Imprint (2011)

Scored for soprano, piano, and string quintet (2 violins, viola, ‘cello, and bass); $20 for score, parts, and demo; order here. The text, by the composer, is an open-ended lamentation on the death of a colleague, which could be construed as just about anyone who is missed and left a positive mark. In a gesture representing the departure of the person in question, the pianist ceremoniously leaves the stage half-way through the piece, playing only a simple, quiet coda - offstage - after that; a second keyboard instrument is required for this.

Imprint was composed as my tribute to legendary FAC teacher, accompanist, colleague, and treasured friend Michael Rice. It features two recurring elements… a simple 4-note descending motive (C-B-G-F), first sounded by strings and piano, and one bar later in the voice, permeates the melodic material.  The second element, limited to the piano part and sounded at the the opening, is the occasional quotation of a song by Sally Albrecht, Till the Stars Fall from the Sky.  Michael typically concluded his FAC recitals with all of his students on stage at once, singing a piece that would conquer the audience with warm, direct expression, leaving them awash in sentiment.  I chose this song, his closer in May of 2007, for the last line of each stanza, a fair description of our devotion to Michael and his to us: “I am yours now and forever, ‘til the stars fall from the sky.” The piano solo — a little past the 3-minute mark — fades in with repetitions of the song’s opening gesture.  The right hand then plays a few of the do-re-mi-fa-so vocal warm-ups so often heard emanating from the voice studio (these can also be faintly detected in the string parts).  The solo concludes with a simple, seemingly distant playing of the melody that is set to the words “I am yours now and forever…” My heartfelt thanks go to Mary Freeman and the fine young musicians of John Ravnan’s Chamber Music class for the passion and artistry they brought to this premiere, which can be watched here.  Seldom have we mounted a performance as heartfelt, difficult, or necessary.  We are all better — immeasurably so — for having known Michael.

 Goodbye, old friend.

Your journeys lit many paths; your ears heard all.

How is it I learned all you taught me?

The lesson returns, not over.

Somehow the day comes and I hear all.

Rhythms fill my hands, voices appear breathing in song.

Why do I remember, old friend, so well?

Your light was without effort;

a child could ask no more, and hears all.

With you I breathe in laughter, in hues of gray,

and music-- the breath of music,

my old friend.