Abstract
It is a special privilege for a composer to create a large-scale musical work commemorating a significant historical event. Remembering such a fraught period as the Irish Civil War is difficult, painful and challenging. Yet, the artist is called to devise, design and create a lens through which we view our realities past and present, through which we reflect on our experiences, and which has the potential to inform and enrich our responses to those experiences.
While writing this work, I was conscious of cultural inheritances: the rich legacy of Ireland’s musical tradition, with its coded political songs; music for single instruments which can be relatively easily carried from place to place rather than the instruments of palaces; a historical yet vibrant living contemporary oral tradition, now sitting alongside and sometimes even within a younger and distinctive orchestral tradition, and a growing canon of art song and opera: all of these combine to create a backdrop to this new work.
The nature of the text sources for this cantata brought its own challenges. The source material is far different from texts a composer might normally choose, such as poetry or drama. Yet, the words emerging from these documents also abound with lyricism, pathos and spectacle. They are factual accounts, which also impart information essential to the flow of the narrative, so expertly shaped by librettist Ed Vulliamy and performance adapter Kellie Hughes. Given the vividness of the texts, one may understandably ask, why not an opera? The range of documents and the various situations they represent are by nature fragmented, and I have sought to realise this in the music, as if opening a drawer, and casually discovering a letter. And then another one, and another. My first priority in writing this cantata was to serve these texts and to tell their story.
To meet the challenge of representing over thirty-five different characters, I focused on the content of what they were saying. Individual singers are not limited to particular characters, but rather, material and personae are shared around the vocalists, maintaining the focus on the events and conversations taking place, surrounded by a framework of orchestral colour.
Certain considerations emerged in the process of composing: I wanted the voices to tell their story, without it being overshadowed by their being associated with a particular side in the conflict. Instead I sought to bring attention to their struggles and experiences. This was also the basis for my instrumental choices, for example, in the restrained use of uilleann pipes, whistle and harp, instruments which are so suggestive of Irish national identity. There are moments in the piece when the text recalls the past, or foreshadows what we hope is to come, through such recurring phrases as ‘Who’d Ever Think it Would Come to This?’ (which became the title of the work), ‘Look at the poor boys, God help them’, ‘I know he was right’ and ‘It’ll soon be dawn’, among several others. Musical themes from classical, sacred, and Irish traditions are referenced. These include the aisling song, ‘Cáit Ní Dhuibhir’, in which a woman symbolises a nation struggling for sovereignty, and ‘Amhrán na Leabhar’ a Kerry lament for a sunken boat carrying teaching books, to represent the drowning of wisdom when a hundred and fifty men were locked below deck on the cattle boat, the Lady Willow. Symbolisms abound in my work, and alongside several references here to other composers past and present, I invoke in particular the symbolism of the harp (Ireland’s state emblem and national instrument) and the temple bowl (an instrument which accompanies us in our search for peace within). These two instruments come together at the very close of the work, representing the search for peaceful sovereignty of a nation.
While writing this work, I was conscious of cultural inheritances: the rich legacy of Ireland’s musical tradition, with its coded political songs; music for single instruments which can be relatively easily carried from place to place rather than the instruments of palaces; a historical yet vibrant living contemporary oral tradition, now sitting alongside and sometimes even within a younger and distinctive orchestral tradition, and a growing canon of art song and opera: all of these combine to create a backdrop to this new work.
The nature of the text sources for this cantata brought its own challenges. The source material is far different from texts a composer might normally choose, such as poetry or drama. Yet, the words emerging from these documents also abound with lyricism, pathos and spectacle. They are factual accounts, which also impart information essential to the flow of the narrative, so expertly shaped by librettist Ed Vulliamy and performance adapter Kellie Hughes. Given the vividness of the texts, one may understandably ask, why not an opera? The range of documents and the various situations they represent are by nature fragmented, and I have sought to realise this in the music, as if opening a drawer, and casually discovering a letter. And then another one, and another. My first priority in writing this cantata was to serve these texts and to tell their story.
To meet the challenge of representing over thirty-five different characters, I focused on the content of what they were saying. Individual singers are not limited to particular characters, but rather, material and personae are shared around the vocalists, maintaining the focus on the events and conversations taking place, surrounded by a framework of orchestral colour.
Certain considerations emerged in the process of composing: I wanted the voices to tell their story, without it being overshadowed by their being associated with a particular side in the conflict. Instead I sought to bring attention to their struggles and experiences. This was also the basis for my instrumental choices, for example, in the restrained use of uilleann pipes, whistle and harp, instruments which are so suggestive of Irish national identity. There are moments in the piece when the text recalls the past, or foreshadows what we hope is to come, through such recurring phrases as ‘Who’d Ever Think it Would Come to This?’ (which became the title of the work), ‘Look at the poor boys, God help them’, ‘I know he was right’ and ‘It’ll soon be dawn’, among several others. Musical themes from classical, sacred, and Irish traditions are referenced. These include the aisling song, ‘Cáit Ní Dhuibhir’, in which a woman symbolises a nation struggling for sovereignty, and ‘Amhrán na Leabhar’ a Kerry lament for a sunken boat carrying teaching books, to represent the drowning of wisdom when a hundred and fifty men were locked below deck on the cattle boat, the Lady Willow. Symbolisms abound in my work, and alongside several references here to other composers past and present, I invoke in particular the symbolism of the harp (Ireland’s state emblem and national instrument) and the temple bowl (an instrument which accompanies us in our search for peace within). These two instruments come together at the very close of the work, representing the search for peaceful sovereignty of a nation.
| Original language | English |
|---|---|
| Publication status | Published - 30 Sept 2022 |