I wrote Beijing Harmony as part of Composing China, a project in which I  (along with four other composers) was asked to compose a work that reflected upon my first hand impressions of China. I live in a very big city, New York City, and I was certainly dazzled by Beijing, an even bigger city. Every city produces its own set of harmonies. We tend to think of these harmonies as raucous but cities also have meditative spaces. In Beijing, I was enchanted by Echo Wall, a part of the Temple of Heaven in which voices echo from one side of the structure to the other.

Echoes and reverberations play a big role in Beijing Harmony. While writing this piece I thought about the majesty of Beijing’s architecture and how the past reverberates into the future. I envisioned a modern orchestra performing at the Temple of Heaven in the 15^th century. Because of the expansive spaces in these ancient structures I imagined that the sound would bounce off the stone floors and buildings creating a fanfare of echoes, an acoustical rebounding and ringing that would slowly grow in zeal and fierceness. Because echoes move in space, the sound of the orchestra is constantly moving in a sonic architecture.

The following seating takes full advantage of the spacial elements in Beijing Harmony:

Strings seated in traditional formation from Stage Right to Left in the following order: Vlns. 1-4, Vla., Vc., Cb.

Winds and Brass seated so that Player 1 is Stage Right, Player 2 is Center, and Player 3 is Stage Left.

The 4 French Horns should be similarly spread out from Stage Right to Stage Left.

Tuba, Percussion and Piano do not need special placement.

Beethoven's brutish and loud music has always inspired me. At the time it was written, it was probably the loudest music on the planet. The raw power of his orchestral writing burned through the style of the time.


A commission by the Beethoven-Fest Bonn gave me the opportunity to ask this question: What if someone, while writing a piece of music for orchestra, just happened to stumble over the same material that Beethoven used? What if someone unknowingly used this material in the course of writing his or her new work?

In Rewriting Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, I retained one essential musical idea from each movement of the original work. From the first movement, I couldn’t resist working with the huge barbaric opening chords. From the second movement, I took the divine and other-worldly theme, adjusting it slightly so that when it ends, it is in a key one half-step higher. The theme continues to cycle around and slowly spirals up. From the third movement, I lifted the background accompaniment and brought it to the foreground. From the fourth movement I used the main theme.

Did this “rewriting” transform the music, or did the music transform me? Throughout the process I questioned, Who am I to take these precious notes and mash them into clay? But at a certain point I simply got lost in the material. I revelled in its power. I forgot about these questions in my mind. I forgot about Beethoven.
—Michael Gordon

Decasia was commissioned by the Basel Sinfonietta for the occasion of European Music Month, which was held in Switzerland in 2001. The piece was conceived as an environmental symphony. Wanting to control the experience completely, we built a concert hall with an enormous, installed set and multimedia design by Ridge Theater in a cavernous, empty warehouse in Basel. Directed by Bob McGrath, the production included projections by Laurie Olinder, a set by Jim Findlay and a film element by Bill Morrison, which was later edited into an independent film with the same title.

Decasia now exists in two formats. The staged version completely alters the performance space, with musicians sitting on a multi-tiered set behind hanging scrims, which provide a surface for the projections and film. The audience stands or sits, surrounded by the set, engulfed in a barrage of sound and imagery.

In the concert version of Decasia, Morrison’s film is projected on a scrim, which can hang behind or in front of the orchestra.

Early in our collaboration, Morrison showed me damaged archival film that he had discovered. It was marred by corrosion and riddled by pockmarks –– the mottled remains of celluloid images. While imagining the music that might complement this film, I thought of a piano that hadn’t been tuned in twenty years. It’s a beautiful sound. Once you’ve heard that sound you never forget it. What’s the orchestral equivalent? I wondered. I set out to make the orchestra sound like it was covered in cobwebs, with instruments that had been sitting for a hundred years, creaky and warped and deteriorated, and the musicians happen to come by, pick them up and play. What would that sound be?

I decided to re-tune the instruments of the orchestra. For example, there are three flutes. One flute plays completely in tune; a second flute is tuned an eighth of a tone higher; and the third flute is tuned an eighth of a tone lower. When all three flutes play in unision, the sound they produce is thickened. The whole orchestra is retuned in this manner. So, here are fine classical musicians who spent their whole lives trying to play perfectly in tune now trying to play perfectly out of tune, which is quite a task.

The first sound you hear is that of eight brake drums. The brake drum is a percussion instrument that is exactly what it sounds like –– an automobile part from a junkyard completely covered with rust. The percussionist scrapes it slowly with a metal beater, creating the hiss that is heard at the beginning of the piece.

Throughout Decasia, you hear music that is very simple, but it is covered up. It’s like something very beautiful that’s been layered with mud and junk, but you can still see how beautiful it is –– you can still see that it is shining.

The resulting sound changes one’s bearing to tonality, melody and harmony. The music becomes unstable. You enter a realm, like standing at the gates of heaven, wondering if there are 500 choirs of angels singing, because the overtones and the out-of-tuneness creates a massive complexity of sonorities.

—Michael Gordon

Weather was commissioned by the Seimans Foundation for the German-based string orchestra, Ensemble Resonanz. Inspired by the chaotic scheme of weather patterns, I wondered how these might transfer musically, as if the past several hundred years of musical ideas were swirling around, and I could just grab things I liked and build on them.

I imagined history as being not so much like a timeline, but like an elevator where I could stop at whatever floor I wanted, and everything was going on simultaneously. The elevator went up to eight, where I found Vivaldi, who of course wrote a massive string piece based loosely on the same subject. Then I went down to the fourth floor, where I found Jimi Hendrix, back up to nine for some 1990’s London club music, then to five for the noise of battleship sirens.

In Weather Two, I put the entire string orchestra through a fuzz box, a distortion unit associated with electric guitars, which I first used in my solo cello piece, Industry. It’s a sound I continue to go back to. Weather Three is constructed from a recording of a siren blast. I harmonize the blast with the string orchestra, slowly transforming this dangerous and edgy warning into a friendlier and calmer sound. Weather One and Weather Four do not use electronics, and can be played unamplified as well as amplified.

The original production of Weather was created in collaboration with filmmaker Elliot Caplan and toured Germany in 1995 as a multimedia production. Soon after, Ensemble Resonanz recorded the piece for the London-based, “drum-and-bass” dance label, Arthrob. The instruments were miked closely, and the sound is up front and aggressive, almost rough.

The connection with Arthrob gave me the opportunity to go into the studio after the work had been recorded and add a layer of drum beats and synthesized sounds. These exist only on the recording. I like to think that Weather does with a string orchestra what a composer in 1723 would have wanted to do had he access to the technology.
—Michael Gordon

I have been asked to compose an anthem for a nonexistent country.  The country I imagine has no borders, no passports, no military, no prime minister, no citizenship, and no anthem. After hearing No Anthem you will not want to live in this 'nonexistent land' and certainly you will not want to die for it. The music for No Anthem is designed to welcome you into this boundary-less nonexistent place, where all citizens are just temporary visitors. 

— Michael Gordon

What is it we talk about when we talk about music? Melody, Harmony, Emotion. These are things that add warmth to a piece of music. I wondered what it would be like to take the warmth away — to approach the music from a different view — like walking out into the tundra. I imagined making a piece of music cold.

I first experimented with microtones in XVI (1993), a piece for 16 voices, and in Vera, Chuck & Dave I returned to thinking about the notes between the notes. Charles Ives was inspired by two marching bands playing different tunes in different keys simultaneously, and tried to recreate this effect in his music.

In Vera, Chuck & Dave, I imagine that those two bands are actually playing the same tune in the same key, but the bands are out of tune and out of step with each other. In order to get this effect, a subset of the ensemble –– clarinet, trumpet, trombone, violin and electric guitar –– tunes a quarter tone higher. I later expand on this 'acoustic chorusing' of pitch in Sunshine of Your Love and Decasia.

—Michael Gordon

Trance began after a dream I had in July 1994 while I was in residence at the Djerassi Foundation just south of San Francisco. In the dream I brought my music to an older composer for his comments. The composer was a combination of Gyorgy Ligeti, Louis Andriessen and my own teacher Martin Bresnick. The older composer looked through my scores, one by one, and I could hear in my head the music that he heard in his head as he looked at my compositions. It all sounded like Mozart. After each score the composer shook his head in a discouraging way. Finally he turned to me and said, “You need to work with large forces.” I woke up startled.

That day I received a message from Andrew Cornall, Executive Producer at Argo/Decca Records, who asked me to write a CD-length piece for the London-based ensemble Icebreaker, to be recorded on the Argo label. I had already written Yo Shakespeare for Icebreaker, and I was excited to write another piece for this great group. I started work on Trance. Thinking about my dream, I decided to add eight brass players to the core group of 14 musicians. In addition, two sections of the piece, “Trance Drone” and “Trance 5”, include electronically made audio playback.

The rehearsal process with Icebreaker allowed experimentation with rhythmic figures that were beyond the scope of rhythm as known in Western music. These rhythms were complicated yet could be understood as a groove or feel. The openness and flexibility of Icebreaker allowed me to imagine music with a strong rhythmic pulse, written down, with no one playing on the beat. I imagined several interlocking units going on simultaneously –– like the different thoughts in one's head that go on at once, or, in this case, like being able to hear different kinds of music in one's head at the same time.

—Michael Gordon

I often use syncopation as a way to not only make rhythm intense and jagged, but also to find out how far away musicians can get from each other rhythmically while still staying connected to the beat. When I began writing Four Kings Fight Five in 1988, I was thinking about how most music of the world is clearly connected to a pulse. But there also exists music that is extremely complex rhythmically and not pulse based at all. These were two approaches that I wanted to meld.

What I did in Four Kings Fight Five is to have a common pulse among the nine musicians, so that the music is always pulse based, but, at the same time, to make the rhythmic connections very distant. I did this by forming a chain of simple rhythmic syncopations that spread out in sub-divisions of both 2 and 3, so that over the course of a 9-beat measure the rhythm is subdivided into 6, 8, 9, 12, 13.5, 24, and 27. Although it sounds complicated and builds up a frenetic texture, the instrumentalist playing 27 beats per measure is subdividing against 13.5 beats per measure, which are quarter-note triplets against 9 beats per measure.

I thought of he nine instruments as the scene of a battleground, although it is unclear who is fighting whom. I like the biblical reference of Abraham going to battle against four kings who have triumphed over five kings. The battle of the four kings against five is unimportant in itself –– it is related in Genesis only to let you know how strong the four kings are that Abraham defeats, that is, they are strong enough to have beaten five others.

Perhaps at the same time that these nine insruments are battling it out, they are also working together to create a texture that is more mysterious then all of these numbers I mention here.

—Michael Gordon

I spent most of 2009 going in and out of synagogues to say Kaddish, the Jewish prayer of mourning, for Madeline. Of course she wouldn’t have approved. She was a communist. Madeline lived in a different world, a world of transplanted Yiddish secular culture. I realized all of this only much later. There’s plenty of time to think about these things in synagogue because there are numerous prayers and who can concentrate on so many of them? Madeline loved music and she would take me to concerts when I was little. I would fall asleep but that didn’t deter her. She wanted me to love music as much as she did but she certainly did not want me to be a composer. Madeline, are you listening? I dedicate this piece to your memory.

—Michael Gordon

the light of the dark was written for the ensemble, Eighth Blackbird. In my initial conversations with the musicians, they mentioned the “other” instruments that they play (accordion, guitar, percussion...), and I imagined a chaos onstage, with the musicians grabbing the nearest available instrument and playing music on it. The piece starts with a heavy-metal-esque cello line and builds from there into a kind of out-of-control late-night jam session, complete with unpredictable metallic crashes, swirling virtuosic fiddling and colliding glissandos.
––Michael Gordon

In Idle, three violins play an almost-jig, but each violin plays just slightly after the one before, so that the dance becomes sweet and sour, a jig filled with dissonances and layered textures. Written in the same post-9/11 period as Light Is Calling and Tinge, it is accompanied by electronic loops that were created in my home studio on Desbrosses Street.
––Michael Gordon

Throughout Potassium I use a distortion unit or fuzz box on the string quartet to create a mysterious and charged sound. Potassium begins with major and minor chords sliding in and out of tune –– very simple harmonies that, with the use of electronics and glissandos, become fogged up like a blur, making you unsure of what you are hearing. This music eventually breaks out into a section which I call in the score, “Frenzied Soul Explosion,” with a wilder sliding accompanied by attacking chords. In some part of my brain I must have known that in the Periodic Table of Elements, Potassium is listed as the symbol K. Potassium is dedicated to the Kronos Quartet.


—Michael Gordon
 

acdc is based on a simple, almost pop, chord progression that somehow found its way into 11/8, the basic time signature that runs throughout the whole piece. I layered oddly phrased melodies on top, with the cello playing a pizzacato bass groove.

acdc was commissioned by the Alternate Currents ensemble, which made me think about electricity. I’m not a scientist or engineer, so I was free to imagine that alternating currents were something like two different speeds or rhythms going on simultaneously.

––Michael Gordon

“How strange that they are quiet,” is what I thought when I was writing this piece with its twisting, hushed melodies. In the first, more introspective section, I wanted to create an eerie psychedelic sound world of overlapping tunes. In the second section, which is loud and rhythmic, the ensemble divides into two competing streams, eventually joining up again at the end in a high-pitched, ecstatic revelry. This was the second piece I wrote for the Michael Gordon Philharmonic.
––Michael Gordon

I wrote Light Is Calling in my studio on Desbrosses Street in the days and months after September 11, 2001. I live close to Ground Zero, and I wanted to make something beautiful after witnessing something ugly and tragic. The piece juxtaposes the sound of an acoustic violin with warped electronic pulses played backwards.

Bill Morrison, with whom I collaborated on Decasia, created an accompanying film to Light Is Calling by reprinting and re-editing a scene from the black-and-white 1926 movie, The Bells.

XY is a percussion solo for five tuned drums. In XY, the right and left hand of the performer get louder and softer in reverse symmetry. That is, while the right hand gets louder and louder, the left hand, which was loud, gets softer and softer, and so on. The performer’s hands do this continually. Eventually, each hand moves at different speeds. For instance, if the right hand plays four notes to the beat, the left hand might play five. As the drumming of the right hand fades away, the drumming of the left hand emerges at a faster rate. Also, the length of time that the hands take to emerge and fade contracts and expands.

I am speaking of the hands of the performer as if they were independent beings, and indeed they practically are. When I was imagining the music of XY, I thought of the double helix of DNA, which wraps around itself and spirals upwards.

—Michael Gordon
 

In 1943, a former cheesecake model, known only as “Acquanetta,” lit up the screen in the B-movie horror film and now cult classic, Captive Wild Woman. Stunning and exotic, Acquanetta played the untameable and gorgeous creation resulting from a mad scientist’s experiments on an ape, a role the young actress sizzled in and played so well a sequel was soon in the can. So began a brief career in bread-and-butter films that ended only a few years later when Acquanetta inexplicably walked away from the Hollywood studio system and swanned off to Mexico.

Her past is a mystery. Because of her come-hither stare and sensuous pout, Walter Winchell nicknamed her “The Venezuelan Volcano.” In interviews, she claimed Native American roots, and her obituary in 2004 stated that she was born on an Indian reservation near Cheyenne, Wyoming. Who was Acquanetta, and why did she walk out on her contract with Universal Pictures at the height of her career?

In Acquanetta, the mock serious, campy spirit of horror movies is turned inside out in a bravura, one-act deconstruction of the five minutes that changed Acquanetta’s life forever. The mad scientist Doctor, the insistent Ape, the reluctant Brainy Woman, the visionary Director and the beautiful monster herself, Acquanetta, gather in this re-imagining of that fateful experiment. In soaring, sometimes comic and always indelible songs that perfectly capture the heightened drama of horror films, these vivid characters reveal their inner longings and emotional shadows in what is ultimately a haunting meditation on the meaning of identity, transformation, stereotypes and typecasting, set in the heyday of Hollywood gloss.
––Deborah Artman
Librettist, Acquanetta

Libretto

Cast/Characters:
Acquanetta (mezzo-soprano/alto)
Brainy Woman (soprano)
Ape (coloratura)
Doctor (tenor)
Director (bass/baritone)
Chorus

Scene 1:

Acquanetta, Ape, Brainy Woman, Female Chorus (scream)
Ahhh…, oooh….

Scene 2:
Acquanetta: aria
Conceal me, disguise me, obscure me, exchange me.
Obliterate me, transubstantiate me.
Shield me, mask me, shroud me, blind me, screen me, veil me.
Bury me, transform me, convince me, remake me.
Conceal me, disguise me, hide me, translate me.
Screen me, transform me, camouflage me, transmute me.
Veil me, convert me, transfigure me.
Metamorphose me, obscure me, shroud me, blind me.
Remake me, convince me, alter me, translate me.
Alias me, modify me, cover me up.
Assimilate me, convert me, alias me.
Exchange me, transmute me, transubstantiate me.
Conceal me, disguise me, alter me, bury me.
Assimilate me, obliterate me, hide me.
Transfigure me, turn me, exchange me, remake me.
Convert me, conceal me, modify me, assimilate me.

Scene 3: Musical Interlude
Chorus
Ohhh… (Gasp!)
Strangest of sights!
Introducing Acquanetta.
Burning fire in deep water.

Scene 4:
Doctor: aria

Doctor (urgent and possessed)
Who am I today?
The mad scientist.
I live in the inner sanctum.
The fantastic world of my dreams.
Who do I play today?
I transmutate an ape into a woman.
I glandulate an ape into a captive wild woman.
I’ll transmutate an ape into a woman.

Scene 5:
Ape: aria (+ Female Chorus)

Ape (despairingly)
Because I'm inside this costume –

Chorus
Ahhh…, ohhh…

Ape
Because I’m inside this costume –

Chorus
Ahhh…, ohhh….

Ape
You can't tell if I'm good or bad.
You can’t tell if I’m black or white.
You can’t tell if I’m thin or round.

Chorus
Would it surprise you if I were a woman?
Would it surprise you –

Ape
¬– if I were a woman?
Because I’m inside this costume –

Chorus
Ahhh…, ohhh…

Ape
You don't know if I'm decisive or persuasive.
You don’t know if I’m commanding or alluring.
You don’t know if I’m enlightened or disheartened.
Would it surprise you if I were a woman?

Scene 6:
Doctor/Ape Duet

Doctor (obsessively)
Gown, gloves, mask,
magnifying glass.
Razor, drape,
forcep, scalpel, hand drill.
Bulb syringe,
kellies, tweezer, morphine.
Blood, more blood, more morphine.
Electric coagulator.

Ape
Last week I played the Bones from Beyond.

Doctor
Transmutate –

Ape
Before that the Black Widow.

Doctor
Glandulate –

Ape
It was so hot I almost fainted.

Doctor
Trephinate –

Ape
The Demon Without a Face –
the mask alone took six hours.

Doctor
Evolution, fluctuation –

Ape
A hairy tarantula, the Fog Creature

Doctor
Plasmatic transfusion.

Ape
The Doppelganger, Ooze, a killer bee.

Doctor
Gown, gloves, mask,
magnifying glass.
Razor, drape,
forcep, scalpel, hand drill.

Ape
Would it surprise you if I were a woman?

Doctor
I’ll transmutate an ape into a woman.

Ape
Would it surprise you if I were a woman?

Doctor
I’ll transmutate an ape into a woman.

Scene 7:
Director: aria (+ Chorus)

Director
And cut! (with authority, to Acquanetta) Acquanetta, are you ok in there?
(to Ape) Ape, you are hungry. (to Doctor) And Doctor, a bit more.
(to Brainy Woman) And sweetheart, think of your brain as your first-born child.
(dreamily, to Audience) The medium is black and white.
Movies are made with shadows and light.
I use chiaroscuro, deep shadows that are practically black.
We call them bread-and-butter pictures.
That’s where the big money is – the B’s.
We’ve got to make this movie in ten days.
It might gross over a million the first week.

Chorus
She had a certain something.

Doctor
She had a certain something.
(to his cast) Alright, here we go. Quiet!
Quiet, please. Roll camera! Sound.
Action!

Scene 8:
Brainy Woman (+ Ape + Female Chorus)

Brainy Woman
Please don’t take my brain.
I could be the Queen of Scream.
I could be the ingenue.
I could be the femme fatale.
I could play a real woman.

Chorus
(yodels) Ahhh..

Brainy Woman
Please don’t take my brain.
I could be a bathing beauty.
I could be desirable.

Brainy Woman/Ape
Ahhh…

Chorus
(Gasp!)
I want to play a real woman.

Brainy Woman + Ape + Chorus
I want to play a real woman.

Brainy Woman
I could be the ingenue.
I could be the femme fatale.
Please don’t take my brain.

Scene 9: Quintet

Acquanetta, Brainy Woman, Ape, Director, Doctor
In the celluloid world,
once you are cast, or miscast,
you are that forever.

Scene 10: Musical Interlude

Scene 11:
Acquanetta (+ Cast + Chorus)

Acquanetta
I am your beautiful monster.
Lovely and shy,
I can stop a lion in its tracks.

I am your beautiful monster.
The one with an invented past.
Who will I play today?
The Venezuelan Volcano.
It all happened so fast.

I am your beautiful monster.
Lovely and shy,
I can stop a lion in its tracks.

I am your beautiful monster.
My shadow cast upon the wall
causes fear in people’s hearts.
The secret you want to ignore
is inside this costume.
(yodels) Ahhh…

Ape + Brainy Woman + Chorus
(yodels) Ahhh…

Director ( + Male Chorus + Doctor)
I know you want everything
to be clear and simple as black and white.

Acquanetta (+ Brainy Woman + Ape + Female Chorus)
I am your beautiful monster.
Lovely and shy,
I can stop a lion in its tracks.

Acquanetta + Ape + Brainy Woman
Ahhh…

Doctor + Chorus
Once you are cast or miscast,
The one with the invented past
Burning fire in deep water

Director + Male Chorus + Doctor
I know you want everything
to be clear and simple

I wrote What to Wear with the great American iconoclastic theater personality Richard Foreman, who wrote the libretto and directed the first production at the RedCat Theater in Los Angeles in 2005. What to Wear features a multitude of Madeline X's, who live in a sad, sad world and think about what to wear, and a gigantic Duck that plays golf. Like many of Foreman's scripts, the work is at once incomprehensible and deeply comprehensible.

In the early 2000’s, Richard called me on the phone and asked if I would be interested in working on a piece together. I was a long-time fan of his work and I jumped at the chance. We live within walking distance of each other, and over the next six weeks, Richard dropped off three scripts, each script shorter than the one before. He left me with only one instruction, that I was free to include or not include any part of the script as long as the Duck remained.

In order to better understand Richard's words, I asked him to make me a tape of a read-through of the libretto. Listening to Richard read illuminated his text and gave me the direction I needed to set the words to music. Along with four principal singers –– one male and three female –– the score to What to Wear includes a small woman's chorus and seven instrumentalists.

––Michael Gordon

The Carbon Copy Building is a dynamic and visually stunning trip through the gritty underside of urban life. Words and drawings by celebrated New Yorker comic-strip artist and recent MacArthur Grant recipient Ben Katchor (best known for the dark, witty humor of his cult-classic comic Julius Kniple, Real Estate Photographer) are vividly brought to musical life in a completely collaborative effort from Bang on a Can Co-Artistic Directors Michael Gordon, David Lang, and Julia Wolfe. The revolutionary show won the Village Voice 2000 OBIE Award for Best New American Work. After several years, the work is finally out on CD - accompanied by Katchor's beautifully illustrated libretto - in a limited edition hard-bound Book and CD case.

This revolutionary new production embraces the dark, witty humor of Katchor, known for his cult classic underground comic, Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer, to look at a pair of buildings constructed from the same architectural plan. One stands on a wide, wealthy avenue and the other on the forgotten alley of a fringe neighborhood. Architecturally, the buildings and their plans are identical, but their uses and the people and businesses that inhabit them could not differ more. Combining the striking projections of Katchor's comics with powerful virtuoso performances by a cast of four singers and four musicians (winds, keys, guitar, and drums), the production inventories the contents of the buildings, explores the parallel yet opposite lives of their inhabitants, and uncovers the strange and hilarious places in which the two worlds overlap - finally bringing together the odd lives of each building over a single piece of cherry cheesecake.

Katchor's stark line drawing reverberates with the jagged angularity of Gordon, Lang, and Wolfe's explosive new music to depict a strange and powerful American urban experience.

When I moved into my loft on Desbrosses, the streets were empty, since few people lived there. But both then and now, there were the homeless. Over time the neighborhood changed from an industrial warehouse district to a residential area. Anonymous Man is a memoir about my block. The piece is built around my memories of moving in, meeting my future wife for the first time there, and conversations I have had with two homeless men who made their home on the loading dock across the street.

— Michael Gordon

In 2007, Francisco J. Núñez asked me to write a new piece for his wonderful children's chorus, Young People's Chorus of New York City. He asked me to pick an urban topic, and I thought, What's more urban than the subway? So I decided to set the name of every stop on the F train, which starts in Jamaica, Queens, and ends at Coney Island, Brooklyn. I picked the F Train simply because I liked the names of the stops. Written for treble voices, the chorus is divided into four groups that sing in a close canon throughout.
––Michael Gordon