reflects both the calm and the storms that I associate with it.

Written for solo cello, the piece begins by exploring the instrument’s wide range of colors through shifting bow positions, pizzicato, harmonics, and other techniques. A turbulent central section interrupts this stillness before gradually giving way to the opening sound world once again. The music returns not as a literal repetition, but with a quieter, more reflective character shaped by everything that has intervened.

Scored for SATB chorus with optional tape, the work unfolds without a regular pulse, allowing the text to shape the musical flow. Fragments of text and recurring musical ideas gradually accumulate in emotional weight, culminating in an ending that leaves the work’s central question unanswered.

I. Child

II. Thoughts and Prayers

Hypocrisy is cast in two contrasting movements. The first unfolds in a quiet, reverential sound world built around innocence, compassion, and the sanctity of life. The second assembles a collage of public statements made in the aftermath of school shootings, allowing their contradictions to emerge through juxtaposition rather than commentary.

Scored for SATB chorus, the work contrasts sustained lyricism with increasingly fragmented and insistent repetition. Familiar phrases recur throughout the second movement, gradually accumulating until the work ends with the repeated refrain, “thoughts and prayers.”