Song for Astrid (2024)
for Voice, Piano and Electronics
The words recited in the vocal part are taken from a textbook (Han Yue Fu) compiled for the Ministry of Music during the Han Dynasty. The text is entitled “Southern” and paints a beautiful picture of the typical landscape of southern China: ponds filled with lotus leaves and fish swimming among them. The repeated words at the end of some sentences and the regular phrase patterns give the text its unique musical and metrical character.
Pitch shifts between A flat and D in staccato and legato are the main material for the two tape parts, which consist of granulated human voices.
9:30 p.m., Lullaby II (2024)
for Ensemble and Electronics
(Bass flute, Bass clarinet, Baritone saxophone, Percussion, Harp, Piano/Keyboard, Violin, Viola, Cello and Double bass)
The idea for this piece is closely related to “9:30 p.m., Lullaby”, which also deals with how an unborn child perceives sound. The relationship between the sounds from the outside world and how they are perceived by the unborn child is constantly changing, and the sounds are filtered through the protective layers of the womb. The distinction between pitch and noise is blurred and the identity of the fluctuating instrumental sounds is uncertain.
Twist and Turn (2023)
for Bass flute, Bass recorder and Shakuhachi in G#
In the womb, an unborn child twists and turns in a world of its own. As it develops, its movements become larger, but the space in which it moves becomes smaller. Does it feel like a fish swimming in the sea or a person dancing? The three flutes imitate the unborn child’s body movements, its only available language for communicating with the outside world.
Lullaby for Astrid (2023)
Song for Soprano and Piano
Inspired by J. S. Bach, who used the letters of his own name as pitch, the song was composed using A flat and D from my daughter’s name Astrid as the main pitch material. It’s probably not a lullaby in the traditional sense, but the recited word was considered a meditation leading to silence and nothingness, Eiapopeia, Heiapopeia……
9:30 p.m., Lullaby (2023)
for improvised Piano and Electronics
The piece focuses on how an unborn child responds to the sound of music. In particular, when it hears a lullaby – sung by the expectant mother – the sounds are close to its body, gentle and familiar. If we consider 9.30 p.m. as a point in time, the whole piece can be seen as a magnifying glass. What an unborn child heard in one minute is extended to 40 minutes in the piece. The space in which the unborn child perceives sound is highly compressed. Through the protective layers of the womb, music reaches the ear of the unborn, filtered and transformed. What did it actually hear and how did it feel in time? How does its brain process these sounds?
7:50 a.m., A Selective Memory (2022)
for 2 Pianists, 2 Percussions and Electronics
An unborn child leads a secret life and communicates its emotions to the mother-to-be in subtle ways. The mother can understand her emotions to some extent, but many aspects of the communication remain a mystery. Like a scientist trying to understand nature, the mother can observe and experiment, but ultimately has to accept that there are some things she may never know.
This piece is a musical reflection on how an unborn child creates memories and how its memory works in general. In the music, different types of musical fragments are linked, stacked, spliced and assembled. The connections between the fragments are similar to the connections between ideas in a conversation.
The piece also highlights the selective nature of memory: in order to remember something, we have to forget something else. Beneath the musical surface there is some space left for the imagination and we can musically reflect on what was lost when experiences in the life of an unborn child were selected, discarded, compressed and not remembered. Nevertheless, the forgotten experiences and emotions still coexist with the selected memories and indirectly shape its future life.
1:50 a.m., Dreaming (2021)
for Organ Solo and Electronics
Prenatal studies have shown that when a pregnant mother sleeps, the unborn child adapts and is likely to sleep at the same time. If the mother is dreaming, her emotional changes will often be perceived by the unborn child. The mother’s mind will be present in the unborn child’s thoughts. A child is not only a partial copy of the mother’s body, but also a copy of her character and lifestyle. The mother’s emotions will to some extent shape its personality.
The text “The Butterfly Dream” from the second chapter “On the Equality of Things” of the book “Zhuangzi”, written by the Chinese Taoist philosopher Zhuangzi (369-286 BC), is recited and forms the basis of the electronic part, in which a recorded recitation of the poem is transformed into a stream of unfamiliar syllables.
“The Butterfly’s Dream”
Once upon a time, Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi) dreamed of being a butterfly, a lively, flattering butterfly, happy with himself, following only his own will. He did not know that he was Zhuang Zhou. How happy he was when he awoke shortly afterwards (and realised): “This is Zhuang Zhou!” But he did not know whether he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamed of being a butterfly, or whether he was a butterfly who had dreamed of being Zhuang Zhou. There must be a difference between Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly! It means that beings change.
–The Book of Daoist Wisdom Complete text from the Chinese by Viktor Kalinke
2nd edition, Philipp Reclam jun. Verlag, 2019, 2nd edition, p. 36. (Inner Chapter 2.14)
13:24 – 13:37 (2020)
for Reciting Pianist and Electronics
The title “13:24-13:37” describes a 13-minute prenatal listening experience. Sounds of human speech are filtered through the protective layers of the mother’s body before entering the cochlea of an unborn child.
Two poems by the Song Dynasty poet Su Shi (1037-1101 AD) are used in the piece. “Zui Weng Cao” (“The Drunkard”) is relatively short and is recited by the pianist. “Chi Bi Fu” (“The Red Cliffs”) is longer and forms the basis of the electronic part, in which a recorded recitation of the poem is transformed into a stream of unfamiliar syllables. The sounds of the prepared piano and the digitally altered human voice blend together to create a disjointed and filtered impression.
21:12 (2019)
for Ensemble and Electronics
(Bass Flute, English Horn, Bass Clarinet, Viola, Cello, Piano, Sheng and Electronics)
The title 21:12 refers to the time of day when my daughter was born. This piece was written as an attempt to solidify, reconstruct and commemorate this event. Most of the source material for the electronic part comes from recordings of newborn babies’ heart sounds and cries.
There are seven types of sound patterns in the piece. Because the interpretation of the patterns is somewhat flexible, the relationships between the patterns, as well as the patterns themselves, will change and evolve over the course of the piece. This uncertainty is what the piece attempts to reveal.
Concave Convex (2017)
for Flute, Clarinet, Harp and Vibraphone
The piece was composed over the course of 12 months while I was breastfeeding. It is therefore divided into 12 separate sections. While each section has its own distinctive character, but they should all be considered as a whole.
“Concave” and “convex” are complementary antonyms usually used in a visual context. But when we put a visual idea into an audible context – does the idea itself change, do all the properties hold? What is lost in translation and what is gained?
he (2013)
for Brass Quintet and Orchestra
“He” (和) roughly translates as “harmony” or “unison”. It describes an equilibrium of forces, the balance of sentiments. The piece attempts to actualize 和 in different ways, but is it perhaps a distorted, skewed harmony that the listener is ultimately confronted with?
Cross Section (2012)
for 12 Players
(Flute, English horn, Bass clarinet, Bassoon, French horn, Trumpet, Trombone, Percussion, Violin, Viola, Cello and Double bass)
The cross-sections of an object reveal its inner structure. The cross-sections possess the characteristics of the original object, yet simultaneously exhibit their own distinct qualities. Each cross-section represents a variation of the whole, with each variation contributing a unique element to the composition. From the perspectives of timbre, patterns and rhythmic structures, the piece aims to create musical cross-sections of itself, thereby depicting the coexistence of similarity and individuality.
Northwards (2011)
for Bass Clarinet
“Northwards” is closely associated with a train journey from Germany to Sweden.
From the Black Forest to the Baltic Sea – the registral movements suggest a gradually sloping terrain, the process of sound is a transition from reality to illusion. Pitch, timbre, duration, rhythm and texture – in these different areas seemingly similar elements are contrasted. Polar opposites are connected: near and far, light and darkness, a movement between clarity and obscurity. Silence is the inaudible continuation of sound. A raw sound, produced by a piece of kitchen foil rattling on the inside of the clarinet’s tube, secretly oscillates into silence. Light and shadow merge. Movement — northwards.
Crossroads (2011)
for Bass clarinet, Trombone and Cello
The piece was inspired by my frequent walks in the Black Forest. The sounds in the piece describe the relationship between two different walking speeds and mediate between them, creating a continuous stream of events. But how much of this apparent continuity is lost in the detours and excursions?
In This Moment (2010)
for String Quartet
The piece focuses on a very short unit of time, similar in duration to the interval between two steps when walking at a regular pace. This unit of time is not seen as static, but as a process. Details of this process are slowed down and enlarged, as if seen through a magnifying glass. The various types of “magnifying glass technique” are derived from traditional Chinese qin music, in which the art of slowness plays an important role. The delicate sound of this more than 3000 year old solo instrument, similar to a zither, has been transferred to the string quartet, for example through the extensive use of pizzicati with glissandi, which are produced very delicately with the fingertip close to the fingernail and are reminiscent of the sound of a qin. At the same time, the string quartet’s wide range of expression and the musical communication between its members challenge the traditional musical boundaries of the qin.
Xing Cao (2009)
for Ensemble
(Clarinet, Saxophone, Trumpet, Tuba, Percussion, Accordion, Violin, Viola, Cello)
“Xing Cao” (Semi-cursive script) is a style of Chinese calligraphy practiced by my father. It unites clear and free strokes and is written in a more curvaceous style than regular script, however not as illegible as the cursive script. For me, there is a similarity in expression between the writing process of calligraphy and the performance of music. Therefore, when composing, I tried to connect contrasting tempos, including not only “xing” (relatively slow) and “cao” (relatively fast), but also the intermediate states.
The most famous work in the “Xing Cao” style is “Lan Ting Xu”. In it, the same character can be reinterpreted and written in different styles. The character “Zhi”, for example, appears in 20 variations. This variety of writing techniques also inspired my composition.
Ta (2008)
for Violin, Violoncello, Piano and Percussion
Tă means “pagoda” or “tower” in Chinese. The piece was inspired by the painting “Tower within a Tower” by the Chinese painter Mu Xin (1927-2011).
The piece attempts to translate the structure of the painting into sound. Musical equivalents of its curves, lines, bends, tensions, walls and floors were created, arranged and rearranged.
“Two towers are shown in the painting, one is the tower in real world in which a figure is imprisoned, the other is the ivory tower in the figure’s spiritual world” (Mu Xin).
Yo No Soy Yo (2008)
for Clarinet and Percussion
The inspiration for this piece was the poem “Yo No Soy Yo” (“I am not I”) by the Spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez (1881-1958).
I am not I
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives, gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.
Juan Ramón Jiménez
Translation: Robert Bly
Die Away (2006)
for Ensemble
(Flute, Violin, Cello, Vibraphone / Triangle, Piano)
The title of the piece is also the title of a text by the Chinese writer Lu Xun (1881-1936). In this work I explore the meaning of disappearance and abandonment, traces of which can be found in the compositional process itself.
Isolated points blend into sustained lines with soft timbres. When one is in a state of confusion, hesitation and rumination, it takes extraordinary effort to follow a path to its end.