David Biedenbender

Composer

saxophone

Feed

Program Note:

The idea for Feed came to me after reading a book called The Shallows by Nicholas Carr. The Shallows is an examination of the intellectual and cultural impact of the Internet, ranging from broad cultural critique to scientific analysis of its effects on our daily interactions and cognitive abilities. Carr makes use of many anecdotes and quotations to illustrate his ideas, and I found several of them to be quite apt. In his Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot delves into the chaos and fragmented experience of the modern world, and his line “distracted from distraction by distraction” became the catalyst for my creative process in this piece. As an artist, my life is centered around creating. For me, the Internet, despite its incredible power as a tool for collaboration, connection, and creation, is first and foremost an infinite source of distraction. It is an information feeding trough, and, as such, through its extraordinary potential to crowd out the thoughts in my head, it is often antithetical to my life as a creator and to my attempt to live in the moment. I think of Feed like a very short opera with one character played by two people. The high soprano is the main character, while the low soprano sings and speaks the thoughts inside her head.

1. “Distracted from distraction by distraction.” –T.S. Eliot from Four Quartets

The text for this movement was taken entirely from my Facebook News Feed. I have removed all personal identifiers from the text for two reasons: to protect the identity of my online friends, but also, more importantly, to amplify that our interactions through this medium often become anonymous and superficial. I increasingly find it rare for my life on social media to feel real. There is a numbness that develops as I scroll, supposedly viewing or sharing some aspect of my life with thousands of people, some of whom are good friends and others that are merely virtual acquaintances. Furthermore, I have realized that my News Feed has become an eternal source of distraction. I rarely find myself bored anymore, forfeiting the opportunity to be in the moment—to be present, to observe, to listen, to daydream—at every turn—on the bus, at meals, in waiting rooms—for quick hits of screen-induced dopamine. The feeling can be numbing and depressing as I feel increasingly disconnected from things that are real; of course, it can also be jarring, disturbing, and completely overwhelming.



2. “To be everywhere is to be nowhere.” –Seneca, 1st-century Roman philosopher, from Letters from a Stoic

The Internet offers me a window into a plethora of times, places, and spaces, and yet I am not actually in any of those places. Although Seneca was referring to life in a very different time and place, I find his idea to be perhaps truer than it has ever been: “to be everywhere is to be nowhere.”



3. Time

Despite the strange disconnect between life online and reality, there many ways in which what happens in the online world is very real or can have very real consequences. This disconnect also changes my own perception of time—I think about how the many times that I have allowed hours to pass while mindlessly exploring cyberspace and only occasionally checking in with the present.



4. Fall: Rewind: Still.

I find it paradoxical that the Internet has transformed my life in such profound and positive ways—I can connect with people, ideas, cultures, music, and art from around the world; I have instant access to an unprecedented amount of information; and, as a species, we can share and disseminate important, interesting, even live-saving, information, research, and technology instantly—and yet my interaction with this technology often leaves me feeling empty. The feeling is disorienting, even maddening, and I often wonder what I forfeit for this “progress.” One of my most pressing daily challenges has become finding silence and peace amidst this noise—to listen and to be still. The piece ends with the only intentionally coherent text in the piece, a setting of a short poem I wrote in response to one particularly poignant line in T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets: “The still point of the turning world.”

time moves slowly and quickly.
an eddy at river’s edge
nestled under shade of white alder

cloud strata swirling above open fields
as wind turns leaves upside down

stars move away as light moves toward
through this forward facing telescope of time

and here. here. the still point of the turning world.

Detroit Steel

Joseph Lulloff, alto saxophone

Program Note:

This version of Detroit Steel for alto saxophone is for Joseph Lulloff. The original version of Detroit Steel for solo flute was commissioned by Ashley Stanley for her Hustle Harder commissioning project. She writes:

The mission of this Hustle Harder is to help give a voice to Michigan culture by featuring the unique perspectives and experiences of six composers, who all have some strong connection to the state. I conceived this project idea because I grew up in Metro Detroit and lived in both Grand Rapids and Ann Arbor, I have seen a great deal of diversity, artistic growth, economic fluctuation, beautiful natural landscapes and huge shifts in cultural norms. I understand the rich histories; I have walked across the Mackinaw Bridge, rolled down the Sleeping Bear Dunes, swam in all of the great lakes and been to Grand Rapids’ Art Prize. I grew up watching the University of Michigan football team religiously and sat at the dinner table while my grandparents told stories about growing up in the Italian District of Detroit. There are so many important stories to tell that can serve as an artistic reflection of what is happening here in the state of Michigan and my mission is to help share them.

The idea for this project initially came about during the financial collapse of the automotive industry. As with most political matters, Detroit’s economic affairs became grounds for public discussion. It amazed me at how uniformed people were, and had to sit back and hear the general public say things like “Let Detroit fail, it is a useless city anyways” and talking about how “my tax dollars shouldn’t be spent paying all of the lazy people in Detroit’s unemployment and bailing out these failing automotive institutions.” From the time I was 10 years old until I turned 22, my parents were constantly in and out of work and on unemployment. Institutions were cutting jobs, outsourcing jobs, and forcing people into a retirement they couldn’t afford to take. Every other house on my street was selling for desperate costs or being foreclosed on, every person I knew had a family member who couldn’t find work, and everybody was struggling to make ends meet on a domestic level. I am so proud to be from Detroit and am exited about the massive growth both economically and artistically that is flourishing from the city today. To hear so many people talking negatively about my home city without understanding any of the context was (and still is) upsetting.


Detroit Steel is about the grit, strength, and resolve of the people of Detroit.

Refraction

Akropolis Reed Quintet

Program Note:

Refraction was commissioned by the Akropolis Reed Quintet. Refraction is split into three distinct movements, each inspired by different musical sources that have been bent and distorted by time, space, and my imagination, much like light is bent as it enters a medium of different density. The first movement comes from a short, ridiculous, and awesome YouTube video called “Death Metal Chicken,” which features a chicken screaming over a death metal band (of course!). The second movement is called “Kyrie” and is dedicated to Guillaume de Machaut and Arvo Pärt. The third movement is called “Goat Rodeo” and is a strange mash-up of dubstep, funk, and musical pointillism, inspired by a goat rodeo, which is a slang term for a chaotic situation, often one that involves several people, each with a different agenda/vision/perception of what’s going on; a situation that is very difficult, despite energy and efforts, in which to instill any sense or order.

Schism

Robert Carnochan & the University of Texas at Austin Wind Symphony

Program Note:
Schism is about divisions. I wrote Schism in 2010 in the midst of the turbulent national mid-term elections, a time that, in the context of more recent political turmoil, actually seems quite tame. I was overwhelmingly frustrated by the sophomoric mud-slinging and ridiculous lies being told by many politicians and the variously allied media, but I was also somewhat amused by what was nothing short of a nationwide goat rodeo*. Much of the musical material is transcribed almost note for note from an improvisation I played on the piano and recorded in the early stages of sketching the piece. I remember being interested in combining the pointillism of Anton Webern’s music with a bluesy rock groove, so much of the piece is based on a single, simple, eighth note based, divided melodic line that jumps around the piano in very large leaps. I think of the musical affect as similar to the compound melodies in J.S. Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suites, where a single melodic line is perceptually transformed through large leaps into multiple voices, though, in the end, I used the ensemble to actually hold out the notes the piano could not to add color, character, and attitude to the independent voices. I also wanted to play with the notion of groove by dividing it in unusual and unexpected ways, almost like running a few of the licks and grooves through a meat grinder.

Schism was originally written for the chamber orchestra Alarm Will Sound. This version for winds and percussion was commissioned by a consortium of ensembles led by Robert Carnochan and the University of Texas at Austin Wind Symphony as well as Michael Haithcock, University of Michigan; Chris Knighten, University of Arkansas; Steven D. Davis, University of Missouri–Kansas City Conservatory of Music.

*A goat rodeo is a slang term for a chaotic situation, often one that involves several people, each with a different agenda/vision/perception of what’s going on; a situation that is very difficult, despite energy and efforts, in which to instill any sense or order.

Walking on the Ceiling

Timothy McAllister, saxophone & Liz Ames, piano

Program Note:

Walking on the Ceiling was commissioned by the Mikula Family as a college graduation present for Connor James Mikula. I remember approaching graduation myself, and though my family and friends were very supportive, it was the first time I felt like my decisions had important, real-life consequences. I felt pressure to do something great with my life—to get a job, to figure things out, and to apply the things I learned during my education. I remember feeling overwhelmed. I wanted to strike out on my own and to defy everyone’s expectations—to do something with my life that even I wasn’t sure I could do—to defy gravity. I had this image in my mind of doing the impossible, of walking on the ceiling. The three movements are titled heavy, float, and run. The first movement is groovy and funky, a quirky kind of swagger; the second is slow and reflective, a lullaby to my 18-month old son, Izaak, who is doing amazing new things everyday; and the last movement starts slowly but churns and bubbles until it is blazing and vibrant.

Ampersand

Program Note:

Ampersand was commissioned by and written for Brendan Faegre and The Edge Ensemble. The score contains improvisation and is designed for performers that are equally adept in the worlds of notated music and improvised music. The ampersand has a long and interesting history and etymology, but my inspiration for this piece comes from its use in writing credits, such as film and television scripts, videogames, and documentaries, where an ampersand [&] indicates a closer collaboration than “and.” The Writers Guild of America uses the ampersand to denote two writers collaborating on a specific script, rather than one writer rewriting another’s work, and in screenplays two authors joined with “&” collaborated on the script, while two authors joined with “and” worked on the script at different times and may not have consulted each other at all. Ampersand combines and blurs the lines between specifically notated musical material and improvised material, and, for me, the title acknowledges the remarkable creative contribution of the Edge Ensemble in bringing this music to life.

Staying the Night

Instrumentation:

Version 1 (original): Flute & Clarinet

Version 2: Soprano Saxophone & Alto Saxophone

Version 3: Flute & Alto Saxophone

Version 4: Soprano Saxophone & Clarinet

Program Note:
Staying the Night was commissioned by the Crescent Duo and Central Michigan University and is a collaborative project with poet Robert Fanning, whose poem should always precede this piece in performance in recorded form (recording available through the composer). Robert’s beautiful words served as the stimulus for this music, and I am deeply indebted to him for his work, without which this piece could not exist.

STAYING THE NIGHT

By Robert Fanning

I want to touch everything she touched
yesterday: my fingers lingering on her shelves
and counter. I flip through the paperback
left half-read on the nightstand, inhale
the crumpled yellow hand towel near her
bathroom sink, breathe in the dust and dander
of her apartment air. My wife sifts a pile
of unpaid bills, lifts a framed photo, reads
an inscription on a birthday card. This home’s
a sudden museum. From the living room,
I hear our daughter knock a glass thing over
and giggle. I move to save the breakables from wreckage
then remember: nothing can now be ruined.
We’re the guests of someone gone.
From a stack of papers, I pull some brief note
she wrote, marvel at her slight, precise lettering.
On her fridge shelf, a tub of leftover spaghetti,
an unfinished sandwich. In a drawer the perishables
sweat: a new head of lettuce, a few pieces of fresh fruit.
I choose to eat the peach she chose from the grocery’s
produce rows, not knowing it would outlive her.
Later, before going to sleep in her bed, I see
a still life next to the kitchen sink: one white bowl
upside down, one fork, one knife, and beside the faucet
her unwashed drinking glass. Lifting the glass, I hope
to see her lipstick’s usual pink wedge, scour for
a fingerprint, some smudge. I fill it half-full
with water, cover the rim with my lips,
turn it in a circle, slowly. This is how
I kiss my sister goodbye.

The version for saxophone was commissioned by Taimur Sullivan and Zach Shemon.

For performers: download the audio recording of the poem.

Cerulean

Excerpts from Ex Machina | Sinta Quartet

Program Note:

Cerulean was inspired by my son Izaak. From the moment he was born, he was extraordinarily curious and inquisitive. He often looked around the room, searching for interesting objects, enthusiastically turning his head, and opening his big, beautiful blue eyes wide to get a better view of the world around him. He also loved (and still loves) to find and follow interesting sounds, including the sirens of passing fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. In the first movement, Sirens, I imagined waves of sound approaching and then departing in slow motion, like some strange police siren heard through a baby’s distorted sense of time. The second movement is a simple lullaby. Rather than sing the same lullaby for him each night, I often found myself humming long, repetitive, improvised phrases that eventually, over the course of rocking him to sleep, coalesced into a more coherent melody. The movement begins with soft, hushed waves—different waves than the first movement. These waves eventually transform into something more ecstatic, as I imagine him making the transition from consciousness to the exciting, magical place of a baby’s dreams. Finally, I find the tune for which I was searching, played by the soprano saxophone and accompanied by a hymn-like chorale played by the rest of the quartet that has been slightly distorted, as if the sound has been refracted through the flickering flame of a candle that is warmly illuminating Izaak’s room as he sleeps. The final movement, Goof Groove, is inspired by this goofy dance he liked to do in our living room. As a baby, he would sit and awkwardly bob his torso back and forth in a peculiar meter while singing his own crazy, lilting tune; however, as he got older and learned to walk, he began to run and spin in circles, dancing and singing silly songs. I imagined the goofy bobbing of his infancy transforming into the spinning circular dancing he now does at four years old, eventually spinning out of control, finally arriving in a tired, happy, dizzy heap on the floor.

____________________

The first and second movements were written in 2014. They were revised and the third movement was added in 2017. The premiere of the complete work was at the Schneider Concert Series at the New School, New York City on January 7, 2018.

Hear all of Cerulean on the Sinta Quartet‘s album Ex Machina.

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