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The Quintet for Saxophones and Piano was written in late 1992 at the request of the Syrinx Saxophone quartet in Amsterdam. The first performance was given in January 1993 at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam with the Syrinx Saxophone Quartet and the composer at the piano. The Saxophone Quartet has been in existence for at least a century, and many composers have made use of the ensemble's great sonoric possibilities. It is probably no overstatement to claim that the saxophone quartet is for the wind instruments what the string quartet is for the stringed instruments. In the last twenty years the ensemble has gained even greater popularity, especially among young composers, because its performers are so willing to request and play new music. Strangely enough, few compositions exist (5 to date, including the present work) that were specifically written for the piano quintet combination. When I was asked to write for this combination, I immediately accepted the challenge: Combining the robust saxophones with the piano seemed ideal. The instruments are definitely a match when it comes to dynamic possibilities, whereas in the piano-strings combination the piano often has to hold back (both in composition and performance). In the Quintet I combined my longtime fascination with early 20th century music with composition techniques that I had not yet explored. In my attempt to be more adventurous in melody and harmony, I used a rather free form of twelve tone technique in which one tone row delivered the material for the entire piece. I did not avoid typical tonal sonorities such as fifths or even triads if they where a result of the series' properties. In addition, I gave myself plenty of freedom to alter pitches if my ear dictated to do so. When I stumbled upon new harmonic sonorities, I made sure to use ample repetition to give these sounds an almost tonal quality. Working in this fashion, the first two movements remained actually quite true to the technique, whereas my self-declared liberty with the technique came in most useful in the third movement. Rhythmically, the work uses a combination of metric modulation and frequent meter changes. The pulse of any measure never dominates for long. This method of writing gave the work a rhythmic flexibility which I had not been able to achieve in earlier works. The first movement, Anxiety, starts out deceptively calm. The first episode of the piece remains that way, with a brief interruption in the form of a clash between the instruments upon which the calm briefly returns. After that, the piece picks up speed and events increase in dynamic intensity and textural complexity until the beginning of the movement returns full force in the saxes combined with a flurry of motoric gestures in the piano. The accumulated energy slowly dissipates to make way for the second movement. The second
movement, darkness, is initially static music: The row travels through
the instruments, pointillistic at first, later with long held tones, while
the piano repeats and holds the first two pitches of the series -an E
and an F, separated by an octave in the lowest register. There is almost
no development, except for a brief middle section. The image of a covered
night sky at a lake comes to mind: There is no light, no wind, no commotion.
Every now and then moonlight breaks through a tear in the clouds and it
is possible to see the dark silhouettes of the lakes surroundings. Then
the clouds close and everything is dark again. The third movement, roughness, borrows its material from a single gesture in the first movement and expands that gesture harmonically and melodically in a relentless and at times wild dance. Roughness is found in the piece's unpolished harmonies, brisk transitions, loud accents and stomping ostinatos. A special feat is the use of so-called slap-tongues in the low register of the baritone saxophone which gives a rhythmical effect like the snap-pizzicato on a string instrument. There are no interruptions in tempo until the piece ends with a upward sound sweep ˆ la Piazzola.
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