Chamber

During a year-long collaboration with Zoe Loversky to compose a new live electronic piece for viola, I initially focused on her virtuosity, repertoire and unique sound, in addition to the physical attributes of the viola. Soon these observations laid a foundation for Feathered Rainbow, aided by my study of viola literature and spectral applications.

Another idea in using electronics was to enhance the potential of live acoustics, not prohibiting the audience from hearing the performer or overpowering the performer. Then, all tapes and synthesized sounds are derived from her own recordings, naturally blending with the live performance, while applied effects magnify certain elements of the live sound.

As the title suggests, consonant intervals and overtone series serve as an axis, while more dissonant voices fluctuate from the center, forming an arch-shaped structure. This dynamic extends to the relationship between two performers: the viola exerts a core momentum, and the electronic oscillates between augmenting the viola sound and interacting as an interdependent improviser.

The inspiration for Metal Room I came from an imagination of a chilly, enclosed space with walls made of metal, where metallic instruments are being played. As the instruments resonate, the entire room vibrates with sound, creating an immersive experience where the walls themselves seem to echo the music back and forth.

Throughout the piece, the metallic instruments produce a diverse range of sounds, from loud to soft, engaging in distinct rhythmic and timbral dialogues. Through the interplay of these elements, Metal Room I conjures an imaginary environment filled with a myriad of metallic sounds, inviting listeners to immerse themselves in the hypothetical space.

For a long time, creating intimate sound and space has been one of my core musical interests – among performers and the audience, through sound and the act of performance. This idea led me to use breath as the main material of Soomool (“breath is” in Korean).

Human breath, by nature, possesses intimacy both in acoustic and emotional realms. People always make and hear it from themselves and others, whether consciously or not. Also, in addition to its ubiquity, it also conveys one’s specific physical and emotional status. These two layers of intimacy are drawn to the background of this piece, and the performers amplify the different shades of morphing breaths within a very static, soft and fragile soundscape.

The text is about the breath that reminds their departed lover – adding another layer of intimate experience. However, it is not expressed through plain voice – simply being whispered almost unintelligibly, only leaving the vestige of a resonating counterpart, both in sound and in text.

"Beaconsfield" stands for Beaconsfield Station in Brookline, Massachusetts, United States. As a small suburban trolley station, passengers are few, especially on weekend mornings. Its unfurnished facilities are rather mundane and unremarkable.

However, one day I realized the odd harmony of the station and its natural background: fenceless railways embraced by maple trees, wooden platforms more than a half-century old, falling leaves, electric wires that segment the sky, horning trains, children's voices from a nearby playground, pre-recorded arrival signals from old speakers, and more. Also, I came to recall the different seasons of this station: muffled footsteps on the snow, red and yellow foliage on the railway, headlights through morning mists, blossoming flowers...

Following this discovery, I imagined the audiovisual time-lapse of this station, and then I reversed the time flow and transformed it into sounds. "...at Beaconsfield" is therefore an aural projection of these moving images, which contains continuous changes (rather than repetitions) from one season to another, but also consistent peacefulness and harmony.

Psalm 121 is titled a “song of ascents” to the temple. The narrator(s) first seek help, and soon realize that God is actively protecting them. Although they acknowledge that there are obstacles and dangers on the way, they still are confident that God will keep them from all harm. This harm can be both physical and metaphorical – struggles from the Christian life. Also, the sanctuary - their contextual destination – still stands on the earth, but is spiritually separated from the secular world. 

While reading this psalm, I came to internalize the text with my experience of climbing mountains and my spiritual life: I, as a living creature, am bound to the physical and earthly realm, and prone to slip and stumble. But during my life, God continuously assures me of his guidance, on the toilsome yet joyful road to his kingdom.

This piece is my reflection on Psalm 121, and the materialization of my spiritual journey. Unlike real mountaineering, which ends in descending, the beginning section never comes back in the original motifs, for the path set after me is ever ascending. 

“Dal-eun” is the first two syllables of The moon, only half, is on the paulownia tree (달은 반만 오동에), an old Korean song, .

Although this piece is purely instrumental and detached from its lyrics, the “Sijo(시조)” vocal style remains in the sound: very long phrases that are almost non-metric, slow drum ostinato with alternation of five and eight beats, a wide variety of embellishment in both attack and decay of each note, and subtle control of tremolos. While flute and clarinet present the tune, the string instruments respond to the woodwinds, and supply radiant harmonic and timbral colors. As the tension increases, percussion gets out of regular beats, but more fluidly directs other instruments, as in the traditional Sijos. Through the interaction of these three groups, a vibrant continuum appears, as if it sings the text, the unfulfilled longing in a silent courtyard.

 Below are the lyrics of the original tune.

"The moon, only half, is hung in the paulownia tree; the Milky Way flows into the western mountains.

In the empty courtyard, pacing up and down, carried away by my yearning, my thoughts are just like the flickering lamp, inextinguishable.

Suddenly ak-ak the rooster cries. Sleep eludes..."

The title "Theme and BHariations" stands for the two notes, B flat (B in German) and B natural (H in German). From these two notes, a raw theme is paraphrased by the twelve ephemeral variations. Apparently, each section shows distinct gestures and moods without a stable meter, although the sonority is closely connected. Clusters, noises, and accented notes are dry and fragmental. Also, silence is a variable factor, occasionally playing a key role as much as sounds. And the striking dynamic and register contrast intensify the drastic shift between the variations. 

Prelude (or Postlude?) is an extension of the tuning scene before starting the concert. Whenever it is played, a wide variety of frequencies in the open strings, and microtonal chords appear. Standard A does not exist until the end, and performers tune again and again, to meet the goal altogether. During these false tunings, the audience also would lose their idea of where the “right” A exists, and accept this type of tuning as an independent musical phenomenon.

The title implies that it may be a prelude to the real concert, starting from the mess to the fine-tuning. Also, it can be played backward, therefore functioning as a postlude to the concert, thus returning to the “natural” and “unorganized” state.

Have you ever experienced a download error? This piece starts with that experience. Often those errors produce crashed files. Especially for the image files (.jpg, .png and more), they sometimes change into a full spectrum of noises. Those noises produce strikingly eccentric patterns of pixels, not revealing a tiny bit of the original image. Nevertheless, these randomly generated images exceed the original in a different sense, sometimes.

For its namesake, “Corrupted image.png” consists of crashed and diminished patterns. Those patterns are barely related to each other so that they sound very distant, seldom considered as the same piece. Over and over, these stacks intersect and disappear before developing, thus forming a colorful and drastically contrasting sound-structure. 

This piece is a transcription of a (virtual) car race. In this piece, each component portray many sounds of the race, e.g., the grumbling engine sound before departure, the start signal, big and small crashes between cars, the slippery tire sound within the circuit, and the Doppler effects when cars run rapidly.

Title-wise, the numbers one, two and three are the basis of the structure. For example, these numbers form three signals from start to end, the pitch relationship in the motif, increasing numbers of common notes between distinct scales, the numbers of cellos, and finally overall 6 structure, which is a sum of three, two and one. This logic forms structural and harmonic unity. In addition to that, many anomalous elements not relevant to that logic appear in this piece from time to time, thus depicting irregular situations which occur in a real car race.

This piece supposes a “laughing competition” in which the composer, performers and the audience can enjoy together. This song is composed in four scenes: encounter, competition, reconciliation and cooperation. Also, undefined materials, for example, improvisation and acting, make this song unique in every performance. To express laughter, I selected two wind instruments, especially Saenghwang and Melodica, considering that can express polyphony. 

In the dark night where the end is unknown, a person who enters the black forest wanders and prays.

The structure of this piece is derived from Jeremiah 20: 7-18. Based on the text, I made the words used in the song, a confession of my self-doubt. 

From the moment when I put composition as an important part of my life, anxiety and doubt come endlessly. Negative voices that are heard as much as cheerful consolations; the doubt I reflect on every time I release my pieces; the constant accusation that comes from within; shamefulness whenever I saw my past pieces.

Despite my inner endeavor to fight back these negative thoughts, I was worried about how long I can hold up the music, for I am not mature as a musician. This piece speaks directly of my anxiety, confusion, disappointment, and frustration of mine.

And eventually, despite all, this represents my firm will to keep my music going on. 

In this piece, I arranged the melody of Dum medium silentium (in the moment of silence), a Gregorian chant. Like the lyrics of this chant, I would like to express God’s silent but timeless power and beauty that cannot be perceived by our earthly perception, with the unique timbre, long phrases, and even silence.

Also, I let the player freely select among multiple suggestions for each section. Also, sometimes the player should improvise within abstract notations. Therefore, every performance becomes distinct from each other, thus expressing the might that is identical in essence but ever-changing in appearance. 

This piece is based on the basic formative elements; dots, lines and planes, and faces. I matched dots to individual tones, lines to melodies, and planes to harmony. Also, I made the overall structure of seven movements, by developing and becoming higher dimensions, i.e. dots to lines.

Of course, a variety of textures, such as planes that consist of dots and larger lines made by numerous small lines, which are not directly derived in the above process, are also inserted in various places.

I compose this piece in the method of serialism, to give unity and produce a neutral tone-color. Also, I explored the nuance generated from limited elements.