My Heart Comes Undone
by Judah Adashi
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Dear Judah, Thank you for the opportunity to speak with you. Sestina – we were at the ACO Carnegie Hall premiere of the work sung by Caroline Shaw. It was fantastic. “Sestina” the poem by Ciara Shuttleworth was written in about ten minutes. How long did it take you to write the music for it? How long did it take to convince Caroline Shaw to sing it? What was going through your mind while at the premiere of it? Thanks for your kind words! It took me about six months to write Sestina. Ciara’s poem was published in The New Yorker in October 2010, and I finished the composition in April 2011. When the Carnegie Hall opportunity arose in 2015, I asked Caroline to help me connect with a couple of singers, only to realize that she herself would be ideal. Caroline doesn’t really conceive of herself as a soloist in this context, in front of an orchestra, but she agreed to sing if she could use a microphone. |
photo by: Britt Olsen-Ecker |
The premiere was a vulnerable experience. Sestina is a spare, intimate song, and it was sharing a program with several pieces that brilliantly showcased the power of the orchestra. The power of Sestina relies primarily on the soloist. Caroline met that challenge not only with her beautiful voice, but with the honesty and feeling behind it. I just tried to be as present in listening to the music as she was in singing it.
amo – the memory of an angelic soul lives on through this marvelous piano piece. Was composing this piece more difficult than any other given the heartbreaking story behind it and your personal connection to it? This is one of the works that speaks of the powers of music to soothe the soul. Any other thoughts you might share with us?
amo was written for my friends Ken and Nora Osowski, who shared only 12 hours with their son, Aaron Michael. I was exploring a simple musical idea at the piano on the night he was born prematurely, and gave the piece to Ken and Nora a year later. The title refers to Aaron’s initials and to the Latin word meaning “I love.” The piece was difficult to write only in the sense that I was trying to do justice to a loss I could hardly imagine. I wanted to create what John Adams calls a “memory space,” in which Aaron’s spirit could live on.
my heart comes undone – mesmerizing music. The program notes say that this work is inspired by Björk’s Unravel, and by Arvo Pärt and there’s also an epigraph by Rainer Maria Rilke. The music was dedicated to your fiancée and frequent collaborator, Lavena Johanson. She plays it beautifully. What was Ms. Johanson’s initial reaction to the completed work? Was this a surprise present or did you discuss the work throughout its completion? Did you anticipate all the great reviews the work has received?
The piece was a surprise for Lavena; I gave it to her on Valentine’s Day 2014. It took a long time, almost two years, for our relationship to materialize - we first met in January 2012, and went on our first date in October 2013, so I wanted to write something for her that captured the patience and longing of that journey (hence the Rilke line: “we don’t accomplish our love in a single year like the flowers do”). A quartet of our friends will be playing my heart comes undone as the processional at our wedding in August. We were thrilled with the warm response to the music, especially when Björk herself tweeted about it!
amo was written for my friends Ken and Nora Osowski, who shared only 12 hours with their son, Aaron Michael. I was exploring a simple musical idea at the piano on the night he was born prematurely, and gave the piece to Ken and Nora a year later. The title refers to Aaron’s initials and to the Latin word meaning “I love.” The piece was difficult to write only in the sense that I was trying to do justice to a loss I could hardly imagine. I wanted to create what John Adams calls a “memory space,” in which Aaron’s spirit could live on.
my heart comes undone – mesmerizing music. The program notes say that this work is inspired by Björk’s Unravel, and by Arvo Pärt and there’s also an epigraph by Rainer Maria Rilke. The music was dedicated to your fiancée and frequent collaborator, Lavena Johanson. She plays it beautifully. What was Ms. Johanson’s initial reaction to the completed work? Was this a surprise present or did you discuss the work throughout its completion? Did you anticipate all the great reviews the work has received?
The piece was a surprise for Lavena; I gave it to her on Valentine’s Day 2014. It took a long time, almost two years, for our relationship to materialize - we first met in January 2012, and went on our first date in October 2013, so I wanted to write something for her that captured the patience and longing of that journey (hence the Rilke line: “we don’t accomplish our love in a single year like the flowers do”). A quartet of our friends will be playing my heart comes undone as the processional at our wedding in August. We were thrilled with the warm response to the music, especially when Björk herself tweeted about it!
Inner City, your own love song to Baltimore. The score contains an epigraph from one of Baltimore's most famous residents, F. Scott Fitzgerald: "I love Baltimore more than I thought - it is so rich with memories... "Who are some of the most memorable characters you've met in Baltimore’s art scene? What is the most exciting time to visit Baltimore for the arts and even for the vibrancy of life on a daily basis?
Baltimore’s most memorable characters aren’t necessarily part of our arts scene, but two distinctive artists that come to mind are Dimitri Reeves, a Michael Jackson impersonator who blasts MJ songs from his truck while dancing on top of it, and Japheth Clark, a street performer whose flugelhorn playing inspired my use of that instrument in Rise.
I don’t think there’s a bad time to visit Baltimore! The music scene is excellent and wide-ranging - hip-hop, electronic music, indie bands, classical music (from early to new), jazz, improvised experimental music, and more - and we have several first-rate theatre companies, museums and galleries. Baltimore is full of artists, thinkers and activists, whose attachment to the city is often central to their creative lives.
Rise - What was it like at the performance knowing that that same morning, a young black man named Freddie Gray died in Baltimore of severe injuries sustained while in police custody? Listening to Rise is a way of dealing with to what seems to be a never ending cycle of heartbreak as a result of so many tragic deaths. What is the most gripping moment associated with a performance of this very compelling piece of music? On a larger scale, what is the role of this music paired with Tameka Cage Conley’s poetry in this fraught moment of our history…
I had only seen a brief mention of Freddie Gray’s death on the morning of April 19, 2015, as I was heading to the premiere of Rise in Washington, DC. I had been describing Rise as a meditation on America’s civil rights journey from Selma to Ferguson and beyond. It quickly became clear that “beyond” was now unfolding in my hometown. Rise wasn’t written about Freddie Gray, but the piece is now inextricably linked with his memory. Tameka and I added his name to the litany of names spoken near the end of the piece, of young black men murdered in America.
I think the function of a piece like Rise is to bear witness. Randi Gloss -- a young black artist and entrepreneur whose “And Counting…” series echoes the list of names at the end of Rise -- speaks of her work as a way to “fight amnesia.” Rise is intended in a similar spirit.
In taking in both the sweep of history and specific recent events, the words and music create a figurative space in which people can mourn, remember, and be moved to action.
Baltimore’s most memorable characters aren’t necessarily part of our arts scene, but two distinctive artists that come to mind are Dimitri Reeves, a Michael Jackson impersonator who blasts MJ songs from his truck while dancing on top of it, and Japheth Clark, a street performer whose flugelhorn playing inspired my use of that instrument in Rise.
I don’t think there’s a bad time to visit Baltimore! The music scene is excellent and wide-ranging - hip-hop, electronic music, indie bands, classical music (from early to new), jazz, improvised experimental music, and more - and we have several first-rate theatre companies, museums and galleries. Baltimore is full of artists, thinkers and activists, whose attachment to the city is often central to their creative lives.
Rise - What was it like at the performance knowing that that same morning, a young black man named Freddie Gray died in Baltimore of severe injuries sustained while in police custody? Listening to Rise is a way of dealing with to what seems to be a never ending cycle of heartbreak as a result of so many tragic deaths. What is the most gripping moment associated with a performance of this very compelling piece of music? On a larger scale, what is the role of this music paired with Tameka Cage Conley’s poetry in this fraught moment of our history…
I had only seen a brief mention of Freddie Gray’s death on the morning of April 19, 2015, as I was heading to the premiere of Rise in Washington, DC. I had been describing Rise as a meditation on America’s civil rights journey from Selma to Ferguson and beyond. It quickly became clear that “beyond” was now unfolding in my hometown. Rise wasn’t written about Freddie Gray, but the piece is now inextricably linked with his memory. Tameka and I added his name to the litany of names spoken near the end of the piece, of young black men murdered in America.
I think the function of a piece like Rise is to bear witness. Randi Gloss -- a young black artist and entrepreneur whose “And Counting…” series echoes the list of names at the end of Rise -- speaks of her work as a way to “fight amnesia.” Rise is intended in a similar spirit.
In taking in both the sweep of history and specific recent events, the words and music create a figurative space in which people can mourn, remember, and be moved to action.
For Rise - All proceeds go directly to the family of Freddie Gray, and will be used to cover medical and burial costs. For my heart comes undone - all proceeds go towards equipment and supplies for student cellists in the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra’s OrchKids program. Beautiful music and acts of kindness on all fronts. Who have served as inspiration for you to be more than a talented composer, to always be in touch with your surroundings and always contribute with relevant results? As an artist, professor, organizer, how do you react to all the attention political debates get and what is your one wish for the developments in the political arena?
When it comes to making art that is engaged with the broader world, my hero is Nina Simone, who asked, “how can you be an artist and not reflect the times”? I admire and have learned from peers in the classical music world, particularly Ted Hearne and David T. Little, and from the writings of New Yorker music critic Alex Ross, who has written of his aim to "approach music not as a self-sufficient sphere but as a way of knowing the world.” We tend to treat great art as transcendent; I’d rather it be transformative, in ways that reverberate beyond the concert hall.
My wish for developments in the political arena is for all of us to take longer views of the issues we face - in particular, physical and emotional violence against people of color, as well as climate change - and to consider our own complicity in making them happen in historic, systemic terms. We live in a highly reactive moment: responses to charged issues are instantaneous, and often driven by fear. My wish is for a culture that engages our collective failures with greater directness, humility, and empathy.
Your connection to poetry is clear in Sestina, Lament, Rise, my heart comes undone and more – has poetry always been a starting point, your inspiration, a perfect companion to your music or was it a singular moment that allowed you to interpret poetry through your music.
Literature in general has always been an impetus to my musical work. I grew up around lots of books, and still surround myself with them. My mother was an actress, who still recites poetry with a very musical sensibility. I find it hard to start a new piece without a guiding concept. Words, even if they aren’t actually going to be spoken or sung, often serve as an important springboard.
You are also the founder and artistic director of Evolution Contemporary Music Series for a decade now. What are some the most unforgettable events you’ve experienced through Evolution Contemporary Music Series? What is the key to the success of Evolution Contemporary Music Series? What is the importance of the ECMS to a city of Baltimore and what is the role of Baltimore in the way of programming choices for ECMS?
I founded the Evolution Series in 2005; I wanted Baltimore to have a concert series focused exclusively on the music of living composers. An event that stands out in my mind is our evening with John Luther Adams in 2013. I interviewed John, and then many of our regularly featured musicians performed his music, with John reading from his writings (most memorably, his essay entitled “Global Warming and Art”) between pieces. I’m proud that the series has made Baltimore a destination for outstanding new music and musicians for over a decade now, and I’ve been thinking a great deal about how to better connect what we do to the life of our city.
Now that it is summer, do you focus more on what you’ve achieved over the past season or do you focus on your goals for the days and months ahead? Have you made any resolutions you might share with us?
For the most part, I prefer to look ahead! If I look back, it’s primarily to think about how I can build on recent developments. In academia and in music, summer remains as full of possibility for teachers as it does for students: the chance to do, read, and think about all of the things you don’t have time or mental space to engage with during the academic year and concert season. My summer goals are invariably too ambitious, but the opportunity to reflect and set big goals is inherently rewarding.
One resolution I’ve had this summer is to spend less time on social media. This isn’t because I don’t see value in it. I’ve benefited immensely, as a person and as an artist, from the exchange of thoughts and ideas online. But in the spirit of my answer to one of your earlier questions, I’m exploring what it can look like to lead a life that is less reactive - scroll, like, comment, repost - and more proactive, processing things within myself, without allowing so much to be shaped by and filtered through online discourse.
www.judahadashi.com
When it comes to making art that is engaged with the broader world, my hero is Nina Simone, who asked, “how can you be an artist and not reflect the times”? I admire and have learned from peers in the classical music world, particularly Ted Hearne and David T. Little, and from the writings of New Yorker music critic Alex Ross, who has written of his aim to "approach music not as a self-sufficient sphere but as a way of knowing the world.” We tend to treat great art as transcendent; I’d rather it be transformative, in ways that reverberate beyond the concert hall.
My wish for developments in the political arena is for all of us to take longer views of the issues we face - in particular, physical and emotional violence against people of color, as well as climate change - and to consider our own complicity in making them happen in historic, systemic terms. We live in a highly reactive moment: responses to charged issues are instantaneous, and often driven by fear. My wish is for a culture that engages our collective failures with greater directness, humility, and empathy.
Your connection to poetry is clear in Sestina, Lament, Rise, my heart comes undone and more – has poetry always been a starting point, your inspiration, a perfect companion to your music or was it a singular moment that allowed you to interpret poetry through your music.
Literature in general has always been an impetus to my musical work. I grew up around lots of books, and still surround myself with them. My mother was an actress, who still recites poetry with a very musical sensibility. I find it hard to start a new piece without a guiding concept. Words, even if they aren’t actually going to be spoken or sung, often serve as an important springboard.
You are also the founder and artistic director of Evolution Contemporary Music Series for a decade now. What are some the most unforgettable events you’ve experienced through Evolution Contemporary Music Series? What is the key to the success of Evolution Contemporary Music Series? What is the importance of the ECMS to a city of Baltimore and what is the role of Baltimore in the way of programming choices for ECMS?
I founded the Evolution Series in 2005; I wanted Baltimore to have a concert series focused exclusively on the music of living composers. An event that stands out in my mind is our evening with John Luther Adams in 2013. I interviewed John, and then many of our regularly featured musicians performed his music, with John reading from his writings (most memorably, his essay entitled “Global Warming and Art”) between pieces. I’m proud that the series has made Baltimore a destination for outstanding new music and musicians for over a decade now, and I’ve been thinking a great deal about how to better connect what we do to the life of our city.
Now that it is summer, do you focus more on what you’ve achieved over the past season or do you focus on your goals for the days and months ahead? Have you made any resolutions you might share with us?
For the most part, I prefer to look ahead! If I look back, it’s primarily to think about how I can build on recent developments. In academia and in music, summer remains as full of possibility for teachers as it does for students: the chance to do, read, and think about all of the things you don’t have time or mental space to engage with during the academic year and concert season. My summer goals are invariably too ambitious, but the opportunity to reflect and set big goals is inherently rewarding.
One resolution I’ve had this summer is to spend less time on social media. This isn’t because I don’t see value in it. I’ve benefited immensely, as a person and as an artist, from the exchange of thoughts and ideas online. But in the spirit of my answer to one of your earlier questions, I’m exploring what it can look like to lead a life that is less reactive - scroll, like, comment, repost - and more proactive, processing things within myself, without allowing so much to be shaped by and filtered through online discourse.
www.judahadashi.com