Program Notes:

Pyra” is an ancient greek word for burning fire. It can also mean funeral pyre. The idea behind this piece is a mix of things: the life cycle of a forest fire, the rise and fall of a phoenix from the ashes, and the rebirth of identity as we move through life. These three concepts together shape the storyline of the material in the piece. The beginning starts out somber and slow. Like grief, it is heavy, lonely, and sometimes flickers with a brighter, harsher moment that stands out. Solo and chamber lines represent the flickering of memories, or flames, with woodwind flurries on top and percussion and brass to fill out the texture. This builds into a section where I imagined how breathing onto sparks and watching them glow brighter. This is represented in the brass, with half and whole notes that crescendo and decrescendo, topped off with an answer from the woodwinds like sparks coming up into the air. We are headed to a wild firestorm in this section, with tension slowly building as more instruments come in, sometimes punctuated and uncertain, sometimes glowing with sounds and direction. The “Firestorm” section is marked by a key change into Gb Major (although not consistently). Christian Schubart’s definition of Gb is as follows: “triumph over difficulty, free sigh of relief uttered when hurdles are surmounted; echo of a soul which has fiercely struggled and finally conquered”. The section is chaotic and roaring, all the uncertainty pour out throughout the ensemble. But, after the damage, there is a proud melody that soars over all the movement, representing both the beauty and the power of fire and change. This section builds until a grand climax and a harsh cutoff.

The piece continues with lots of silence, instruments coming in like leaves popping through the dark soil. What was destroyed can be reborn again, with the similar motives reappearing. A mourning saxophone solo comes in, eventually joined by its family in a quartet. I think of this moment like calling through fog to one another, weaving in and out. More voices join the quartet and movement and growth begins once more.

There is a final warm and glorified moment with all instruments, though not nearly as loud as before, before coming down to hear the flutes in an endless flow of 16th note patterns. This reminds me of a river of time, always flowing onwards. The flutes eventually slow and end their moment into held out notes in the low register, for a final oboe solo. The story ends with both peace, grief, and hope. I find that these things cannot be without each other in such moments.