Polaris
Firefly Music
for trumpet, vibraphone, temple blocks, spoken word, and dance
A Note From The Composer
The inspiration for this piece presented itself during the Spring of 2012, when I was fortunate enough to be outside one afternoon, watching as serene light befell a lush field of green and the sun slowly made its way to retire.
It was a fitting prelude to Polaris, a piece representative of the summer evening. Being this type of portrayal, Polaris was titled after the first star that shines after dark. I have often felt the night to be musically inviting, a time that seems to surround us as the moon sets the greenery aglow and fireflies court the stars. And, I feel that these particular instruments are uniquely qualified to present such an atmosphere, each part representing a scenic element.
The piece opens with a poem, spoken in the absence of light to allow the mind to rest into the visualization of summer. Mirroring this poetic setting, the sound of bowed vibraphone is meant to create a feeling of stillness as it breathes attention onto the stage. The vibraphone is unrelated to the cricket like sounds of temple blocks, but serves as a forward to the encompassing nature of evening, slow and subtle in its approach.
Likewise, the choreography is similarly subdued. The dance was written to allow the eye to focus on the play of light against the movement of the costume, reminiscent of evening fireflies. Created for a specific lighting scheme, the choreography has an ethereal quality. Small firefly-like lights suspended in mid air illuminate the vast waves of the sequined costume, while a blue spotlight shines on the dancer like the distant moon, slowly suspending the eye as continuous turns venture the light across the hall.
Soloistic in nature, the trumpet part was written to create a character very different from the gallant instrument so often portrayed. The trumpet lines of Polaris are long and luxurious, with a dynamic arc akin to that of a sustained vocal line. It was written not as the traditional trumpet fanfare, but as an appreciation of stillness. Polaris is a song sung in solitude, beneath skies that stretch into a universe above. And, as night seems to fade slowly into the light of morning, so too does the trumpet sing slowly into the conclusion of the piece, offering a gentle and solitary resignation to the dawn.
Perhaps the intoxicating atmosphere of evening is destined to be unrivaled, but it strikes me that the very same traits which enchant a beautiful evening are also the determining factors of artistic appeal. Diverse colors, sounds and indefinable human reaction create a whole, which is immensely dependent on the slightest of its parts. Likewise, that cosmic sea we call the night sky would leave us wanting without the intermingling of delicate fireflies far beneath its stars. My intent in writing Polaris was that the mind might drift past the tactile restraints of the concert hall to this spacious place of cool night air, into the rule of imagination and into a scope of untamed color.
It was a fitting prelude to Polaris, a piece representative of the summer evening. Being this type of portrayal, Polaris was titled after the first star that shines after dark. I have often felt the night to be musically inviting, a time that seems to surround us as the moon sets the greenery aglow and fireflies court the stars. And, I feel that these particular instruments are uniquely qualified to present such an atmosphere, each part representing a scenic element.
The piece opens with a poem, spoken in the absence of light to allow the mind to rest into the visualization of summer. Mirroring this poetic setting, the sound of bowed vibraphone is meant to create a feeling of stillness as it breathes attention onto the stage. The vibraphone is unrelated to the cricket like sounds of temple blocks, but serves as a forward to the encompassing nature of evening, slow and subtle in its approach.
Likewise, the choreography is similarly subdued. The dance was written to allow the eye to focus on the play of light against the movement of the costume, reminiscent of evening fireflies. Created for a specific lighting scheme, the choreography has an ethereal quality. Small firefly-like lights suspended in mid air illuminate the vast waves of the sequined costume, while a blue spotlight shines on the dancer like the distant moon, slowly suspending the eye as continuous turns venture the light across the hall.
Soloistic in nature, the trumpet part was written to create a character very different from the gallant instrument so often portrayed. The trumpet lines of Polaris are long and luxurious, with a dynamic arc akin to that of a sustained vocal line. It was written not as the traditional trumpet fanfare, but as an appreciation of stillness. Polaris is a song sung in solitude, beneath skies that stretch into a universe above. And, as night seems to fade slowly into the light of morning, so too does the trumpet sing slowly into the conclusion of the piece, offering a gentle and solitary resignation to the dawn.
Perhaps the intoxicating atmosphere of evening is destined to be unrivaled, but it strikes me that the very same traits which enchant a beautiful evening are also the determining factors of artistic appeal. Diverse colors, sounds and indefinable human reaction create a whole, which is immensely dependent on the slightest of its parts. Likewise, that cosmic sea we call the night sky would leave us wanting without the intermingling of delicate fireflies far beneath its stars. My intent in writing Polaris was that the mind might drift past the tactile restraints of the concert hall to this spacious place of cool night air, into the rule of imagination and into a scope of untamed color.
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Performers: Eric Berg (sop. sax), Ed Cunneen (vibes) and Eric Retterer (graduated wood blocks)
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