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  • on a flat stone over his grave (2016) soprano + theorbo

    pdf: download pdf

    This piece was written for and commissioned by Jarring Sounds (Danielle Sampson + Adam Cockerham) for their June 2016 “Elegy” themed concerts in the San Francisco Bay Area. The text is adapted from a portion of the Latin inscription above the tomb of Henry Purcell.

    Applaud so great a guest, Celestial powers.
    Who now resides with you, but once was ours.
    Dy’d! No, he lives while yonder organ sounds
    and sacred echoes to the choir rebound.

  • track ii (2016) theorbo

    In the Fall of 2015 I wrote a solo piano piece for Sarah Cahill titled “track”. That work was inspired by this quote often credited to Henry David Thoreau: “As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.”

    When granted the opportunity to write a work for Adam Cockerham this text still lingered in my mind. I have since discovered that my book had misattributed the text to Thoreau when in fact it was written by Wilfred Arlan Peterson who was rehashing a concept he claims to have gotten from Thoreau’s “Walden”. While this new theorbo work shares some features of the piano piece written for Sarah Cahill, it may be more appropriate to do my own paraphrase of Luciano Berio. “The completed work is the ritual and commentary of other works preceding it, of more works that will follow. The question does not provoke a response but rather commentary and new questions”.

  • Four Poems by T. E. Hulme (2014) soprano + theorbo

    Written for and premiered by Jarring Sounds –

    The Theorbo is notated with fretted strings on the treble clef and open strings on the bass clef.

    Score Available – USD $15Download-PDF-Button


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    Susan Ann and Immortality
    Her head hung down
    Gazed at earth, finally keen,
    As the rabbit at the stoat,
    Till the earth was sky,
    Sky that was green,
    And brown clouds passed
    Like chestnut leaves along the ground.

    As a Fowl
    As a fowl in the tall grass lies
    Beneath the terror of the hawk,
    The tressed white light crept
    Whispering with hand on mouth mysterious
    Hunting the leaping shadows in straight streets
    By the white house of Flemish towns

    Jarring Sounds_0.eventdetailConversion
    LIGHTHEARTED I walked into the valley wood
    In the time of hyacinths,
    Till beauty like a scented cloth
    Cast over, stifled me.
    I was bound Motionless and faint of breath
    By loveliness that is her own eunuch.
    Now pass I the final river
    Ignominiously, in a sack, without a sound,
    As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorous.

    Strange to me the sounds the wind that blows
    By the masthead in the lonely night.
    Maybe ’tis the sea whistling–feigning joy
    To hide its fright
    Like a village boy
    That, shivering, past the churchyard goes.

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