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As soon as the jet lag from London passed, I sat down to write my first composed musical work in three years.  I pulled out a small folding table and placed it on the right side of my piano, readied my pencils, erasers, and manuscript paper, and I began to write.  The first day didn’t merit much material, but I worked out the structure around the following text:

De profundis clamavi ad te Domine:
Domine exaudi vocem meam.

Translation:
Out of the depths I have cried to thee, O Lord:
Lord, hear my voice.

Six days later, I held in my hands a complete work for a cappella mixed chorus, 7 minutes in duration, 135 measures in length.  It’s a good work, I’m proud of it, and I can’t wait for it to be performed.

“De Profundis” is the first movement of what is to become a three movement work for chorus.  The theme of the piece is death, and each movement deals with the notion of death differently. I haven’t decided what the general title will be, but I’m playing with a few ideas.

I use the text of the “De Profundis” to depict the moment when the soul realizes it is still housed in the temporal existence of the body, separated from God by finite walls of flesh and bone.  As the body perishes, the soul cries out to God, not unlike a child disoriented by the absence of his/her parents.  This is a moment of intense anxiety, restlessness, and agony, and yet, the music suggests hope in the midst of despair.

The second and third movements, “In Manus Tuas” and “In Pace,” will consecutively brighten up as the soul places more and more trust in God, and accepts mortality as a natural consequence of living.  When these are complete, I’ll post their details on my blog.

Since yesterday, I’ve spent about 15 hours writing “In Pace,” got about half-way through the piece, and concluded moments ago that what I’ve written does not work.  I wrote a melody spun through canons and double canons, I even got inversions, retrograde inversions, and augmentations to work. Everything was working harmonically well, but there was something about the pacing of the original idea that bugged me, and the melody was too trite and simple for the greater work.  I’ll be starting from scratch again tomorrow.

The reason I am writing an extensive choral work on the subject of death is because my grandfather passed away in August 2007, and his life was and is such an inspiration to me that I have felt the need to dedicate a substantial work in his memory.

As soon as I finish the remaining two movements, I’m moving onto an orchestral work, which will be written for the annual Jim Highsmith Competition hosted by the SF Conservatory of Music, among other competitions I hope to enter.

Further updates coming soon!

The plane landed in London just before 7am after a 10 hour flight from San Francisco. The chaperones, kids, and adult guests were wiped, but our arrival was just the beginning of the first day in the rich city. As we transitioned from customs to baggage, we were greeted by our guides, Heidi and Kristel.

They shuffled us onto a double-decker bus that would become increasingly familiar as our days in London forged on. We passed by many famous sites: Big Ben, the London Eye, and the Tower Bridge to name a few. Kids scrambled to take pictures through the glass panes of the bus, many of whom discovered that the reflection of the flash and the momentum of the bus distorted the image.

We stopped at St. Paul’s Cathedral for a lesson in grandiosity and then Westminster Abbey for some history. Both edifices stand as integral symbols for the cultural and institutional life of England. The Abbey, formerly a Catholic institution, claims victory over the Roman church as it has stood as an enduring pillar of Anglican tradition for over 400 years. It is also a royal chapel designated for the consecration of kings and queens. St. Paul’s Cathedral houses the largest dome in all of England, and its sheer size suggests its role as “mother church” for Anglicans, rivaling, though not matching, the size of St. Peter’s in Rome.

This first day matched the rest of our days in London: wake up, journey, see something fascinating and drenched in history. Highlights include a day-trip to Stratford-upon-Avon, the British Museum, Mass at Westminster Cathedral, the London Wall, a cruise on the River Thames, Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, the Tower of London, and a brief glimpse of Buckingham Palace.

The people of London are hardly as rude and judgmental as prejudice might have it. My overall impression of them is they are polite, kind, generous, and accommodating. Yet, they’re always in a hurry, and if you stand in their way, which a group of 70 American tourists tends to do, then they get pissed and curse you beneath their breath. I’ve had worse experiences with New Yorkers.

Londoners are also very stylish and care about fashion and their appearance. San Francisco is the land of frumpy fashion and hygienic negligence, so I found this particular feature of London lifestyle refreshing, and I am now inspired to work on my own wardrobe.

Most impressive, in my estimation, is the English sense of preservation and pride. They have worked very hard to maintain countless ancient relics, which symbolize the endurance of their established civilization. And this, of course, is motivated by the pride they must contain for having survived centuries of sunrises and sunsets, victories and defeats, times of health and of plague.

“When you leave the United States and travel to a foreign land, you appreciate more thoroughly the lifestyle and freedoms you are granted as an American citizen upon your return.” I don’t remember who told me this or where this comes from, but I suspect most Americans have heard something like this at some point in their lives. I’m not sure this phrase is necessarily true. I left London envying the people who get to live there, the people who have existed there for centuries and are authentically connected to the rich history of England, the high standard of living Londoners have made for themselves. I sit here typing, humbled.

It’s no wonder, England is the U.S.’s motherland, and we owe so much of who we are to the brilliance and wisdom of England. And even though every child seeks independence from its parents, no matter which stage or age one may be, mother always seems wiser, brighter, and always knows best.

And here I am at home on my 4th day of jet-lag, beginning to more fully understand the blessings of foreign travel. I explored, observed, appreciated, experienced inspiration and humility, evaluated, and reflected. To the people of London, thank you for sharing your beautiful city with me and my group, and I can only hope when you visit San Francisco, that your time here will be as wonderful as our time was in London.

London beckons, and I am about to respond by making my first transatlantic journey to the ancient city. But before I do, I must share a few quick reflections on recently transpired musical events. London is surely to take over my head-space, so I had better chronicle these moments of great musicking, and quickly.

A good friend of mine also happens to be a good friend of the young (yet legendary) jazz pianist, Taylor Eigsti. On Thursday of last week, he invited me to check out one of Eigsti’s performances at San Francisco’s Yoshi’s jazz club. Simply put: I was blown away. Eigsti is a musical genius, a technical wizard, a master of improvisation, and an innovator of form and design. He seamlessly blends style and technique, ranging from standard jazz to classical to pop - and never one at a time. The simultaneity of such elements establishes Eigsti’s work as one of original 21st Century inspiration. He is a true product of his own time, and a unique voice of the most sincere and versatile expression. Eigsti is also incredible to watch, as he does not miss a note while on stage, even if that note isn’t produced by his own fingers.

Then the weekend arrived with concerts performed by Schola Cantorum San Francisco at First Presbyterian Church of San Anselmo, Old Mission San Juan Bautista, and St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco. Luckily, San Francisco Classical Voice formally reviewed the concert at St. Luke’s, which can be found here.

One simple phrase sums up the weekend’s experience: there’s nothing like singing (and singing well) with friends. Though we have always been a tightly knit group, these past two years have forged an inseparable, familial bond, which promises to yield even more spectacular artistic results in the near future.

Uh oh, London is calling . . . I guess I should go now.

Cheers!