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Gillian Whitehead  

Alice

Duration: 36' 00" Year: 2002
an eight movement monodrama for mezzo-soprano and orchestra

  • Instrumentation
    3343, 3310, harp, timp., 3 perc., strings, mezzo-soprano
  • Programme Note

    In 1909 Alice Adcock, a lively and adventurous young woman from Manchester, was on her way to New Zealand. She was 23, and had recently developed TB, for which there was then no cure. Somehow she persuaded her widowed father to let her travel alone to the other side of the world in case a healthy climate would save her life. (It worked – she lived for another 50 years). The family kept her entertaining letter describing shipboard life, and a few postcards from her have also survived, but most of what we know about her time in New Zealand comes from her father’s letters to her, of which he kept copies, or from family tradition. On her arrival in New Zealand, Alice went into service, travelling widely, much to the consternation of her father. As housekeeper (and the only woman) on a farm in Makarora (a remote settlement on Lake Wanaka) she became pregnant to an unknown man, but was ‘rescued’ by marriage to a local farmer, Charles Pipson, shortly before the birth of her daughter. In 1911, her beloved father died; in 1912, Alice and Charles had a son and the following year, pregnant again, Alice took her children back to England to visit her family. Tragically, while she was away, her husband died suddenly of typhoid fever. Alice hurried back to Makarora to claim her inheritance, but left the two babies with her brother Sam and his wife (who were shortly to emigrate to New Zealand) and took only her eldest child, the illegitimate one, with her. This outraged her sisters-in-law, who saw it as an insult to their dead brother; they sent her away from the farm empty-handed. Once again she had to take a housekeeping job, this time in the North Island. In 1914, Alice and her brother’s family met up again, and Alice began a new life. (Fleur Adcock – abridged) The music of Alice is text-driven, ranging between a language at times extremely simple, as was the basic musical language of the settlers, and at times quite complex, evoking a storm at sea, or the unease of the settlers in a new environment, or Alice’s reaction to the problems which beset her. The piece is held together by various referential motifs. The initial idea, which perhaps suggests the instability of the sea, is also present in the bell-like sounds marking Charles’ death, music associated with a storm at sea is later associated with mental stress, while music suggestive of the movement of shipboard lice later underlies Alice’s traumatic encounter with her sisters-in-law.

    There are eight sections, which often merge into one another: 1. in a letter to her father, Alice describes shipboard life; 2. in New Zealand, she compares her past life and hopes for the future; 3. a dialogue between father and daughter, expressed through their letters; 4. in Makarora, Alice discovers she is pregnant; 5. Alice hears of her father’s death; 6. in England, she learns of her husband’s death; 7. back in Makarora, Alice is turned away by her sisters-in-law; 8. turning her back on the South Island, Alice looks forward to her new life with her brother’s family in the north.

    While writing this piece, I was drawn again and again into the thought that, although this is a true story, set in a particular place at a certain time, it has the resonances of a universal myth, known to all of us who live here. Our forebears, or we ourselves, have crossed the seas to begin a new life, with unforeseen and unimaginable difficulties and felicities, whether ten years, a century or a millennium or so ago.

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Karlo Margetic  

Dubina

Duration: 04' 00" Year: 2005
for orchestra

Leonie Holmes  

For Young Nick

Duration: 05' 30" Year: 2002, r. 2012
for orchestra

  • Instrumentation
    2222;4231;timp;2 perc;piano;harp,strings
  • Programme Note

    As I listened to media reports on the ownership of Young Nick’s Head, I began to wonder about the life of the real ‘Young Nick’, who first sighted this land from the deck of the ship Endeavour. What was life like on board the ship for the young boy, and how did it feel to sight the land? Various images came to mind, including a silhouette of land in the early morning light, or a murky shape barely visible through grey storm spray, or a dark smudge on a bright blue horizon. This piece was written with these images in mind.

    For Young Nick was premiered by Wellington Youth Orchestra in 2003.

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Gillian Whitehead  

the improbable ordered dance

Duration: 18' 00" Year: 2000
for full orchestra

  • Instrumentation
    3334, 4331, hp, pf, timp, perc. 3 players (resaresa (rainstick), 7 roto-toms, xylophone, vibraphone, claves, metal chimes, tamtam,bass drum,tapped stones, 5 suspended cymbals, flax bundle, 5 woodblocks, guiro) strs.
  • Programme Note

    In his 1974 collection ‘The lives of a Cell’, Lewis Thomas wrote a memorable essay devoted to the spectrum of sound made by all living creatures. He believes that as well as producing sounds in every possible way to send messages to their own kind, all creatures have the urge to make some kind of music. The rhythmic sounds emitted by all creatures might, Lewis suggests ‘be the recapitulation of something else – an earliest memory, a score for the transformation of inanimate random matter in chaos into the improbable ordered dance of living forms.’ It was this essay, together with my fascination in the rediscovery of the part of Auckland I knew as a young child, that have shaped this piece.

    The basis of the piece is the twelve possible three-note groups which function to form molecular structures – harmonic, textural, gestural, melodic – some simple, some complex, often symmetrical. The piece could be regarded as part of a classical tradition, in that it focuses primarily on balance of pitch and orchestration rather than on gesture or programmatic elements, and places the instrumental writing well within the range of the instruments rather than exploiting their extremes.

    The improbable ordered dance is in a single movement and begins with a ghostly chant-like melody over a drone; this recurs in different forms several times during the piece. A transition section based on transformed sounds of nocturnal birds leads to a metrically free ‘dawn chorus’. The following chorale-like passages and the rapid sections that follow are part of a restless upward-moving continuum which can never settle nor ever finish. The later sections of the piece recycle, combine and finally dissipate the earlier material.

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Anthony Ritchie  

Whalesong

Duration: 10' 00" Year: 2006
for solo double bass and orchestra

  • Instrumentation
    2*11(1)2; 2200; perc. (bass drum, side drum, sus. cym., mba, glock., tam-tam); strings (max. 10,8,6,5,3)
  • Programme Note

    Whales have long been one of my favourite mammals, and I have always felt greatly aggrieved when I hear of the slaughter of these huge and gentle creatures. One of the most heart-warming sights I know of is seeing a community of people trying to save beached whales, a sight that is not uncommon around our coastline. For most New Zealanders, the idea of hunting whales is now abhorrent and worthy of protest at an international level. This piece, entitled ‘Whalesong’, is my small contribution to that on-going protest. The piece takes its inspiration from a marvelous and famous recording of a humpback whale, made by Frank Watlington of Columbia University Geophysical Field Station, and first released by Roger Payne in 1970. Some phrases from this song have been incorporated into the music, such as the opening rise of a third. The many sliding phrases in the piece owe a debt to the whale’s singing, as do some low rumbling effects on the double bass. The echoing sound world of the underwater is also evoked in the music. Ideas from the whale’s song are subjected to compositional processes, in order to create a coherent piece of human music, something the composer has already grappled with in his work for flute, entitled ‘Tui’ (2004). Whalesong also has a programmatic component to it. Its peaceful song is cruelly interrupted by a harpoon, and the whale is slowly hauled in (signified by the mechanical rhythms in the final section of the piece). I would like to express my gratitude to Dale Gold for his assistance and advice in writing this piece.

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