What is Music About?

This is a question I get asked all the time; "What is your piece about?"

Usually, I have the answer ready ahead of time, and I reply, "The piece is about 12 minutes." (Or whatever the duration is; it varies from piece to piece.) This is what comes of a childhood spent reading "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions" in Mad Magazine.

After they've laughed, or haven't laughed, I'm usually pressed for a more serious answer, and serious answers require some thought. So here are some thoughts.

To a real musician, music isn't about anything except itself. It's about form, structure, sonority, harmony, counterpoint, orchestral color, etc. Sure, there's some subconscious thought about why this chord, or that turn of phrase was chosen, and there's usually some emotion that determined whatever choice was made. But these emotions are very difficult to express with words. If I could express my thoughts with words, I'd have written a novel instead of a sonata. Once I've finished my sonata, someone invariably asks me for words to explain what words cannot explain.

When I was much younger, my program notes were highly technical analyses of what I wrote. You'd need a PhD in Music Theory to understand them. The music is much more accessible than those program notes.

Now that I'm older, I'm much less inclined to bore the reader with too much detail. But I have to tell them something. And so I tell them a story.

I'll tell them a story about how and why and when the piece was written. Who commissioned it and for what reason? How long did I work on it? If the piece wasn't written on commission, what inspired me to write it?

Such a story, plus some very general descriptions of the structure, usually passes for some acceptable program notes.

But the story doesn't end there.

Whenever I attend a performance of my music, people always approach me afterwards and tell me what the music suggested to them. Some of these descriptions can get very colorful. I'm convinced that people really listen with their eyes first and their ears second, and if you don't supply a visual to go with your music, your listeners will supply the visual themselves.

Back in 2012, I was composer-in-residence for Bachanalia, a small string orchestra. Bachanalia's founder and artistic director, Nina Beilina, asked me to supply a new piece for part of a program called "Song of Songs." Every piece on the program was a song of some sort; a Canzona by J.S. Bach, Rachmaninoff's Vocalise, some sung excerpts from Shir HaShirim (Song of Songs), and de Falla's Seven Spanish Folk-Songs. I was to contribute another piece to this list, and - after some discussion - I made plans to write a medium-length piece for solo viola and strings, to be called "A Song For Strings." I didn't think the piece was about anything, except the 8 minutes or so of its running time, but composers are often the last to know what their music actually means.

The concert went very well. The performance venue was BargeMusic, which is an actual barge moored to a pier on the Brooklyn side of the East River in New York City. It's under the Brooklyn Bridge, and lines up with lower Manhattan.

During the intermission, someone in the audience approached me, and I could see she had been crying fairly recently.

She told me she enjoyed the piece, and said that while she listened, she was looking out at the river, and the Manhattan skyline. She said that she kept looking at where the twin towers of the World Trade Center used to be, and weren't anymore since 9/11/01, and, for her,  the music became all about that loss, so acutely about it as to bring her to tears.

I can no longer hear that piece without thinking of what that listener told me. Through her response, the piece has gone from something rather abstract to something very specific.

Alas, I was not able to record the performance at BargeMusic, but I do have the MIDI playback from the score file. Take a listen, and see what the music is about to you.

Virtual Music Store

I have recently opened an online music store on this website. Various pieces I've composed or arranged are available as PDF downloads.

Here's how it works: Log on directly to STEVE COHEN'S MUSIC STORE or click on any of the BUY SHEET MUSIC buttons on the pages for pieces that are available at the sore. Once there, make your selection and proceed to Checkout. Payments for Checkout are handled through PayPal. Upon payment, you will be sent, via email, a link to the PDF file for your purchase. Go collect your PDF file, print out the score and parts, and start making music.

At this writing, I'm in the process of severing ties with Amazon.com. Most of what I had listed there is now here.

Most of my Jewish vocal music is available from TRANSCONTINENTAL MUSIC PUBLICATIONS and OYSONGS.

If there's anything you see here that doesn't have some sort of link, please go to the CONTACT page, and let me know your wishes.

Thank you, and happy shopping!

Regietheater - A Rant

"Regietheater" is German for "Director's Theater," and we see a lot of it in the opera house these days. In it, directors are allowed to impose their "concepts" over a dramatic work, and, in doing so, they often go directly against the wishes of the work's authors.

This current season at the Metropolitan Opera House, we have a new production of Mozart and DaPonte's Cosi fan tutte which moves the action from 18th-century Naples to 20th-Century Coney Island. A few seasons ago, there was a new production of Verdi's Rigoletto with the action moved to 1960s Las Vegas.

Richard Rodgers once said that when a musical show is successful, the sets and costumes look the way the orchestrations sound. Every creative artist from every department is on the same wave length, and they are each making the same general statement with their contributions to the show. That's my ideal as well, and I see less and less of it at the opera house.

I can cite specifics from two recent Met Opera productions.

The Met's 2016 production of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde sets the action on a big, modern ocean-liner. During the Vorspiel (Prelude), images from the ship's sonar device are projected on the screen. Fair enough. It's nice to have something to look at while you listen. When the opera itself starts, the first voice we hear is that of a young sailor singing while on watch. The stage direction from Wagner's libretto says "(heard from a height, as if from the masthead)" Our young sailor sings:

Westwards the gaze wanders; eastwards skims the ship.
Fresh the wind blows towards home: my Irish child, where are you now?
Is it your wafting sighs that swell my sails?
Blow, blow, you wind!

What sails? This is a modern ship with an engine. The ship moves whether there's a wind or not. Why is this sailor even out on deck? If he's on watch, his place is sitting in front of the sonar screen, We just saw it!

Also from 2018, there was a new production of Strauss's Elektra. This opera is supposed to start with a big, loud, brassy burst from the orchestra, stating the Agamemnon theme. Instead, the curtain opens on a bunch of servants with brooms, sweeping the courtyard in silence. This goes on for a while, and when the orchestra does enter, it seems arbitrary, and is robbed of it's power.

The librettist's wishes are no longer honored, and neither are the composer's wishes.

Lest you think I am a Luddite, resistant to all change and innovation, I'll close by citing one modern director who, by me, creates thrilling theater without betraying the source material. I'm speaking of William Kentridge. So far, the Met has commissioned Kentridge to design and direct productions of Shostakovich's The Nose, and Berg's Lulu. Both productions are huge successes, both artistic and financial. Much of the success is due to Kentridge's sensitivity to the styles of the composers; his designs match and enhance the music. I'm eager to see more such work, not only from Kentridge, but any other directors who have the courage to make a true collaboration with the composer and librettist. May it be so!


Arranger for Hire

I’m happy to announce that I have just signed on as a Staff Arranger with an organization called Arranger for Hire. It’s a collective of composer-arrangers run by my good friend, Jon Burr. They provide a wide variety of musical services, such as transcriptions, orchestrations, backing tracks, special arrangements for weddings; you name it, they can get it done for you.


Pierre Boulez (1925 — 2016)

6 January 2016
Another great one has left the building.

Pierre Boulez was Music Director of the New York Philharmonic from 1971 to 1977, right around the time I started going to orchestra concerts on a regular basis. He introduced a lot of new music to the subscribers, many of whom left concerts early rather than have their ears and brains challenged. Those who stayed got to hear some truly thrilling music.

I was always impressed with Boulez’s ability to make the standard repertoire sound fresh and new. If he led a performance of a piece I was sure I knew inside out and backwards, he was always sure to bring out some detail I had never before noticed.

Boulez instituted “Rug Concerts” in the summertime, in an effort to attract younger audiences, and I remember those with great nostalgia. Seats were removed from the hall, and the audience sat on mats on the floor. The orchestra played in front of the stage, and one could sit on the stage, behind the players, and witness the music from the players’ point of view.

During the regular season, I always brought scores to follow. It would be too dark to read at my assigned seat, so I would grab an empty front-row seat, and read the score from the light spilling off the stage. At one concert, Boulez looked over his shoulder at me from the podium, and asked me, “Are you ready?” I blushed and said, “Yes. Go ahead,” and then he faced the orchestra and gave the downbeat.

Pierre Boulez leaves a great legacy of recorded performances, and these will remain a vital reminder of his talent and influence.

Thank you, Maestro.



A Night at the Opera

10 October 2015

I saw a performance of Wagner’s Tannhäuser at the Metropolitan Opera House two nights ago, and I’m still exhausted!

I have to marvel at the energy and stamina of everyone involved, onstage, backstage, and in the orchestra pit; what a feat to stay focused and deliver at the highest level for over three hours, closer to four. Heldentenor Johan Botha, who sang the punishing title role, sounded as fresh in Act III as he did in Act I.

It was a novelty to see such an old-fashioned production. Otto Schenk’s production dates from 1977, and hasn’t been seen at the Met since 2004. Who knows when — or if — it will be seen again?

I find it refreshing to see a production which simply presents the opera itself, and not some director’s revisionist take on it. This production looked the way the music sounded.

Tannhäuser has some glorious music in it. It’s relatively early Wagner, and he’s still emulating the influences of Weber and Meyerbeer, and even early Bel Canto styles.

The story and characters are firmly rooted in 19th-Century attitudes, and these can prove troublesome to a modern audience. Our protagonist is the 13th-Century troubador (Minnesinger) Tannhäuser, although nobody ever calls him Tannhäuser; they all address him as Heinrich. Call him what you will, our hero doesn’t know what the heck he wants out of life. Wherever he is, he wants to be somewhere else. If he’s in the Venusburg, he longs for sunlight and trees and grass and a life of purity and virtue. If he’s back in the real world, rubbing shoulders with his pious friends and colleagues, he longs for the excitement and sensuous pleasure to be found in the embrace of Venus, the goddess of love and lust.

Tannhäuser is loved by Elisabeth, the chaste daughter of the Landgraf of Thuringia. She has fallen for his sweet voice, and she pines for him even after he’s walked out on her to hunt for thrills. When he comes back, disgraces himself by singing of carnal love in the Song Contest and disses her in the process, she falls for him even harder. Eventually she wastes away and dies, and her death ostensibly redeems Tannhäuser, who hardly deserves such a redemption. Why would she forfeit her own life, happiness, and fulfilment? Why doesn’t she give herself to someone who will appreciate her properly, love her and honor her? Where’s her sense of self-respect? Wolfram adores her, he too has a lovely voice, and he’s a gentleman to boot. But, alas, baritones rarely if ever get the girl.

This whole story rings false, and displays a rigid world view, even as it professes to be revolutionary. Women are either saints or sluts.

With all this in mind, should we cast Tannhäuser aside as hopelessly outmoded? Hell, no! It’s important that we see such things and recognize them for what they are. Seeing operas like this are a history lesson, and I think opera houses should show them the way museums show masterpieces of the past; unchanged, unvarnished, and unedited. Let the audience make the connection between the past and the present.

Birth of a Notion

2 July 2015

What is the source of inspiration? Do we find inspiration, or does inspiration find us?

For me, inspiration can come from a compelling message from a text, a fascination with a particular instrument or group of instruments, or — best of all — a commission.

Recently, however, inspiration came to me from a most unlikely source: a wisecrack.

On June 26, 2015, The US Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage, a 5-4 vote in the case of Obergefell v. Hodges. This was big news, and it created quite a stir on Facebook and all over social media. I got into the spirit, and posted a status update that said, “In honor of today’s Supreme Court decision, my next piece will be in 5/4 time.”

That remark went over very well. It got over 110 “likes” in about a day.

A day later I was out taking a bike ride. I get some of my best, and craziest ideas on bike rides. Most of my thoughts on this ride centered around “Why not write a short, festive piece in 5/4 time to celebrate this landmark decision?” I remembered a tune I concocted while still a teenager, and that was indeed in 5/4 time — no doubt heavily influenced by Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five,” and Lalo Schifrin’s theme music for “Mission Impossible,” both very popular back in the day — and it was energetic and cheeky, exactly the right tone for this occasion, some forty years later.

My first idea for a title was “Uneven Steven,” but I soon rejected that for two reasons.

1) I didn’t want the title to be about me, and
2) a quick search on Google showed that “Uneven Steven” had already been used by a blues band and a DJ/rapper, among others.

I thought of the colorful phraseology used by Justice Antonin Scalia in his recent dissents, and the term “Jiggery Pokery” had a nice rhythm to it. Of course, Justice Scalia used “Jiggery Pokery” in his dissent on the Affordable Care Act (Burwell v. King), not the same-sex marriange decision. It also seemed a little perverse to celebrate a milestone of social equality by writing in an uneven meter, but in both of these considerations my heart won out over my head; sometimes an idea can be right without being logical.

So, Jiggery Pokery it would be, in 5/4 time. As I hummed the tune and timed it, to arrive at a metronome marking, I discovered that the tempo was quarter-note = 180. [British musicians use the term “crotchet” for what we Americans call a quarter-note, and I think you’ll agree that Justice Scalia was being very crotchety in his dissents] I like the fact that the tempo was 180. 180 is 10 x “chai” (the Hebrew word for “life,” and the numerical value of its letters add up to 18), and 180º is a complete about-face. The country had just made a complete 180 (there are still some stragglers resisting this change, but I have faith that they’ll catch up with the rest of us eventually) so 180 was a very appropriate tempo. I pushed this even further by adding the phrase “Tempo giusto” to the marking; “giusto” is the Italian word for “just.” Usually you use this word to indicate that you want the music played in strict time, no speeding up or slowing down, but “giusto” shares its Latin root with “Justice,” which indicates what’s fair and right as well as the person appointed to wear a robe and interpret our laws.

I knew I wanted the piece’s duration to be somewhere between three and four minutes. After all, “brevity is the soul of wit.” Using my (limited) skills in math, I determined that I’d need to write no fewer than 108 measures (3 minutes) and no more than 144 (4 minutes). When the piece was finished (in about 3 days, which is very fast for me) it comprised 128 measures, with a running time of 3:33. (3+3+3 = 9, as in 9 Supreme Court Justices!)

I am hoping that Jiggery Pokery gets heard soon, played by live humans on real instruments. When that happens, I’ll post a link to a recording, assuming I’m lucky enough to get one. In the meantime, here’s the MIDI version:


UPDATE: 29 October 2016 - Jiggery Pokery has indeed been played by live humans on real instruments. The humans in question are the Madison String Quartet, and I’ve just added a recording of their performance on the page for Jiggery Pokery. Check it out! 

Getting Unstuck

16 April 2015

Donald Francis Tovey, in his magnificent Essays in Musical Analysis, cites a riddle he often posed to his students: (I’m paraphrasing here)

Q: What is it that we wish to learn from the Great Masters, but cannot?
A: How to get out of a hole, because they never get into one.

With all due respect, Mr. Tovey’s answer seems to be deceptive and incomplete. It’s not that the Great Masters never got into holes, but we never get to see them in holes, as we only get to see their completed work with all problems solved. I have no doubt that the Great Masters struggled plenty, and that their finished pieces, which seem so effortless and inevitable, are products of hard work, rigorous attention to detail, trial and error, doubt, angst, and despair. They’ve left us very little evidence of their struggles, but that does not mean their struggles did not occur.

I confess that I often struggle with my writing, and that my inspiration often flags. I’ve recently completed two new pieces, my Saxophone Quartet No. 3 and a choral setting of Avinu Shebashamayim (Prayer for the State of Israel). Both pieces gave me trouble. Or, to put it more accurately, I gave myself trouble on both of those pieces. Recognizing that distiction is the first step to overcoming the trouble.

I remember my teacher, Giampaolo Bracali, of blessed memory, comparing composing to driving a car. When you’re lost, or at a dead end, he said, it’s probably because you made a wrong turn somewhere earlier. If you go back and retrace your route, you may get a clue as to where you went wrong, and where, perhaps, you should have gone instead.

I continue to follow Giampaolo’s excellent advice, and I find his technique useful, not only for undoing a faux pas, but also for figuring out where to go next.

It’s very rare for me to work out the entire structure of a piece in advance. Usually I make it up as I go along. One idea leads to another, and I let these ideas run free as long as possible. At a certain point — or, should I say, an uncertain point — this stops being effective, and then it’s time to take stock of what I’ve done. I’ll analyze what I have so far, and write an outline of it. Doing this can be very helpful, in many different ways. It could be that I have too much material, and that I could make a more coherent presentation doing more with less. It could be that there are aspects of how the various motives relate to each other that I have not explored. Seeing how ideas are presented the first time may give me ideas about how to develop them later on.

That’s good advice for a journey that’s already started, but what about the times when you can’t even get the engine to turn over?

When you find you can’t even begin, there’s certainly an emotional component holding you back, and that’s coming from you, not from your material.

I find that I’m highly susceptible to an affliction called “Importantitis.” I feel that if I’m working in a form others have worked in before, I’m in competition with them, and I must outdo them, or else I have failed. That’s crazy, of course, and holding onto such thoughts leads to severe self-consciousness and doubt, utter paralysis. I cannot proceed until I’ve talked myself out of the irrational fears that hamper my progress.

One way to bypass all this mishegoss is to forget about all the great masters of the past, forget about posterity, and just focus on the right now. It’s not necessary, I tell myself, that your piece lives for the ages, but it is necessary that your piece lives for the five or ten minutes of its running time. The people who create are always the people least qualified to judge the work, as they’re way too close to the work to have any perspective. So don’t judge, just create! Let all the others judge. Casablanca (1942) is a great movie, one of my favorites, and a classic if ever there was one, but no one who worked on it knew or even believed it was going to be great; they were all on board because they were under contract. Greatness is an accident as often as not. Make yourself accident-prone.

Essays Before a Quartet - Part 1

6 December 2014

I wrote my first Saxophone Quartet in 1980, when I was 26. At the time, I just called it Saxophone Quartet, but when I wrote another one, many years later, it became known as my Saxophone Quartet No. 1. I had been out of college (Manhattan School of Music) for four years, but I was still studying privately with Giampaolo Bracali of the MSM composition faculty. I had written some chamber music, a song cycle,  and a Symphony, and I was starting to get active writing for the theater, having been admitted into the BMI Musical Theater Workshop in 1978 (This august institution was not yet named for Lehman Engel, as he was still alive and kicking and running the Workshop). I had also taken a summer course in Jazz Arranging at the Eastman School of Music in 1978, and techniques and voicings I learned there made their way into my “serious” music. Consequently, this was perhaps the first of my pieces to show the influences of jazz and theater sensibilities as well as my conservatory training. For one thing, it was remarkably terse compared to the rest of my chamber pieces, only 12 minutes long. The last movement was in swing, and it swung. It was premiered in the Spring of 1980 at an MSM Alumni Concert. It was well received, and it started to become popular almost immediately.

Theater writing, both as composer and orchestrator, kept me occupied throughout the 1980s. Starting around 1985, I was beginning to make sketches for what would become my Saxophone Quartet No. 2, but I was not able to finish it until 1998, when I was 44. I’m not sure what prompted me to make the second quartet be in four movements instead of three, but it seems to have been a good decision. This piece has also met with wide acceptance, and has garnered many performances and an excellent recording, (by the New Hudson Saxophone Quartet on their CD “The American Muse”) which I believe is still available.

Eighteen years separate my Sax Quartets Nos. 1 and 2, and - at this writing - Sax Quartet No. 2 was sixteen years ago. I held off writing a third quartet for quite a long time, but I feel ready now to work on Sax Quartet No. 3.

I have the two inner movements (of four) finished, and I’m currently working on the two outer movements. One advantage of writing two movements at once is that if one movement gives you trouble, you can pick up the other one and make progress on it. I often feel as if I’m trying to do a jigsaw puzzle, but I don’t have the picture of what the puzzle’s supposed to look like to guide me. It also seems as if some of the pieces I’m trying to make fit might belong to some other puzzle. All I can do is generate material, and try to determine if it belongs, where it goes, and where it takes me.


Visual Aids - A Rant

15 October 2014

The concert season has started, and New Yorkers have had, or will have, opportunities to attend the following:

Bach’s “Saint Matthew Passion,” staged by Peter Sellars.

Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring,” staged by puppeteer Basil Twist.

Schubert’s “Winterreise,” staged by artist and director William Kentridge.

I see this as a trend, and I’m trying to decide what I think about it.

On the one hand, this represents full employment for artists of all sorts, in addition to musicians, and that should be considered a good thing.

On the other hand, I’m disturbed by the implication that audiences today don’t listen so well anymore, and actually need all this visual window dressing in order to appreciate music.

Actually, let’s take “The Rite of Spring” out of the discussion; That piece started out as a ballet, so it was meant to coexist with décor, costumes, and dancing.

That leaves us with the Bach and the Schubert. Both pieces use music and text to tell stories. Neither piece was intended for the theater stage. Both pieces are extremely dramatic on their own; they don’t need no stinkin’ scenery or costumes. Any good performance of these works should evoke vivid imagery in the mind of the listener, assuming the listener has an imagination and the power to use it.

I remember many years ago I took my young son to a children’s concert, and the program included Prokofiev’s “Peter and the Wolf.” There was a small orchestra, a narrator, and a mime troupe, acting out the story. The use of the mime troupe goes against the composer’s wishes. Here’s what Prokofiev himself had to say:

Before the start of the performance, the instruments were shown to the children, and the themes were played on them; during the performance the children heard the themes repeatedly, and learned to differentiate the timbres of the instruments — herein lay the educational purpose of the piece. … what was important to me was not to tell a story, but to have the children listen to the music, for which the story was merely a pretext.
— taken from the Foreward to Four Orchestral Works by Sergei Prokofiev, Dover Edition

If we give our children visual crutches like this, instead of letting them develop their innate abilities to listen attentively and use their imaginations, they will continue to expect such crutches when they become adults.

What a world, what a world…

A Song is Born

1 October 2014

I’ve been writing music for the Jewish Synagogue since 1997. After the warm reception for my setting of Mi Chamocha (2008), it seemed like a good idea to set the rest of the Shabbat Evening Liturgy, and so I tackled Yism’chu, Kiddush, Shalom Aleichem, and others.

For all of these, I kept to writing for SATB choir a cappella, including a solo part for a cantor, when appropriate.

At one point, I was planning to gather all of these pieces together as a complete Shabbat Evening Service. Lately, I’ve more-or-less abandoned the idea of a complete service, although I still intend to set as many texts from the Liturgy as I can. Complete services seem to be less in favor now than in the past, when composers like Max Helfman and Isadore Freed were writing them. Nowadays, cantors assemble very eclectic mixes for their music menus, drawing on music from the 18th, 19th, 20th, and 21st Centuries. Maybe that’s good, maybe that’s bad, but that’s the way it is. All I can do is write as well as I can, keep practical considerations in mind, and hope for the best. I’ve been very fortunate so far.

It occurred to me that I don’t always need to write for an a cappella group, and it might be a good idea if I brought in a keyboard instrument when it’s warranted. I decided to write a setting of Yih’yu L’ratzon for soprano solo, mixed (SATB) choir, and keyboard. (could be organ, piano, electric piano, whatever)

The text for Yih’yu L’ratzon comes from Psalm 19, Verse 14. It says, “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, O, God, my Rock and my Redeemer.” In the Shabbat service, this text (or Oseh Shalom) is read after a silent meditation just before the Torah scroll is taken out of the Ark, and read.

When I set a liturgical text, I usually begin by analyzing the phrases, seeing which words get emphasized, and which syllables within the words get stressed. It seems to me that music should illuminate the text, so it’s crucial to get the stresses right, and not put the em-PHA-sis on the wrong syl-LA-ble. Here’s how I marked up a copy of the text in preparation to set it to music.

Yih'yu Lyric Stresses.jpeg

Now that I can see where the proper stresses are, I read the text and see if any rhythms suggest themselves. Sure enough, they do.

Yih'yu Rhythms.jpeg

I see I’ve set the entire text in only 8 measures. This suggests to me that I can do it at least twice. I can consider each iteration of the text to be an A section. It occurs to me that I can, and should have the first A end on the dominant (the V) so we can go back and sing it again, and the second A should end on the tonic (the I). So let’s add some pitches to those rhythms.

Yih'yu Melody.jpeg

Having done two A sections, we need to hear something else now, a B section. What should I use as a text for a B section? How about the same text again, but this time sung in English rather than Hebrew? Sounds good to me!

And then we should go back for one more A section, but we should have at least one new element in place so the listeners don’t get bored by an exact repetition of what they’ve already heard. And we need an ending this time.

Musical structure isn’t just formulas out of theory books. The musical forces for which you’re writing can also inform, and sometimes even dictate how you’ll assemble and present your ideas. I’ll show you the form just as bare bones, and then show you what happens when consideration of the personnel available is taken into account.





Intro - Keyboard only

A - Solo Voice (text in Hebrew)

A - Solo Voice. with a choral background.

B - Choir takes over, sings text in English.

A - Choir sings the Hebrew text, descant part for Solo Voice.

I was lucky in that the choral background I wrote for the 2nd A section had an Alto line that answered the solo part. That gave me the basis for the descant for the Solo Voice in the 3rd A; just take the Alto line up an octave. The tune sat low enough that I could assign it to Altos and Baritones, with harmony parts for Sopranos and Tenor, giving us a rich color we had not yet heard, and a fuller texture as befits the culmination of the piece.

To end, I had the melody cadence on the tonic, but I harmonized it to move away from the tonic chord, making it imperative that we repeat the last phrase and really get to the harmonic home base, this time ending high with a held note for the Solo Voice to hold while the choir sings one more cadence, built on material from the keyboard introduction.

At this time, (Monday, 6 October 2014) there has not been a live performance yet of this new setting of Yih’yu L’ratzon. I am hoping that changes soon, and I will post an update when and if that happens. Until then, I only have an mp3 of the MIDI playback to share with you. It’s correct and accurate, but soulless. Nevertheless, enjoy!


on 2014-12-10 13:40 by Steve Cohen

UPDATE: Yih’yu L’ratzon WILL be performed, Friday, 12 December 2014, at Temple Emanu-El in New York City. This is one of four of my choral settings in the music menu for the Shabbat evening service. Emanu-El records its services to stream over the internet. I’ll post recordings here soon.


on 2015-12-31 23:24 by Steve Cohen

UPDATE: Yih’yu L’ratzon was premiered on 12 December 2014, by Cantor Lori Corrsin and the Emanu-El Choir (Dr. Andrew Henderson, organist) at Temple Emanu-El in New York, NY. Click the audio player below for the recording of that performance.

Copyright Compliance: Do the Right Thing!

24 July 2014 (REVISED: 12 Nov 2018)

A while ago, my friends at the Guild of Temple Musicians (GTM) asked me to share my thoughts on copyright compliance. I was happy to oblige them. The article seems to have been lost with the GTM updated its website, so the text of the article appears below.

Copyright Compliance: Do the Right Thing! 

“Thou shalt not steal.” – Exodus 20:15 

These words, along with the rest of the Ten Commandments, adorn the sanctuaries of most of our temples and synagogues.  These are words that all of us surely take to heart.  Yet many of us, perhaps unwittingly, may be committing theft regularly by the illegal photocopying of music. 

How do we follow the copyright laws?  What ARE the copyright laws?  That's what we're here to discuss. 

First off, it's important to know that these casual thefts are not victimless crimes.

Buying one copy of a choral work and then reproducing photocopies of it to distribute to a choir cheats the composer out of royalty payments, which are based on the number of copies sold. The publisher is also cheated, and this can result in higher prices, and fewer selections in the publisher’s catalog. Most American publishers are reporting sharp declines in the sales of printed music. They’ll surely be forced out of business if this trend continues.  

I think we can all agree that music adds immeasurably to the worship experience and to the strength of the congregation when they are united in song. Therefore it is in the best interest of all of us – musicians, clergy and congregation – to do all we can to keep the sources of our music from drying up. 

Copyright means the right to copy. By law, the right to copy music is reserved to the copyright holders, usually composers or publishers, and it is up to the rest of us to respect and abide by that right. Be sure that all the people who make music at your synagogue – cantors, choir, instrumentalists – are reading from legal copies of the music. Of course, special circumstances will arise occasionally (see below for some examples), and some instances of copying are permissible. Always ask yourself if the copy you’re about to make is being made to avoid paying for a legal copy; if the answer is yes, what you’re about to do is probably illegal. 

With advances in technology, illegal sharing of all sorts of media has become much easier. That doesn’t make it right. Let your conscience be your guide, and, if necessary, let yourself be the guide of your congregation’s conscience. 

If you feel you have a special circumstance, the best way to deal with it legally and ethically is to seek out the copyright holder and ask for help in solving the problem. Most publishers have a “go-to” person for this sort of thing. Composers who self-publish are especially approachable. 

Many of us pride ourselves on “going green” to protect the environment. This is good and laudable. The same fervor should also apply to respecting and observing the intellectual property rights of the creators of the music that inspires us to worship.

Frequently Asked Questions: 

Q: May I make a copy to eliminate page turns?

A: As long as you only make one copy for each page you have already paid for.


Q: May I enlarge music for those with vision issues (including myself)? 

A: Same as above or secure a reprint license from publisher.


Q: May I make extra copies for singers who left music at home? 

A: Not legally.  Order a few extra copies, when you first acquire the music.  Inform choristers they are responsible for returning music, and that they may be charged for what they lost and haven’t returned.


Q: If I see a song I like in an anthology, may I copy it to give to my accompanist?

A: You shouldn’t. You should have two legally purchased copies, one for the soloist and one for the accompanist.


Q: What if I wanted to do the aforementioned anthology selection with a choir? My budget won’t allow me to buy that many copies of the book.

A: This is your cue to get in touch with the copyright holder and request a license to reprint. Explain your situation, and – in most cases – the copyright owner will  custom-fit you with a solution.




COPYRIGHT LAW INFORMATION: http://www.copyright.gov/title17/


FAQ (Music Publishers Association): http://www.mpaonline.org.uk/FAQ


URJ BOOKS AND MUSIC: http://www.transcontinentalmusic.com/


CANTORS ASSEMB LY: http://www.cantors.org/


TARA PUBLICATIONS:  http://www.jewishmusic.com/


OY SONGS: http://www.oysongs.com/


Forward, March!

23 February 2014

As I write this, on Sunday morning, 23 February 2014, the sun is shining and the temperature is 47º F, but there is still a lot of snow and ice everywhere. This winter has been a brutal one, but there are encouraging signs that winter is on its way out and spring is on its way in.

After the hustle and bustle of “holiday season” in December, it seems that cultural life in New York City goes into partial hibernation in January and February, and starts to get its groove back in March. I had fairly few local performances these past two months, and perhaps that’s all for the best; it’s more than likely those events might have been poorly attended or even canceled altogether due to the weather.

I have three local performances coming up in March, about which I am very pleased and excited. Details are as follows:

13 March 2014, Thursday @ 7:30 PM, my Sonata for Soprano Saxophone and Piano will be performed by Javier Oviedo and Helene Jeanney at the DiMenna Center in New York City. The concert is part of the series The Classical Saxophone Project. I’m particularly pleased to have my work on the same program with such masterpieces as the “Hot Sonate” by Erwin Schulhoff and “La Création du Monde” by Darius Milhaud. Please click HERE for details.

23 March 2014, Sunday @ 3 PM, Bachanalia’s “Jewish Voices” Concert at Congregation Ansche Chesed will include three of my psalm settings, (Shiru Ladonai Shir Chadash, Esa Einei, and L’chu N’ran’nah) which I’ve arranged for voice(s) and string orchestra, sung by Hazzan Natasha Hirschhorn and the Shirei Chesed Community Chorus. The program also includes J. S. Bach’s Double Concerto in D minor (BWV 1043), Dmitri Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony in C minor, Op. 110a, and the Gershwin/Frolov “Porgy and Bess” Fantasy. Please click HERE for details.

30 March 2014, Sunday @ 3 PM, my setting of Adonai Malach (Psalm 97) will be performed at Carnegie Hall by HaZamir: The International Jewish High School Choir. I’d be thrilled to have this group perform my music anywhere; having them perform it at Carnegie Hall is a dream-come-true. Click HERE for details.


10 July 2013

I learned a lot in music school, but it often seems that my real education began as soon as I graduated and started working. Perhaps things are different nowadays, but back when I was an undergrad, conservatories were preparing students for careers they were unlikely ever to have. Instrumentalists were studying to be soloists, singers were training to be opera stars, and so on. And here we all are now - those of us who didn’t die or give up music altogether - playing in pit orchestras, singing backup, teaching, copying, proofreading, etc. And we’re grateful!

One of the useful skills I did not learn in college was how to collaborate. And what an important skill that is. If you write a piece and are lucky enough to get someone to rehearse and perform it, you will be collaborating with them. If you garner a commission, you’ll be collaborating with your patron as well as the performers. If you write vocal music or a theater piece, you’ll either collaborate with another creative person, or limit yourself to setting texts by dead poets whose work is out of copyright. And if your theater piece gets produced, you’ll be collaborating with producers, directors, choreographers, designers, actors, dancers, and musicians.

I’m slowly learning that talent and ability only account for maybe 25% of a successful professional career. The other 75% is your political and diplomatic skills. The ratio may even be more like 80/20 or 90/10. A prominent contractor for Broadway shows told me that if he had the choice of hiring a great player with an attitude or a slightly-less-great player who was pleasant and cooperative, he’d hire the supposedly lesser player every time.

The key to collaboration is compromise. Compromise means no one gets everything he or she wants. Compromise sometimes means sacrificing your ideals. But if you want your work to be seen and heard, it’s very necessary to team up with people who can do things you cannot do, and it’s best if they feel they are working with you, not working for you.

I’ve worked on a bunch of musical theater projects, and the word “team” gets used a lot. Like any team, there are people with different skills and areas of expertise, and, ideally, they are pulling in the same direction towards a common goal. A team that has trust, communication and esprit de corps is much more likely to reach their goal than a team where there’s tension, and the members are in competition with each other. At any time, someone on the team will be carrying the ball, so to speak, and it’s up to the other team members to stay out of the way, as well as clear a path. Every now and then, the ball will be thrown to you, and then it’s up to you to run with it, shoot, and score.

Have you ever played on a team where one player considers himself to be “the star”? I have, and it’s not fun or rewarding. If you can possibly help it, don’t be that player.

Parsifal — Wagner's Most Jewish Masterpiece?

3 March 2013

Wagner’s last opera, Parsifal, has always held a strange fascination for me. The music represents Wagner at the height of his power, but the libretto is a baffling hodgepodge of themes and symbols from Christianity, Arthurian legend, Buddhism, the writings of Schopenhauer, and Wagner’s own philosophy and ego. I’ve found that for me, the best way to appreciate this opera is to ignore the words and let the music tell the entire story.

I recently attended a Live in HD transmission of Parsifal, in a new Metropolitan Opera production directed by Canadian director François Girard, who is most famous for such films as “The Red Violin” and “Thirty-Two Short Films About Glenn Gould.”

Girard had the cast costumed in modern-day clothing, presumably to help his audience find a relevance they might be unable to see if the cast wore costumes more in keeping with the Middle Ages, where the story is set. For me, this only succeeded in making me see everything and everyone as very Jewish.

During the Prelude, a mirrored show curtain in which the audience sees themselves dissolves to show the chorus. The men of the chorus remove their coats and ties and assemble to sit in a small, tight prayer circle. To me, they did not look like the knights of the holy monastery of Montsalvat; they looked like a Chevrah Minyan on the Upper West Side of New York City, especially when they’d rock and sway while praying; they looked like they were davening.

Gurnemanz knows everything, and tells us everything he knows at great length. He’s certainly knowledgeable enough to be the congregation’s shammes, (synagogue sexton) but he’s also opinionated and bossy enough to be the Temple President. True to form, before he does anything, he performs a ritual washing of hands in a stream that runs down the center of the stage. This stream also serves as a mechitzah (a divider separating the men’s and women’s sections of the synagogue) which the women of the chorus, dressed conservatively in black dresses, never cross; they observe the men praying but they never join or participate.

The main order of business in Act I is getting Amfortas, son of Titurel,  to and from the mikveh for a ritual bath in the vain hopes of healing his unhealable wound. (I have to wonder if this wound would be considered a pre-existing condition, and if so, whether or not it would be covered under Obamacare, but I digress) Kundry arrives with a vial of balsam from Arabia, but the younger knights are immediately suspicious; Where did the balsam come from? Who brought it? Is it Kosher?

Gurnemanz fills us in on the villain of the piece, Klingsor, who operates out of a magic castle guarded by a bevy of Flower Maidens, who exist to seduce and enthrall wayward knights. To hear Gurnemanz describe these lovely sirens is to hear the same rationale of the ultra-Orthodox men of today who will throw rocks at women they consider immodest.

We are told about the Holy Grail, and when it is finally revealed, what is it but a giant Kiddush cup? Amfortas even goes so far as to dip his fingers into the cup; in his delirium he must think it’s Passover and time to recite the Ten Plagues.

In Act II, we are transported to Klingsor’s castle, and in this production there is blood everywhere, gallons of it. Everything in Klingsor’s realm is treyf (unclean), especially the aforementioned Flower Maidens. The Flower Maidens all wear flimsy white nightgowns, and because they’re standing in a pool of blood up to their ankles, the hems of those nightgowns are soon soaked in the blood. They look like they’re having really messy periods, all of them at once. (How apt it would be for Parsifal to enter singing “A Wand’ring Menstrual. I, a thing of shreds and patches,” but, again I digress) Kundry attempts to seduce Parsifal on a king-size bed, but she succeeds only in getting blood all over the sheets. Parsifal somehow resists temptation, but it’s not really that difficult when the temptation is so disgusting. Parsifal catches one of Klingsor’s magic spears in mid-air and makes the whole place, and everyone in it vanish.

Parsifal returns to shul in Act III, and Gurnemanz, who does not recognize Parsifal after such a long absence, greets him with “Greetings, guest! Have you lost your way, and may I direct you?” Just what a temple usher would say, except during the High Holy Days, when it would be “Where are your tickets?”

Parsifal has brought with him the spear he wrested away from Klingsor, and this spear has the power to heal Amfortas’s unhealable wound. By the virtue of this, and the fact that Titurel has just died, Gurnemanz appoints Parsifal the new spiritual leader and dresses Parsifal in a white garment very like the Kitel a bridegroom would wear at his wedding.

A funeral for Titurel is held, and during the ceremony, Amfortas jumps into his father’s open grave, on top of his dead father. What might Freud say about that? I’m surprised no one had the presence of mind to say “Get out of there, you’re making a fool of yourself!”

The opera ends with the return of the Holy Grail, and Parsifal, for reasons best known to himself, dips the point of the spear into the cup. To me it looked like the end of a Havdallah service.

I doubt François Girard had my interpretation in mind, but this is just the sort of thing you invite when you attempt to update a classic.


Getting Heard

21 February 2013

Early in my career, I would write fan letters to composers and arrangers whose work I admired, and ask them to look at my work, critique it, and offer advice. The overwhelming majority of those I contacted responded most graciously in the affirmative. They were incredibly generous with their time and attention, and gave me valuable insights into their methods, as well as some terrific war stories. Some of them even gave my name out to others, or called me to assist them on projects.

I seem to have reached a state in my career where younger, or less established composers are now asking me to look at their work and give them advice on how to get it heard. It is, of course, flattering to be thought of as successful, and I take the responsibility of their trust very seriously. I owe a great deal to the writers who helped me, and since I can never really repay them for their kindness, I “pay it forward” by showing these other writers the same courtesy I was once shown.

Someone recently asked me what he could do to get his music performed more often. The music he showed me was very well crafted, intelligent, interesting and musical; there was nothing “wrong” with it that would put it in the reject pile. But still it languished, gathering dust. Why?

I had to think about this one, and that’s the beauty of being put in the role of a teacher; you’re often forced to examine and analyze things you may do purely by instinct, in order to explain them to someone else. “By your pupils, you’ll be taught.” as Mrs. Anna would sing to us.

What I came up with, and what I’ll share with you now, is this: Pieces I wrote to satisfy my own desires almost never get heard. Pieces I wrote to satisfy someone else’s desires almost always get heard, and usually more than just once. So, instead of writing a piece and then find an opportunity for it to be heard, why not find the opportunity first, and then write the piece to go with it?

If you want your music performed, it’s essential to get the performers in on your process, as early as possible.

Approach performers you admire, find out their interests and preferences, find out if they feel there are any holes in their repertoire that need filling, and then write the piece that will address all of the above. Check with them about ranges, techniques, as if you’re a tailor custom-fitting them for a suit of clothes. Make them part of the process, and of course they’ll perform your piece when it’s finished, because they collaborated on it with you, and, because of that, they have a vested interest in its success.


Countdown to HaZamir

30 January 2013

I see I have not blogged here in almost a year. Shame on me! My only excuse is a lame one; I got busy and couldn’t/wouldn’t make the time to blog. Busy times are when you have news to report, so my New Year’s Resolution for 2013 is to be a much more faithful journalist. I’ll keep the entries coming, and I won’t censor myself. I’ll let you, Dear Reader, be the one to decide if what I have to report is worth your time and attention.

I’ll also add that I was shamed into blogging more by the example of my friend, Cantor Jack Mendelson, who has just launched a new website. Jack has already blogged more in one month than I did all of last year. Well, Chazz’n, anything you can do, I can do… almost as much and almost as well.


Last week, on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I had the great pleasure of attending an open rehearsal for HaZamir: The International Jewish High School Choir. HaZamir is preparing for their 20th annual Festival, which will culminate in two concert performances in the Frederick P. Rose Auditorium in the Jazz at Lincoln Center complex in New York City. (Last year, they had one concert, which sold out instantly, hence the two back-to-back performances this year) The program includes a world premiere of a new piece by yours truly, “Netzach Yisrael” (The Eternity of Israel), commissioned by the Zamir Choral Foundation in honor of HaZamir’s 20th anniversary, through the Jeanne R. Mandell Fund for New Music. This is the second such commission for me; the first was “L’ma-an Tziyon” (For the Sake of Zion) for HaZamir’s 2011-2012 season.

The open rehearsal was part of a Winter Intervisitation, a rigorous rehearsal retreat, attended by some but not all of HaZamir’s 22 chapters, roughly 175 teen singers. I was very impressed with how much progress the kids had made with my piece, which they had only had for maybe two weeks prior. That speaks well of the tremendous skill and dedication, not only of the kids, but also of the conductors and pianists who lead and coach each HaZamir chapter.

I have every confidence that the concerts, with all 300+ voices, will be thrilling, inspiring, not-to-be-missed events. Details are below:

HaZamir: The International Jewish High School Choir
Sunday, March 17, 2013, at 3:00 PM and 6:30 PM
Frederick P. Rose Hall (Jazz at Lincoln Center)
Broadway at West 60th Street - New York, NY


March Madness

1 March 2012

I’m in the enviable position of having eight performances of my music this month, including three world premieres, two of which are commissions. I’m immensely grateful for such an embarassment of riches.

Here’s the schedule, along with some comments on the pieces:

Fri Mar 2 5:30pm – 6:30pm
Kiddush (WORLD PREMIERE) - Temple Emanu-El, Fifth Avenue & East 65th Street, New York, NY
— I wrote this in 2011, upon hearing of the death of composer, musicologist and raconteur Jack Gottlieb. The piece is dedicated to Jack’s memory. Jack was adept at finding novel approaches to setting traditional texts, and I set out to emulate his example. So, rather than a slow, stately setting of the Shabbat Evening Kiddush text, such as Louis Lewandowski and Kurt Weill had written, I wrote a merry, sprightly setting. The cantor intones a blessing over the wine, but the choir sounds as if they’ve already had some.

Sun Mar 4 3:00pm – 5:00pm
L’chu N’ran’nah (Psalm 95) (WORLD PREMIERE) Anshe Emeth Memorial Temple - New Brunswick, NJ
— A 2011 commission from Makhelat HaMercaz (The Jewish Choir of Central NJ), a community choir co-led by Hazzan Sheldon Levin and Cantor Anna West Ott. The piece is scored for SATB Choir, Piano, and Clarinet obbligato.

Sat Mar 10 8:00pm – 10:00pm
Y’did Nefesh - Temple Beth Elohim - Wellesley, MA
— I wrote this setting, for soprano, tenor, and piano, in 2007. This performance will be with the “original cast,” Natasha Hirschhorn, Ramón Tasat, and myself, under the auspices of the Shalshelet Foundation for New Jewish Liturgical Music as part of the Boston Jewish Music Festival.

Sun Mar 18 6:00pm – 8:00pm
L’ma-an Tziyon (WORLD PREMIERE) - Frederick P. Rose Hall (Jazz at Lincoln Center)
— Commissioned in 2011 by the Zamir Choral Foundation, this piece will be premiered by HaZamir: The International Jewish High School Choir. The texts are from Isaiah and Zechariah, and are a strong and energetic statement of Zionism. NB: This event is now SOLD OUT, but the piece will be repeated on 20 May 2012 in honor of Yom Y’rushalayim.

Sun Mar 25 3:00pm – 7:00pm
Sha-alu Sh’lom Y’rushalayim - Beth El Synagogue - 50 Maple Stream Road, East Windsor, NJ
— Performed by Sharim v’Sharot as part of the Mercer County Jewish Choral Festival.

Tue Mar 27 7:30pm – 9:30pm
Soprano Sax Sonata - DiMenna Center For Classical Music 450 W. 37th St., New York, NY, 10018
— Performed by Javier Oviedo (saxophone) and Helene Jeanney (piano).

[CORRECTION: I was misinformed; my Soprano Sax Sonata is NOT on this program. 3/4/12]

Wed Mar 28 7:30pm
“Jewish Voices” Concert - Anshe Chesed Synagogue, 251 West 100th Street New York, NY 10025
— A concert by Bachanalia in memory of Omus Hirschbein. Works by J.S. Bach, Arnold Schoenberg, Ernst Bloch, Natasha Hirschhorn and Dmitri Shostakovich (From Jewish Folk Poetry, Op. 79, transcribed for string orchestra by Steve Cohen)

Fri Mar 30 7:30pm – 9:30pm
Saxophone Quartet No. 1 - Church of the Redeemer, 36 South Street, Morristown, NJ 07960
— Performed by the Metropolitan Saxophone Quartet.

I’ll close here by expressing my deep admiration to all the musicians mentioned above who breathe life into all the dots and squiggles I put down on paper and transform it into music. Please support and encourage them.

Saved from Oblivion!

5 February 2012

Last night, Saturday, February 4, 2012, a Quintet for Alto Saxophone and Strings I wrote in 1978 received its world premiere performance at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ. You might be curious to know why this piece had to wait 34 years to be heard.

In 1978, I had been out of college for 2 years. I had a Bachelors degree from Manhattan School of Music (MSM), but I wasn’t keen on going for a Masters degree. I wanted to work and learn in the “real world.” Still, I felt it would be useful to continue taking composition lessons, not only for the knowledge I’d gain, but also for the spur of weekly deadlines the lesson appointments would afford. I studied privately with Giampaolo Bracali (z”l), who had joined the MSM composition faculty in 1972, the same year I started as a freshman. I studied with Giampaolo from 1977 to 1980, and I think that it was during this time when I truly found my voice as a composer. The pieces I wrote during this time include the Sextet for Piano and Winds, the Suite for Flute and Harp, the Symphony in One Movement, which I dedicated to Giampaolo Bracali, and the Quintet for Alto Saxophone and Strings.

A friendship with saxophonist Paul Cohen (no relation), whom I met at MSM during my undergrad years, alerted me to the largely untapped possibilities of his instrument, and I was eager to write something for the saxophone. Sax plus string quartet seemed like a good idea. I devised a three-movement structure wherein each movement would explore one particular facet of the saxophone’s personality. Movement 1 would feature tense, angular lines, Movement 2 would be soulful and ariose, and Movement 3 would be playful and sardonic.

[I’ll mention in passing that a young composer’s work is often a catalog of his influences, and this piece was no exception. One could hear lots of Bartok and Shostakovich in Movement 1. Movement 2 was modeled after a Bach aria with a walking pizzicato bass line, and this owes a particular debt to the lovely “Cranes Duet” from Kurt Weill’s MAHAGONNY. Movement 3 owes much to the scherzo from Schubert’s Cello Quintet in C, and in the trio section I do a cheeky, but affectionate parody of a Mahler ländler.]

When the piece was finished, I learned a very tough lesson: it was going to be really difficult to get string players to commit to performing, or even reading my piece. Apart from new-music specialists, for whom my style would be too conservative to consider, I found that established string quartets had such busy schedules playing their standard repertoire, they had little time or interest in new music. After a few months of frustration I gave up on trying to get the Sax+Strings Quintet heard, and went on to other projects.

Ironically, my next chamber piece would be my first Saxophone Quartet (1980), and that was premiered instantly, almost before the ink was dry. While the string quartet has a huge, rich repertoire, going back to Haydn, sax quartets only went back maybe a scant century or less. You write a piece for saxophone, and sax players go berserk with excitement as soon as they hear of it. You write a piece for strings, and your piece gets put at the bottom of a pile of pieces to be read maybe sometime. (Except in some very rare instances…) Is it any wonder that I’ve written so much music for saxophones?

Last night’s premiere came about when Andrew Steinberg, an undergrad sax student at Rutgers University, asked his teacher, Paul Cohen, for advice on repertoire for his junior recital. Paul remembered the Quintet, got Andrew in touch with me, and I was able to locate the score and parts, all done in beautiful, archaic pen-and-ink.

It was very strange to hear this music I’d written so long ago. My style has changed a lot over the years, and my music has gotten simpler and more direct. Back then I felt compelled to make a compromise between the music I heard in my head and the more rigorously intellectual music all my classmates were writing. If I had a beautiful simple tune, I needed to add some “wrong notes,” complicate the rhythm, or add some fussy details to make it sound “modern.” I no longer feel the need to do that, but people still tell me how difficult and challenging my music is, both for the performer and the listener.

I cringed at some of the excesses of my younger self, especially in the string writing, but I was gratified to see that the piece really worked in performance. Here was a piece that was shunned for 34 years, and now college students in their late teens and early twenties were telling me what a cool piece it was. I doubt that whatever satisfaction I might have gotten from having the piece performed when it was new could compare to the sense of vindication I felt last night, when the piece was finally heard.