Justin Taylor Capps
Art Music Compositions
The Old Man and the She (2008)
François Minaux, Flutes; Chad Crummel, Percussion
After my completion of the degree program at the University of
Nevada, Las Vegas, a friend of mine who is completing her doctorate in flute
performance asked me to write a semi-staged work that would use flute, alto
flute, and piccolo. There were a few ideas kicked around, but it was settled
that the work would be for flutes and percussion and I began to consider the
structural issues of the piece. It struck me as fitting to allot each different
flute a movement, and for a narrative anchor I looked at hundreds of different
triptych paintings.
Though many were fantastic works of art, the one that
grabbed my imagination was "Aino-Taru", a painting by Akseli Gallen-Kallela that
depicted the story of Aino and Väinämöinen from the Finnish national epic,
The Kalevala. According to the tale, Väinämöinen won Aino as a prize
in a magical singing duel with her brother, Joukahainen. Unimpressed with the
old hero, she chooses to drown herself rather than to marry him. Amusingly, as
she is drowning, she is transformed into a fish and Väinämöinen catches her,
only to decide that the fish he caught was too small to be his desired love.
Merrily away she swims, reportedly becoming a water nymph in the process.
The first movement, Provocation, represents
Väinämöinen's efforts to woo Aino as he pursues her through the forest, and the
disparate musical materials that predominate are intended to highlight the
adversarial nature of this courtship. The closest that he comes to winning her
over is the piccolo tune about two-thirds of the way through the movement as the
two parts finally agree rhythmically. The second movement,
Contemplation, depicts Aino's consideration of her fate. In the
painting, she is nude and alone, gazing from a rocky outcropping out over a
river. The piece interprets there to be a substantial distance between Aino and
Väinämöinen, perhaps because she ran away to think, and his "masculine"
character inserts itself as non-metallic percussion instruments assume a more
active role as he seeks out his absent object of affection. The last movement,
Liberation, is attached to the central panel of the triptych, in which
Väinämöinen struggles vainly to prevent Aino from her doomed independence. It is
rhythmically active, and the propulsive marimba part may be thought of as his
arms trying to grasp Aino and her shimmering golden scales. She gains her
freedom, and it is a joyous, though perilous end that she and the piece both
share.
So Not Over(ture) (2006 -- Recorded 2009)
University of Texas University Orchestra, conducted by Music Director Stefan Sanders
So Not Over(ture) was written as part of an internal composition contest at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and was premiered by the UNLV Orchestra in April 2006. To revisit the work for the purpose of re-evaluating what value it may have and how to deal with it going forward, it was submitted for consideration to be read by the University Orchestra of the University of Texas, and this recording is the product of that reading. Although there are obvious imperfections, the recording captures the light and humorous nature of the piece quite well.
Zoë Means This (2008)
Electroacoustic Composition
Zoë Means This is the culmination of my first semester of the study of electronic music, and although there are a number of adjustments to be made so that it can be truly "finished", I'm very proud of what I was able to do at the end of one semester. The piece is conceived of as a journey through some of the different places that my daughter, Zoë, sees in the course of her very young life, highlighted by a variety of sounds that she produces. From the obvious (laughter) to the unexpected (acoustic piano playing). The structure is as follows:
Bath Time ------> Living Room Transition -----> Car -----> Park -----> Car -----> Living Room -----> Bed Time
Materials were captured with a Microtrack recorder and then processed in Peak Pro, Spear, Absynth 4, Kontakt 3, and Apple Logic 8.
Nancarrow Time (2008)
Electroacoustic Composition
The first "piece" created in my first semester electronic music course Nancarrow Time, is still in progress. Initially thought of as an internal monologue within the head of a taxi passenger in a busy city with different musical venues outside the car, the work became more oriented toward the consideration of time and musings on the subject. There is a considerable amount of improvement left, but as a first piece, I'm pleased and eager to share it while it is still on the road to completion.
Bar Talk (2007)
Dr.
Kevin J. Gorman,
Saxophone; Monique Arar, Piano
Bar Talk
is a musical imagining of the wordplay and not to Bela Bartok himself.
Each of the movements utilizes either synthetic scales or cellular
structures to supply melodic materials, but while the first movement is
in an asymmetrical meter and there are certain evocations of
Bartok’s compositional style, they do not form the basis of
the
work. Instead, the piece is an evening in a Hungarian bar. The first
movement is titled for a Hungarian lager and is intended to embody the
brighter side of alcoholic consumption -- or, at least the more manic
side. Bar patrons swirling around laughing and clinking glasses while
having a lively and great time. The second movement is named a Magyar
word for “closing time” and is an evocation of the
aftermath of the night’s merrymaking, with the crowd cleared
out
only the smoke and lonely few remaining. It’s something like
the
blues, if they were built with synthetic scales. The final movement is
a slightly unhinged waltz. Visszamondás means
“regrets“, and the notion is that the bar patron
leaving at
daybreak walks a fine line between optimism and shame as he navigates
the new day that awaits and the ghosts that drinking is wont to raise.
Fanfare for a Hero (2007)
UNLV Brass Band, under the
direction of Tad Suzuki
“Hero”
is a word which is
often thrown about without any real thought to the weight it bears.
When we use the same word to describe the veneration we feel for
someone who saves lives, scores touchdowns, rescues kittens or merely
accepts who they are in the face of public ridicule, we confuse the
import and value of each. Fanfare
for a Hero
is a musical rendering of the path of a hero in the epic sense. Through
the lens of society, we view the title of hero as something to be
coveted and only associate it with pride or the other tangible glories
that come with such nomination. For the hero, however, the situation is
different. To earn such a label, one has to go through great trials
which are not only horrific in and of themselves, but likely to scar
those who witness them. Some of this depth is conveyed by the use of a
variety of mutes to lend further complexity to the sonic palette of the
work, greatly expanding the collective timbre beyond the naked brass
sounds. The musical material for the piece derives from the cascading
semitones at the beginning which serve to evoke a sense of collapse and
tension, and much of the piece employs these clusters to imbue the
atmosphere with an appropriate degree of darkness. This is broken by a
trumpet solo which corresponds with the hero rising amidst the chaos.
The hero is joined by a small trumpet choir and then the whole ensemble
accompanies the hero’s theme. An explosion of sound follows
through the duration of the work, as large tutti gestures
paint broad brush strokes of heroism, interrupted only by a nightmare
recollection that precedes the final chords.
Four Preludes
on Playthings of the Wind (2006)Text by Carl Sandburg
Arsenia
Soto,
Soprano; Dr. Tod Fitzpatrick, Baritone; Elena
Miraztchiyska,
Piano
As an undergraduate, I
composed a
song cycle on newspaper texts. At some moments, there were flashes of
inspiration, and at others…well, let’s not talk
about
that. Fine for early work, but lacking a degree of refinement and
control, I knew that I wanted to revisit the medium of the song, having
a bit more experience and perspective, and so I allowed texts to find
me. Initially, I had hoped to maneuver Bukowski into musical life as
soprano, but opted instead to limit myself to the public domain and
other American poets. My father has always held Carl Sandburg in high
regard, and as we do many things like our fathers, I was stunned by a
particular collection of his poems, called Smoke and Steel. Wrought
with searing writing on a variety of themes, it inspired in me a great
desire to compose a vast and sweeping cycle that would be epic in a
Mahler-meets-Ives-and-adopts-Bruckner’s-baby-sort-of-way.
Faced with such a daunting self-derived task, I chose to select a few of the poems which I wished to set as something of a standalone mini-work. The result is Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind, comprised of settings of four poems grouped by the same title within the work. The texts present a history of a fallen civilization, crushed by the weight of its own hubris and self-aggrandizement, and this was something that I understood well. Strangely, there seemed to me more immediacy in these poems than in many love poems, and I was won by the chilling imagery and consequential subject matter.
The first song is quite atmospheric, and functions as a frame narrative of the story that is to follow, but the narrator has advance knowledge of the outcome, and so is suitably…defeated and resentful. The second song begins with the lush language of jazz and is soon overtaken by a fiendish waltz that contorts the character of the singer, who, by the end of the song, is troubled by doubts of the genuineness of the mantras she has taken to heart. The third, and longest of the songs, marks the climax of the cycle. Driven by ruthless ostinati in asymmetrical meters, the invisible machine has taken control and is forcing the civilization into submission, and rats, lizards and crows overtake the people. The moment of transformation is represented by a brief chorale which appears from nowhere, and the last hurrah of society is a chaotic jumble over a dominant seventh chord before the machine seizes final control and recalls the chorale only at the close. The final song is the aftermath, and is the most “academic” of the songs, with the materials and rhythms of the piano accompaniment being very rigidly constructed and followed in something that is conceptually like a passacaglia. To me, the last song is the musical equivalent of an archaeological dig site that has unearthed the remains and lessons of a bygone civilization. But, then again, I wear socks with sandals.
Faced with such a daunting self-derived task, I chose to select a few of the poems which I wished to set as something of a standalone mini-work. The result is Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind, comprised of settings of four poems grouped by the same title within the work. The texts present a history of a fallen civilization, crushed by the weight of its own hubris and self-aggrandizement, and this was something that I understood well. Strangely, there seemed to me more immediacy in these poems than in many love poems, and I was won by the chilling imagery and consequential subject matter.
The first song is quite atmospheric, and functions as a frame narrative of the story that is to follow, but the narrator has advance knowledge of the outcome, and so is suitably…defeated and resentful. The second song begins with the lush language of jazz and is soon overtaken by a fiendish waltz that contorts the character of the singer, who, by the end of the song, is troubled by doubts of the genuineness of the mantras she has taken to heart. The third, and longest of the songs, marks the climax of the cycle. Driven by ruthless ostinati in asymmetrical meters, the invisible machine has taken control and is forcing the civilization into submission, and rats, lizards and crows overtake the people. The moment of transformation is represented by a brief chorale which appears from nowhere, and the last hurrah of society is a chaotic jumble over a dominant seventh chord before the machine seizes final control and recalls the chorale only at the close. The final song is the aftermath, and is the most “academic” of the songs, with the materials and rhythms of the piano accompaniment being very rigidly constructed and followed in something that is conceptually like a passacaglia. To me, the last song is the musical equivalent of an archaeological dig site that has unearthed the remains and lessons of a bygone civilization. But, then again, I wear socks with sandals.
I, Tri (2006)
Bryce Nakaoka, French Horn; Heidi
Boothe,
Clarinet; Zoë Ley, Cello
The piece opens with a
Lamento
gesture in d-minor, and quickly moves into a slightly more aggressive
section with the Horn firmly taking the lead with an insistent, yet
lyrical melody and espousing something other than a single key. Then
the Clarinet fritters gaily about, like some misplaced and malfeasant
bird, before the Horn climbs from the depths of its range to the
extreme upper register, climactically reaching a C triad (Momento
Fantastico!) that is presented as Major and minor, before the Cello
seizes the stage for a brief soliloquy.
The Cello's interiority gives way to a rollicking, triplet driven section, loosely inspired by Star Trek. I have no idea why, but the heroic nature of the Horn character seemed to fit that of the show, minus excessive camp. A slight dance concludes this section and yields to a pastoral, Brahmsian (though with fewer consonants) passage, perhaps Spock's dreams of Vulcan Fields? If so, those fields are populated by Horn heroes struggling to remain optimistic in the face of reality, which is a bit darker, according to the ensuing march/dance.
Hope resurfaces in an extended lyrical section that brings back the Horn’s earlier music but with a radically different accompaniment, before closing with the Lamento gesture and hanging on an unresolved dominant triad, again in d-minor. May Hope live long, and prosper.
The Cello's interiority gives way to a rollicking, triplet driven section, loosely inspired by Star Trek. I have no idea why, but the heroic nature of the Horn character seemed to fit that of the show, minus excessive camp. A slight dance concludes this section and yields to a pastoral, Brahmsian (though with fewer consonants) passage, perhaps Spock's dreams of Vulcan Fields? If so, those fields are populated by Horn heroes struggling to remain optimistic in the face of reality, which is a bit darker, according to the ensuing march/dance.
Hope resurfaces in an extended lyrical section that brings back the Horn’s earlier music but with a radically different accompaniment, before closing with the Lamento gesture and hanging on an unresolved dominant triad, again in d-minor. May Hope live long, and prosper.
On the Death of... (Six essays on a motley subject) (2005-2006)
Farah Zolghadr, Flutes; Heidi
Boothe,
Clarinet; Maryanne Kim, Piano;
Alexis Quiroz, Violin; Zoë Ley, Cello; Daniel Steffey, Percussion
Phillip Lenberg, Conductor
Alexis Quiroz, Violin; Zoë Ley, Cello; Daniel Steffey, Percussion
Phillip Lenberg, Conductor
When I was twenty-five,
it struck me
for the first time that there was, in fact, going to be a day when I
would die. I began to consider some of the varied attitudes that people
hold about death in general, as well as traditional responses to the
deaths of others. Death can be tragic. It can also be comical. Most
likely, it falls somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, and the way
we respond to death is largely influenced by our own feelings about the
matter and our relationships with those who pass. My ongoing
consideration of the subject led to the creation of On the Death of... (Six essays
on a motley subject).
The first movement approaches the death of the fictional progeny of
Igor Stravinsky and George Gershwin as an homage to particular elements
of their music. The
Rite of Spring, Rhapsody
in Blue and I've
Got Rhythm serve as referential linchpins in the movement,
through direct quotation, harmonic implication and rhythmic derivation.
The second movement is a response to the assertion that irony itself was negated by the attacks of September 11, 2001. It is not a disaster piece, and it is not about the events of the day, but rather it is an exploration of Irony as a character -- an impish fellow(ess?) who winds through a sparse musical texture of something like desolation, but ends up with a demeanor the same as ever. The third movement is the last that explores the lighter side of death, combining the world of Beethoven's Eroica with the titular character of an MTV Film. The juxtaposition generates a funeral march that comes a bit unhinged as it proceeds down an imaginary Idaho street, dissipating as the parade goers return home, leaving a ghostly lullaby behind.
The fourth movement considers one of the most difficult deaths to grasp: that of an infant. There is a deliberate coldness throughout and the movement draws to a prolonged close that seems devoid of hope. As the violinist is suspended in its upper range, the piano rearticulates some of its earlier materials and the cello makes overt musical reference to Different Trains, a work concerned with death. The movement reaches closure, oddly, with the piano and cello united in a representation of Puer natus est..., the most known musical birth. The fifth movement examines the death of Olivier Messiaen, a man driven by tremendous faith in the teachings of Catholicism. In consideration of his faith, the musical character of this movement is strong and it avoids both humor and lamentation with equal zeal, utilizing certain compositional tools (non-retrogradable rhythms) and specific musical examples (Dans de la fureur, pour les sept trompettes from Quatuor pour la Fin du Temps) which are readily identified with his work.
The most divisive and extraordinary death in all of Western history is almost certainly that of Jesus of Nazareth. The sixth movement explores His death in light of the Resurrection, and is presented as a celebration of His triumph over death itself. The mass of sound that exists throughout the beginning of the movement is the musical effect (aiming for a musical idea of uncontainable exuberance) achieved by dividing each beat into all available segments, from eighth notes (1/2 beat) through sixteenth-septuplets (1/7 beat), and the static nature of the opening is intended to evoke a sense of timelessness. The choreography and philosophical implications of the music are fairly straightforward and serve to make this movement far more narrative than the first five. In the end, death will be what you make of it; Or, what it makes of you.
If you would like to purchase scores or recordings, please contact Justin.
The second movement is a response to the assertion that irony itself was negated by the attacks of September 11, 2001. It is not a disaster piece, and it is not about the events of the day, but rather it is an exploration of Irony as a character -- an impish fellow(ess?) who winds through a sparse musical texture of something like desolation, but ends up with a demeanor the same as ever. The third movement is the last that explores the lighter side of death, combining the world of Beethoven's Eroica with the titular character of an MTV Film. The juxtaposition generates a funeral march that comes a bit unhinged as it proceeds down an imaginary Idaho street, dissipating as the parade goers return home, leaving a ghostly lullaby behind.
The fourth movement considers one of the most difficult deaths to grasp: that of an infant. There is a deliberate coldness throughout and the movement draws to a prolonged close that seems devoid of hope. As the violinist is suspended in its upper range, the piano rearticulates some of its earlier materials and the cello makes overt musical reference to Different Trains, a work concerned with death. The movement reaches closure, oddly, with the piano and cello united in a representation of Puer natus est..., the most known musical birth. The fifth movement examines the death of Olivier Messiaen, a man driven by tremendous faith in the teachings of Catholicism. In consideration of his faith, the musical character of this movement is strong and it avoids both humor and lamentation with equal zeal, utilizing certain compositional tools (non-retrogradable rhythms) and specific musical examples (Dans de la fureur, pour les sept trompettes from Quatuor pour la Fin du Temps) which are readily identified with his work.
The most divisive and extraordinary death in all of Western history is almost certainly that of Jesus of Nazareth. The sixth movement explores His death in light of the Resurrection, and is presented as a celebration of His triumph over death itself. The mass of sound that exists throughout the beginning of the movement is the musical effect (aiming for a musical idea of uncontainable exuberance) achieved by dividing each beat into all available segments, from eighth notes (1/2 beat) through sixteenth-septuplets (1/7 beat), and the static nature of the opening is intended to evoke a sense of timelessness. The choreography and philosophical implications of the music are fairly straightforward and serve to make this movement far more narrative than the first five. In the end, death will be what you make of it; Or, what it makes of you.
If you would like to purchase scores or recordings, please contact Justin.