PROGRAM NOTES &
COMPOSER BIOGRAPHIES

Yaz Lancaster (b. 2000)
our streets (AFC COMMISSION & WORLD PREMIERE)

Yaz Lancaster is a Black transdisciplinary artist most interested in practices aligned with relational aesthetics and the everyday; fragments and collage; and liberatory politics. Yaz performs as a violinist, vocalist, and steel pannist in a wide variety of settings from DIY and popular music to orchestras; and their work is presented in many different mediums and collaborative projects. It often reckons with specific influences ranging from politics of identity and liberation, to natural phenomena and poetics. Yaz lives in Lenapehoking (Harlem, NYC), and they hold degrees in violin and poetry from New York University. LEARN MORE

Yaz’s program note for our streets follows: 

This piece was written for the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. Following the American Civil War, enslaved Black people were gradually emancipated from chattel slavery. This included thousands of Black people enslaved by Indigenous peoples on First Nations and “Indian” territories. Some Black-Indian Freedman were eventually granted citizenship, as well as reparations (money and Land) that allowed them to generate wealth. On Memorial Day weekend, tensions rose as armed Black residents protected 19-year-old Dick Rowland from a lynch mob when he was accused of assaulting a young white girl. Fearful of Blackness and the threat of Black prosperity and “freedom,” white supremacist mobs attacked and killed Black residents; and destroyed the Black-owned Land and businesses of Tulsa, Oklahoma (a.k.a. “Black Wall Street”) over the course of two days. 

Neither completely an elegy, or “uplifting,” work (–nor is it celebrating “Black Capitalism”), the piece moves through several moods, themes, and collections of gestures that arose during my research and reflection of the tragic and complex history. I wanted to remember and acknowledge both the pain and trauma of my people; as well as a stable and prosperous Black community – both of which have largely been historically misremembered, and/or erased. 

— Yaz Lancaster 

Kevin Puts (b. 1972)
CREDO FOR STRING QUARTET, ADAPTED FOR STRING QUINTET

One of the most prolific American composers of our time, Kevin Puts writes for a broad array of genres. A graduate of the Eastman School of Music and Yale University, Puts has garnered numerous honors and awards including multiple recognitions from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Rome Prize from the American Academy in Rome, and the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for his debut opera, Silent Night. His latest project, co-commissioned from the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera, is an adaptation of Michael Cunningham’s The Hours. It stars Renée Fleming, Joyce DiDonato and Kelli O’Hara, and is set to premiere in 2022. LEARN MORE

Puts’ program note for Credo follows: 

[Credo first person sing. of Latin credere, to believe] 

When Daniel Ching of the Mirò Quartet asked me to write a quartet for a program he was planning exploring ‘the lighter side of America,’ I wasn’t sure I could deliver. It was hard to find things to sing about. The government stubbornly and arrogantly continued to pour young lives and billions of dollars into a hopeless war, one to whose protest millions at home and abroad marched with what E.L Doctorow described as “the appalled understanding that America was ceding its role as the best of hope of mankind,” that “the classic archetype of democracy was morphing itself into a rogue nation.” Also around this time, a disturbed loner finally enacted his plan to gun down a record-breaking number of his fellow students at Virginia Tech and—amazingly—this failed to prompt any heightened talks over gun control by politicians who feared they might offend their gun-loving constituents before the next election. 

One day on my weekly commute from New York to teach at the Peabody Conservatory, I noticed as the train pulled into Baltimore the word believe emblazoned across a building. I later learned this was part of a campaign by the city of Baltimore to do something about the fact that ten percent of its population is addicted to either heroin or cocaine. As one who relies little if at all on blind faith, I found this to be a rather alarming approach. On the other hand, sometimes it seems all you can do is believe. For example, many of us believe we’ll find our way out of the mess. In the meantime, I have found solace in the strangest places: 

...in the workshop of a stringed instrument specialist in Katonah, New York, you can believe nothing in the world matters but the fragile art of violins and violas hanging serenely from the ceiling. He listens chin in hand as his clients play excerpts for him, then goes to work on their instruments with sage-like assuredness... 

...on the jogging path along the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh, you encounter above and below you the steel girders, asphalt and railroad ties of infrastructure, an immovable network of towering bridges and highways engineered by some deific intelligence... 

...from my apartment, I watched in a window across 106th Street a mother teaching her daughter how to dance.

I would like to thank Amy Anderson of Chamber Music Monterey Bay for commissioning this piece and for her belief in my work. Credo is dedicated by Lowell Figan to the memory of Janie Figan, tireless environmentalist and devoted lover of chamber music. 

— Kevin Puts 

Jungyoon Wie (b. 1990)
HAN FOR STRING QUARTET

Jungyoon Wie is a Korean composer, pianist, and educator with a vibrant career that explores themes of identity and utilizes elements from Korean, folk, traditional, European, American and contemporary modes. Her work also spans across creative disciplines including a recent short film featuring Han alongside filmmaker Toko Shiki, dancers Rie Kim and Jun Wakabayashi, and the Converge String Quartet that “explores shifting dynamics of identity, otherness, and the marginalized experience of women.” 

Wie was honored with the 2020 ASCAP Foundation Morton Gould Young Composer Award and has collaborated with numerous ensembles and orchestras around the world. She studied at the College of Wooster (OH), and the University of Michigan. 
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Wei’s program note for Han follows: 

The Korean term han originates from the Sinitic-language hen (恨) conveying pity and regret. This Chinese character amalgamates two different characters, one that denotes the mind and the other the state of limitation or stagnancy. This idea of impasse in one’s mind is central to the concept of han in Korea, a feeling of unresolved anger, grief, and regret that has been prolonged and accumulated over time. It has been identified that han, like trauma, suffers from its delayed manifestation which results in its ambivalent, paradoxical, and transgenerational quality. 

In the first movement of my string quartet Han, the traditional Korean tune, Saeya, Saeya, Parang Saeya (Birds, Birds, Blue Birds) is used to describe the concept of han. The origin of this melody owes much to why I selected this tune to describe han. It is both a lullaby and an elegy. It was sung to commemorate Bong-jun Jeon, one of the leaders in Donghak Peasant Revolution (1894-95), an armed rebellion in Korea by aggravated peasants against the corrupt government. It was also sung by the widows of the Jeon’s army as a lullaby for their babies. I found that these historical qualities of the original melody resemble the complexity of han that encompasses grief, regret, and hope. The original melody is stated at the beginning, and its fragments appear in different shapes and emotions, sometimes peaceful like a lullaby and other times explosive and pleading. 

The second movement imitates the color and intensity of singing style of pansori, Korean musical storytelling performed by a singer and drummer. Written without barlines, this movement acts like a monologue or recitative after the slow developing yet dramatic first movement. 

The third movement is inspired by sanjo, which is a Korean musical genre that features a solo instrument accompanied by janggu (a Korean hourglass drum). In sanjo, chuimsae (vocal signals) is used by the drummer to add to the musical excitement and to communicate with the audience as well as the soloist. 

The title of the fourth movement, Mu, means not, nothing, or without. I named this movement as such because this movement does not have a recognizable melody, yet expresses itself through dynamics, texture, and register. Here I wanted to write about the aspect of han having to do with the repression of repulsive elements deep within our psyche, which when allowed to surface can incite a visceral feeling within oneself so strong as to induce a desire to purge as a consequence. My goal was to create music that captures the process of purging these emotions from one’s being, and try to make something beautiful out of this. In the process of doing so, I hoped to challenge traditional aesthetics of what can be considered beautiful music and, as a consequence, beautiful emotions. 

The final movement, Maum, means heart or mind in Korean. It calls for Amita Buddha, a cosmic energy called into presence through the syllables. Through repetitious calling, chanting, singing, and meditating, I try to reach the state of emptiness, awareness, and the resolution of han. 

— Jungyoon Wie 

Kathryn J Allwine Bacasmot is a pianist/harpsichordist, musicologist, music and cultural critic, and freelance writer. A graduate of New England Conservatory, she writes program annotations for ensembles nationwide.