Edmund Scott Miller, composer

musicmiller.com


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Nocturne – for solo piano

This work is my first significant composition for solo piano. Completed late in 2013, it was premiered by the incredible Choo Choo Hu at the Peabody Conservatory on 5 February 2014. This is the live recording from that premier in Griswold Hall. I am so grateful to Choo Choo for the time she spent on this virtuosic piece! Thank you!

Program note:

“Nocturne” began as a short compositional étude but it grew quickly into something far more substantial. Over the course of about 10 minutes, this virtuosic work assembles and explores melodic and harmonic motives in hopes of creating an expansive musical space.

Scott A Miller II – Nocturne for piano -Score


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Writing Randall’s Leaf, II: The Expressive-Object

This summer I’ll be posting some thoughts and observations on what I’ve learned from writing Randall’s Leaf, a 38 minute chamber opera in one act. The second installment investigates what makes opera opera.

In this post I’d like to discuss some ideas concerning text and development in Randall’s Leaf. My main goal concerning this topic is establishing relationships between text via what I’ve loosely termed ‘musical equivalence:’ different texts set to the same music become inextricably linked. In order to explain how such a seemingly unsophisticated procedure can generate interesting and useful results, I’d like to discuss an example from the opera.

One of the most distinctive motives presented in the Prologue is the setting of the line ‘his paintings were too large for his skill.’ The soprano and mezzo sing slightly different versions of the motive to clearly distinguish their characters, but the sympathetic mezzo’s easy-flowing pentuplet version is the more discrete (and, for me, definitive) version. During the first scene the mezzo sings to Randall the line ‘not satisfactory at all’ in reference to his neighbor Becket’s damaged roof. The text is set to the inversion of the motive from ‘his paintings were too large for his skill,’ creating a thread between the more abstract world of Randall’s artwork, where the prologue is (ambiguously) set, and the ‘real world’ full of inconvenient duties and responsibilities. This thread continues into the final scene, where the initial motive ‘paintings were too large…’ is used to set Randall’s line, ‘I need help and advice.’ This musical recapitulation (I consider the Prologue to be musically expository as well as dramatically so; see my post on ‘extra-dramatic form’) is reinforced by a dramatic resolution: Randall has learned that in order for his vision to become a reality, he must have Becket’s help. In opera, the text and music form a single unit; what, at the local level, may be called an expressive-object. Just as a purely musical object can be tweaked, manipulated, and contorted for dramatic and/or developmental purposes, an operatic expressive-object can be altered for the same purposes. Typical musical procedures can be applied to staggering effect, of course, but so can textual and contextual variations. In this case, the text is one parameter that is changed, making the expressive-object obviously different, yet recognizable. More subtle alterations have also occurred: the context of the musical material is appreciably different since Randall delivers the line. And it is the first time he sings that music. He was the subject of the idea when it was first presented (‘his paintings…’), but now he is instituting the development of the idea himself (‘I need…’), which places him in control. 

The idea of ‘musical equivalence’ is actually just part of this larger idea of an ‘expressive object.’ I think of this concept as simply added elements into the mix. In other words text or context or a key visual component can all be weighted equally with musical components such as melody, rhythm, harmony, timbre. That isn’t to say that every element is important all the time, of course. Certain elements can be brought to the fore, or pushed into the background just as a musical passage may concern itself chiefly with a specific element. I find the expressive possibilities are vast when all of these components are treated as equals, to be manipulated and shuffled around in importance. In writing Randall’s Leaf, this approach freed me to explore the potentials of instrumental musical development in a dramatic form without bowing to the text. My view for this chamber opera was that keeping musical and non-musical elements as equals, I wasn’t forced into anything. Just like I could have a passage of music that was all about rhythm and essentially ignores melody, I could write an operatic vocal passage that is primarily about harmony, moving the focus away from the text, where it would typically be centered. I also want to make clear that my intention is never to sacrifice the intelligibility of the libretto! It is true that at its essence, opera is the elevation of text, but my goal is to reconcile drama as musical form. I think of music dramatically to begin with. In this sense, I would define drama as a series of interactions and relationships. I see this as being very distinct from a programmatic, cinematic, or narrative mode of conceiving musical form. Like so many others before me, I believe the key to dramatically and musically engaging opera is equality between all elements, musical or not. I also believe, however, that by taking steps to ensure a powerful musical form is in communication with the elements of storytelling like plot, setting, characterization, theme, etc., that this new layer of dramatic/expressive complexity will make every part of the opera essential.


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Writing Randall’s Leaf, I: Libretto and Form

This summer I’ll be posting some thoughts and observations on what I’ve learned from writing Randall’s Leaf, a 38 minute chamber opera in one act. The first installment takes a look at how the very beginning of the process shaped the final product. 

I began the process of writing my first chamber opera, Randall’s Leaf, by writing the libretto. I chose this route for convenience among other reasons, but I wanted to put down some thoughts about how it shaped the project as a whole. In attempting to maintain a constant sense of narrative, I was thinking about how the drama was to unfold visually and musically. One of my struggles was imagining the pace of the words differently in speech and singing. In general, I had an approximate aesthetic or emotion in mind, but it was difficult to remember that I was writing for opera, not a stage play. My libretto is often very conversational and almost always involves multiple characters on stage at once. Rarely are traditional operatic forms, like recitative and aria, referenced and there is certainly never anything as strict as a da capo aria. While this type of libretto often proved difficult to set to music effectively, I think it contributes to the large scale dramatic progression of the composition in a positive way.

Most of the singing lives somewhere between traditional recitative and aria, which means when the music finally opens up, it feels (and sounds, and looks!) like an arrival. The final scene, for example, begins with a brief instrumental interlude followed immediately by the first true aria of the opera: “But this…I remember this slope… I remember this grass!” Randall (baritone) has entered his painting and we finally see this oppressed, depressed man allow himself the luxury of pouring out his intense satisfaction and sheer amazement. In true ‘aria’ fashion, the narrative is allowed to rest, put on pause as the main character sings his heart out. I think that by showing musical restraint and only using this aria effect as a dramatic climax appearing about 28 minutes into a 38 minute work, it provides a meaningful lift from the forward drive of what comes before.

Similarly, in the final scene, Becket (tenor) finally receives his one and only true aria moment. And unlike Randall, this is the first extended period where he gets to sing alone. Becket’s fourth-scene aria serves dramatically as a resolution in the narrative. A brief dialogue between the two provides some necessary explanation, through the only recit-like material in the scene. The music is reduced to an intimate baritone/viola duet which increases in complexity, approaching the climax of a renewed friendship. This climax is expressed to its fullest only after Becket’s aria, when Randall and Becket have a duet (perhaps the closest thing to a real ‘duet,’ as opposed to just simultaneous singing, in the entire chamber opera). Becket’s aria therefore, functions in two ways: it is a musical and dramatic release which concludes Becket’s dynamic shift as a relatable character, while also providing an important impetus for the continued forward motion of the drama. With these two arias strung together, I ran the risk of providing too much ‘release’ and not enough ‘conflict’ to motivate the plot. Dramatically, there is very little left to settle, but more remains to be said, and it must be stated effectively. By capitalizing on the suspense musically and formally, the final dramatic message can be delivered meaningfully. and with the same sense of inevitability as the earlier narrative-driven opera.

Understanding this interaction between dramatic narrative and music was one of the goals I set for myself at the beginning of this project. I’ve found that by creating the libretto myself I was obliged to consider a unique perspective that is easily lost or overlooked. Writing my own libretto also forced me to solve dramatic problems musically, filling in gaps and propelling the story. Reflecting on the project, I’m happy with the way the libretto helped cast the final shape of the music both formally and dramatically, and I would recommend this approach to any composer. When the time comes for my next operatic project I will have finer tools to create another libretto myself. But just as importantly, I am in a position to collaborate effectively with a librettist, something I hope to do a lot of in the future.

 


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Semantics is for Poets

This is a piece that was composed last fall for a reading session with the amazing quartet loadbang (baritone voice, trumpet, clarinet/bass clarinet, trombone). They were gracious enough to give their time and talent towards a reading session with a handful of student works at SUNY Fredonia. Loadbang was brought in by Ethos New Music Society, and besides the reading session and an amazing concert, Jeff Gavett and Will Lang each gave a lecture/masterclass. The residency was very will received! I was really inspired by the ensemble’s strange instrumentation and experimental repertoire. It struck me that this was a perfect opportunity to experiment with some aleatoric ideas that I had been interested in for a long time. Pulling from various sources including Lutosławski, Cage, and Earle Brown, my concept was to create a fluid texture in the ensemble, over which the singer could present some lines of text… what text?

On that front, I was actually inspired by a course I was taking at the time called History of the English Language (affectionately known by its acronym-cum-epithet, HEL). I was struck by the absurdity that I found to be inherent in using elevated language to describe the most basic elements of its construction. I considered myself to be a very good speaker of the English language even before knowing, for example, what an allomorph is, or what morphophonolgy is for, or the difference between phonology and phonetics. I was intrigued by the idea of using a text that was essentially anti-poetry (à la Part III of Louis Andriessen’s De Materie) and thought about using definitions of various linguistic terms or particularly dry excerpts from some of my textbooks. But nothing seemed satisfactory. Finally a sarcastic line that I used to end a discussion-forum post for the class stuck with me and seemed to capture the notion of using ‘anti-poetry’: “semantics is for poets.” So I ran with that and eventually came up with these lines: “All language is systematic; syntax is for scientists; semantics is for sculptors; syntax is for scholars; semantics is for poets; all languages change.” The score indicates the inflection for the delivery of the text but there is not pitch, allowing for a clear, declamatory delivery.

Besides the aleatoric ‘box’ notation and the original text (a first for me) I also got to experiment with a third thing: deconstructing the phonemes (not phonetics!) of the words and developing them in an essentially musical way. This has been a long-standing desire of mine, and the aesthetic worked perfectly in the sound-world I was trying to create. The main challenge in this piece was creating a convincing form even while relinquishing so much control to the performers. The text helped significantly in this regard, as a way to help structure the musical ideas to fit the delivery of the text. But the musical material is organized to create a logical progression as well.  Here is an amazing group of performers from Fredonia performing the piece in concert! Michael Manganiello, voice; Omar Ore-Quinones, bass clarinet and clarinet; Gianluca Farina, trumpet; and Peter Isaac, trombone. Recording is courtesy of Tim Bausch.

Score: ScottAMillerII-Semantics is for Poets – Please contact me if you’re interested in performing the piece!


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Sonata in D — for double bass and piano

Performed by Buddy Griffith on double bass and John Bailey on piano.

Program Note:

The Sonata in D for Double Bass and Piano is a single movement Sonata Allegro form that works to juxtapose simplistic, diatonic, chant-like music with dense, chromatic, ‘romantic’ music. Both themes emerge from an initial stasis into immediate contrapuntal conflict. Neither side is given quite enough room in the exposition, but representative key centers of D and A-flat are established for the chant and romantic themes, respectively. The development features a rapid shifting of ideas as the two concepts influence one another harmonically, temporally, and motivically. The recapitulation features the themes in reverse order, suggesting a triumph of the romantic theme which is finally presented in full. But then the chant theme returns unadorned, emerging seemingly unscathed by the conflict or by its nemesis’ poignant assertion. A brief coda refuses to confirm either, or maybe it validates both.