Shane Valle
COMPOSER | SAXOPHONIST
↓ THE LATEST ↓
Two new pieces for double reeds
At the end of February, I had two composition projects come to fruition, both for double reed ensembles and both thanks to a collaboration with Dr. Javier Rodriguez, bassoonist and Associate Professor at the University of Idaho.
Rhapsody for Double Reeds
First was the Rhapsody for Double Reeds, written to be a showcase for the guest faculty invited to the 2025 edition of Puerto Rico Double Reed Day, held in Ponce, Puerto Rico at the Escuela Libre de Musica Juan Morel Campos de Ponce.
PROGRAM NOTE
Commissioned for the 2025 Puerto Rico Double Reed Day, I wanted to write something that captured the energy of the place. Though I’ve never been, I feel I know something of it: to a person, the Boricuas I’ve met and befriended are fiercely proud of where they come from, singing the praises of the water, the beach, the sun, dancing, food, and the people. Told through my own musical language, I tried to express this proud energy and love of place while acknowledging the island has been through challenging times; though there is no joy in suffering (especially when unnecessary) these trials have showcased the power of community and resilience in PR.
On the Trail
The second premiere was of a piece written for the University of Idaho Double Reed Ensemble with a programmatic inspiration that will be familiar to many who’ve been following along here for awhile:
PROGRAM NOTE
On the Trail conjures an experience I’ve imagined many times: at the end of a long day of solo backpacking, though the scenery is stunning, the solitude begins to wear. Shadows grow longer and you need to find a place to camp. Ahead is nook below a high saddle that seems promising. On that saddle silhouetted against the sky you notice a figure waving wildly and shouting at you. Their hollering is hard to make out, but something about their manner seems familiar. You hear something that sounds like your name float across the wind and it clicks: that’s an old friend up there! You surge up the trail in recognition and enjoy a happy reunion, starved for companionship and beyond grateful for a familiar face. Though you’re going opposite directions on the trail and the rendezvous is short-lived, being reminded of how you relate to the human world puts your once-again stunning surroundings back into perspective. You find a comfortable spot to bed down for the night and nod off, warmed by your encounter.
At the end of February, I had two composition projects come to fruition, both for double reed ensembles and both thanks to a collaboration with Dr. Javier Rodriguez, bassoonist and Associate Professor at the University of Idaho.
Rhapsody for Double Reeds
First up was the Rhapsody for Double Reeds, written to be a showcase for the guest faculty invited to the 2025 edition of Puerto Rico Double Reed Day, held in Ponce, Puerto Rico at the Escuela Libre de Musica Juan Morel Campos de Ponce.
The guest faculty from Puerto Rico Double Reed Day basking in applause after the premiere. Left to Right: Dr. Rong-Huey Liu, Prof. Jesus Ramos, Dr. Rachel Frederiksen, Prof Cesar Torres, Dr. Javier Rodriguez
What is perhaps most remarkable is what the ensemble was able to do with the Rhapsody with only a half hour of rehearsal prior to the performance—for example, an excerpt from the central lyrical section:
It’s both personally validating to know I can write something idiomatic enough to be picked up and played easily by musicians and yet more impressive what professionals can do to elevate six minutes of music they’ve never seen or heard before and turn it into something worth listening to.
PROGRAM NOTE
Commissioned for the 2025 Puerto Rico Double Reed Day, I wanted to write something that captured the energy of the place. Though I’ve never been, I feel I know something of it: to a person, the Boricuas I’ve met and befriended are fiercely proud of where they come from, singing the praises of the water, the beach, the sun, dancing, food, and the people. Told through my own musical language, I tried to express this proud energy and love of place while acknowledging the island has been through challenging times; though there is no joy in suffering (especially when unnecessary) these trials have showcased the power of community and resilience in PR.
A full recording of the piece and more details are available here.
On the Trail
The second premiere was of a piece written for the University of Idaho Double Reed Ensemble with a programmatic inspiration that will be familiar to many who’ve been following along here for awhile:
PROGRAM NOTE
On the Trail conjures an experience I’ve imagined many times: at the end of a long day of solo backpacking, though the scenery is stunning, the solitude begins to wear. Shadows grow longer and you need to find a place to camp. Ahead is nook below a high saddle that seems promising. On that saddle silhouetted against the sky you notice a figure waving wildly and shouting at you. Their hollering is hard to make out, but something about their manner seems familiar. You hear something that sounds like your name float across the wind and it clicks: that’s an old friend up there! You surge up the trail in recognition and enjoy a happy reunion, starved for companionship and beyond grateful for a familiar face. Though you’re going opposite directions on the trail and the rendezvous is short-lived, being reminded of how you relate to the human world puts your once-again stunning surroundings back into perspective. You find a comfortable spot to bed down for the night and nod off, warmed by your encounter.
The premiere featured some especially lovely solo moments from the students, with a serene, spacious rendering of the coda:
More detail and a full recording of On the Trail here.
Whitespace and the hourglass of productivity
Some takeaways from my last year of tracking my music writing:
I absolutely nailed the 7th day of every month! Go number 7!
The first day of each month was the day on which I was least likely to write—only three out of 11 months!
My longest streak was 37 days (March 15th - April 18th)
If you cross your eyes and squint, doesn’t the pattern of days look a little bit like a face? With the eyes around May 16th and 27th? The mouth gaping in late July and August? Shoulders widening back out in October and November?
The middle of the year looks mighty sparse! In the month of July I wrote on a paltry five out of 31 days…!
How did I feel about not writing music every day?
At the time, I know I felt badly. I’ve heard there are those who (say they) let absolutely nothing get in the way of sticking to their creative time—not injury, emergency, travel, friends, family. Channeling this, on one backpacking trip late in the season after a summer of struggling to string more than a handful of composing days together, I brought a scrap of staff paper to squeeze 20 minutes in at camp.
Definitely didn’t happen.
How do I feel about not getting much writing done during the summer now?
It’s December. In the pacific northwest we’ve now had two full months of dark and rain, dark and rain that encourages lots of inside time—with friends, loved ones, books, naps, food, and music. And between the months of October, November, and December, I’ve strung together enough days of writing to rival my streaks from the beginning of the year.
Like a sponge, I seem to have soaked up the energy of the sun and summer and now it is powering my music writing. I wrote a little bit about the unexpected (and frequent!) tenderness and joy that finds its way into my music—maybe this is where it comes from, bottled up, set aside in the cellar for when the sun sets at 4:27PM 13 days in a row at the bottom of the calendar.
So maybe this tracker chart needs to look different to reflect the realities of the seasons.
We’re to the end of the year and I thought I’d revisit this little “did I compose for (at least) 20 minutes today” tracker:
Some immediate takeaways:
I absolutely nailed the 7th day of every month! Go number 7!
The first day of each month was the day on which I was least likely to write—only three out of 11 months!
My longest streak was 37 days (March 15th - April 18th)
If you cross your eyes and squint, doesn’t the pattern of days look a little bit like a face? With the eyes around May 16th and 27th? The mouth gaping in late July and August? Shoulders widening back out in October and November?
The middle of the year looks mighty sparse! In the month of July I wrote on a paltry five out of 31 days…! But look what was going on instead:
How did I feel about not writing music every day?
At the time, I know I felt badly. I’ve heard there are those who (say they) let absolutely nothing get in the way of sticking to their creative time—not injury, emergency, travel, friends, family. Channeling this, on one backpacking trip late in the season after a summer of struggling to string more than a handful of composing days together, I brought a scrap of staff paper to squeeze 20 minutes in at camp.
Definitely didn’t happen.
How do I feel about not getting much writing done during the summer now?
It’s December. In the pacific northwest we’ve now had two full months of dark and rain, dark and rain that encourages lots of inside time—with friends, loved ones, books, naps, food, and music. And between the months of October, November, and December, I’ve strung together enough days of writing to rival my streaks from the beginning of the year.
Like a sponge, I seem to have soaked up the energy of the sun and summer and now it is powering my music writing. I wrote a little bit about the unexpected (and frequent!) tenderness and joy that finds its way into my music—maybe this is where it comes from, bottled up, set aside in the cellar for when the sun sets at 4:27PM 13 days in a row at the bottom of the calendar.
So maybe this tracker chart needs to look different to reflect the realities of the seasons. If you just slightly rearrange the days per month, it falls into a familiar shape: