Today we hear Kevin’s second from the top favorite, “Autumn” with words by Thomas Hood. Michele Baroody is the soloist.
He also shares with us this description of his composing process:
“I like to think of it as very organic. I try to give my creativity time to breathe and have had few experiences in my life where I was under such pressure to write that it felt forced and unnatural. A few general guidelines (perhaps unwritten) about my compositions is the strength of the melody and the constant self-awareness of development. I prefer to stay close to my original ideas throughout a piece and enjoy the crafting of repetition with variation. I enjoy calculated dissonances, especially on text stresses and often use 2nds, 4ths and 7ths to color my music with appropriate harmonizations. I also enjoy writing underlying rhythmic devices which serve as a complimentary underscore to the momentum of the piece. I have a slight aptitude for synesthesia, and I often prefer certain keys based on the color mood that I am trying to write. I’ve always considered the publishing of my choral music as a blessing. I have made great friendships in this field and am privileged to have the Consort Chorale share in the joy of music making!”
| Quiz of the Day What was Kevin’s favorite performance by Consort of one of his pieces? (Answer tomorrow) |
Alone, alone, upon a mossy stone,
she sits and reckons up the dead and gone
with the last leaves for a rosary, a love rosary.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn
stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence,
for no lonely bird would sing
into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;
shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
with tangled gossamer that fell by night,
pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Where are the songs of Summer?
With the sun opening the eyelids of the south,
till shade and silence waken up as one,
and morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
0 go and sit with her, and be o’ershaded
under the languid downfall of her hair!
She wears a crown of flowers faded
upon her forehead, and a face of care;
there is enough of wither’d everywhere
There is enough of sorrowing!
Where are the songs of summer?
With the sun oping the eyelids of the south,
oh where are the songs of summer?
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
and morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn. Summer.