This piece serves as a sort of collage of my thoughts and feelings on my family's history. As Japanese-Canadians living in British Columbia, my ji chan (grandfather) and ba chan (grandmother), along with their families and community, were forcibly sent to internment camps by the Canadian government during World War 2. This event halted tens of thousands of lives and forced them to start over upon the dissolution of the internment camps - either in Japan or east of the Rockies, but not their former home. I don't intend to re-tell or speculate on my grandparents' experiences in this piece, but rather express my feelings as someone who has grown up listening to their stories. The stories told by history textbooks on the Japanese-Canadian internment camps are impersonal by necessity, and, in some cases, largely end with the war. But the lives of the people impacted by the camps have continued and span across generations. These continuing stories are the ones that I am interested in throughout this piece. Within them, despite the hardships endured, I find resilience, gratitude, and hope. The title Seven Thousand Paper Cranes refers to the Japanese legend that gifting one thousand paper cranes to someone will wish them peace, health, and prosperity. The number seven refers to each member of my immediate family on my dad's side: my ji chan (Tsutomu / Tom), ba chan (Kazuko / Esther), uncle (Ron), dad (Mark), mom (Andrea), my sister (Emily), and myself. Commissioned by the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra as part of the Composer Fellowship Program. Premiere on November 11th, 2023 by the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra at the First Ontario Performing Arts Centre.
more...
The name "Pitch Black Alchemy" means a number of different things to me. In a literal sense, alchemy is a speculative philosophy that became popular in the 12th century, centred around the transmutation of base metals into gold. I imagined this process taking place in darkness and the bursts of light that must appear and fade mysteriously. This image served as inspiration while writing the piece. However, the more time I spent thinking about the title, the more it seemed to be referring to the process of composition itself. Lead becoming gold in the darkness through thousands of imperceptible changes. Writing music feels like alchemy sometimes. Both in the sense that I can create something shiny and wonderful from nothing, but also that its a fake science requiring some unobtainable magic objects or spells to happen. Sometimes I wish composing could be as reliable as science. But for now, it remains similar to the idea of pitch black alchemy, intriguing and surreal and utterly confusing.
I am continually fascinated by the world around me and it often provides the entry point from which I embark into a new piece. This piece is the result of a collaboration between my friend Jeanne-Sophie and I. As we were discussing the prospect of writing this piece, she shared a video she took of massive ice sheets flowing along the surface of a river. The power of the moving ice was immediately humbling. I wanted to express this experience in the piece. The piece unfolds as a meditation. First, on my immediate surroundings where, at certain times of day, tiny particles of dust are illuminated by the sun, revealing their unpredictable but faithful descent. At some point in this contemplation, there is a recognition that the force causing dust to fall slowly around me is simultaneously moving thousands of tonnes of ice along a river. With a new sense of awareness, the piece moves forward in an uneasy and agitated state, gaining momentum until a change of light brings the dust back into focus. The piece returns to an observation of dust, now carrying a new significance.
Residing in Toronto, my daily routine encompasses only a fraction of this vast city. Even the nearby locales remain unfamiliar, evoking a mix of both intrigue and unease. "I Went to Visit Yesterday's Ruins" traverses these emotions, embarking on an imaginative urban exploration of a defunct broom factory dating back to 1921, situated just across the street from my residence. To me, the allure of urban exploration lies in unearthing the essence and history unique to a specific place. While the weight of a location's history is palpable when visiting long-inhabited and preserved areas, in a recently settled and ever-changing city, these aging structures stand as some of our only physical monuments to the past.
‘Pavilions’ takes its cues from a remarkable structure designed by Frank Gehry for the first Serpentine Gallery Pavilion in 2008. The juxtaposition of disorder and openness in the design served as an interesting point of entry for a sonic landscape that captured these qualities. This piece explores ideas of motion, gravity, momentum, and perspective, based on my interpretations of Gehry's creation. This piece was written for Emma Schmiedecke in 2020 as part of the Orford Composition Program.
This piece explores different mental states, particularly the elusive nature of focus. "Finding Focus" reflects my experiences of resistance, internal chatter, and clarity. The opening section transitions through sustained notes that fade away. In the middle, melodic chatter disrupts the serene tones. The composition concludes with a rising gesture as all members of the ensemble contribute, reaching a state of equilibrium.
Hajime, Sonata for Alto Saxophone and Piano draws inspiration from the novel South of the Border, West of the Sun by Haruki Murakami. The story follows the life of a character named Hajime (which means "to begin" in Japanese) through a lonely childhood, exciting adolescence, an estranged and then tumultuous adulthood. Murakami is credited as a pioneer of the magic realism genre. It is characterized by fantastical events that happen unexpectedly and without reason, leaving the reader with more questions than answers. The form encourages us to pick up, hold, and observe the unknown - an apsect that has informed the composition of this piece. Commissioned by Marco Wong.