Program notes

An apple may not fall far from the tree, but it does fall. And when it falls, it bruises—a necessary, if unpleasant, separation that’s part of becoming something else, something greater—maybe a tree, perhaps a home, maybe cider or sustenance.

We all emerge from childhood with figurative scars, pinches, puckers, and distortions in our character and personality—not necessarily due to something egregious happening, but because getting our needs met when we nor our caretakers necessarily understand those needs has been and will always be an imperfectly met challenge. It's a lifetime's work to understand our inheritance of peculiarities, to navigate them (and help others navigate ours), and to make the most of the hand we’re dealt.

This music is addressed to the child in each of us and hopefully, with its aspect of earnest tenderness, deeply soothes the parts of us that were in some way not able to fully blossom—because we were not enough or we were too much or not the right shape or had to take on too much too soon.

The main "tune" emerged from an unusual-for-me composing exercise in which participants are directed to imagine what song different people in your life might sing or hum or whistle to you. During one round of the exercise, I closed my eyes and imagined what my dad might sing to me. A simple and tender melody emerged, surprising me as those aren’t words or feelings I immediately associate with him. The tune was accompanied by an image of him holding me as a newborn, rocking me, looking down protectively. The rest of the piece grew from this kernel.