Repertoire

Donor Acknowledgement

These programs are made possible by the Lowell Milken Center for Music of American Jewish Experience at The UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music, with additional support from the Mickey Katz Endowed Chair in Jewish Music.

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Program Notes

Tants and Maysele for violin, clarinet, cello and piano (1981)

Tants and Maysele* for violin, cello, clarinet, and piano was written in the early fall of 1981 for the Aeolian Chamber Players. The leader of the Aeolians, violinist Lewis Kaplan, asked me to write a piece with a distinct Jewish profile and I was happy to undertake the assignment. In past years I had written a number of compositions that sought to synthesize contemporary aesthetic and technical thought with musical elements of clearly identifiable Jewish character. Turns of melody, dance rhythms, cadential figures, typical sonorities of an instrumental or ensemble nature, emerging from a body of various musics historically connected with Jewish life, were important elements in those pieces I intended to be characteristically Jewish. That much of the material was close at hand and second nature to me will come as no surprise to those who know that my father, Lazar Weiner, was an eminent composer of Jewish music, particularly eloquent in the realm of art song and the liturgy.

Tants and Maysele uses as its basic material musical fragments of Jewish character; dances, melodic and harmonic turns, phrase structures, and gestural inflections. If these elements are conceived as being “realistic” – (as a recognizable object in a painting is considered “realistic”) – then the compositional process first presents, then transforms those objects into surreal or abstract shapes, some of which remain substantial, others of which evaporate in a haze of mysticism or of nostalgic speculation.

In the Yiddish language Tants means “Dance.” Maysele means “Little Story.” The titles are taken from a pair of piano pieces my father dedicated to me when I was two years old.

Tants and Maysele, in turn, is dedicated to him. It was the last new composition of mine he heard before his death early in 1982.

*This piece is also referred to as Tanz and Máissele, which is its Ashkenazic spelling.

Video: Yehudi Wyner discusses Tants and Maysele 

Psalm 119 and Psalm 66 for low voice and piano (1950)

Psalm 119 (daleth) and Psalm 66, both for low voice and piano, were written in 1950. The two were conceived as a set, sharing harmonic material and conveying opposing aspects of prayer. Psalm 119 project contrition and supplication; Psalm 66 is a shout of jubilation and triumph. The first singer of these Psalms was the young alto Rosalyn Elias, then still a student. Her eloquent performance remains a vivid memory to this day. Psalm 66, “Halleluyah,” was later taken up by other notable singers such as William Warfield who performed it around the world, and by the tenor George Shirley for whom a high transposition was arranged. Psalm 66 was my first published composition.

Psalm 119 (daleth)

My soul cleaveth unto the dust:

quicken thou me according to thy word.

I told of my ways, and thou didst answer me:

teach me thy statues.

Make me to understand the way of thy precepts,

that I may talk of thy wondrous works.

My soul melteth away for heaviness:

Sustain me according unto thy word.

Remove from me the way of falsehood,

and grant me thy law graciously.

I have chosen the way of faithfulness:

thine ordinances have I set before me. I cleave unto thy testimonies:

O Lord, put me not to shame.

I will run the way of thy commandments,

For thou dost enlarge my heart.

Psalm 66

Halleluya, halleluya, halleluya, halleluya,

Shout unto God all the earth.

Sing praises, sing praises,

Sing praise unto the glory of his name,

make his name glorious.

Halleluya, halleluya, halleluya, halleluya,

Say unto God, How tremendous is thy work!

Through the greatness of thy power

shall thine enemies dwindle away before thee.

Halleluya, halleluya, halleluya, halleluya,

All the earth shall worship thee,

And shall sing praises unto thee,

and shall sing praises to thy name.

Trapunto Junction for horn, trumpet, trombone and percussion (1991)

What’s in a name? Sometimes a lot. Sometimes it can reveal a great deal about the atmosphere of a piece of music, even about its construction and genesis. Clearly, titles such as “symphony,” “string quartet, “prelude,” “sonata,” fugue,”not only define the genre of a composition, but also put it in a cultural and historical context. The idea may be to continue a tradition or perhaps to contradict past models. But in any case the reference is intentional.

But what of compositions that do not adopt historical prccedents, which are fanciful and formally self-defining? How shall these be called so that the titles may intrigue, yet not mislead, the musical audience? Thus Debussy’s La Mer may have been inspired by oceanic swells and images, yet it is by no means a formless series of watery impressions. On the contrary, it is a precisely calibrated composition of symphonic dimension, though not of ‘symphonic” construction. Another example might be Rituel by Boulez, which conveys a sense of the intention of the music while not specifying a programmatic narrative.

As for Trapunto Junction, the title says something about the origins of the piece, where some of it was composed; it makers some cultural references and reveals some of its constructive elements. First of all, the instrumental ensemble was specified by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, with the intention of featuring brass and percussion players. Furthermore, the percussion battery was to be mobile enough to enable easy touring. (Marimba and vibraphone are everywhere available.) I thought in terms of an energetic piece, lots of quick, fairly noisy music, full of intricate syncopations, in the manner of a salsa band. Quieter moments are there, too, suggesting elements of popular music, such as a sentimental ballad, with shades of the small ensemble of Duke Ellington. These and other musical materials, which are from various, normally unrelated, sources, were then stitched together, somewhat in the manner of a quilt. I had recently seen a handsome book on quila in America spanning a long history. The variety of the quilts was astounding. Clearly this “folk art” was capable of producing work of high artistic merit. One remarkable recent quilt was called ”Tuxedo Junction” and was inspired by a popular recording by the Glenn Miller organization.

With the references in my piece to popular music, quilting, to a kind of informal “assembling” of elements to create a form, I was tempted to use the title “Tuxedo Junction,” but could not bring myself to invade that hallowed sanctuary. But since my composition was partially written in Italy, where the word “trapunto” means quilt or quilting, and since junction means an encounter, a joining together of places or elements, Trapunto Junction seemed like a fair title.

West of the Moon for guitar, mandolin, flute, oboe, violin, cello (2014)

David Starobin, eminent guitarist and a close friend, was after me for the longest time to write a piece for him. A mere forty-five years went by before I dared to undertake the task, intimidated by his virtuosic standards and by the fact that the guitar was an exotic, mysterious instrument, and I knew nothing about its conventional technique.

He said: “Write your music. I’ll make it work!”

In 2010 a New York based group called Cygnus asked me to write a piece for them featuring David Starobin and a mandolin-playing colleague. At this point I felt it was now or never and so I launched into this risky enterprise and was shocked to find there was nothing to fear. On receiving the score, David made a few telling suggestions which I gratefully accepted.

Rehearsals for the premiere in New York went smoothly—very few modifications were required. Ironically, David chose not to play the guitar solo but to conduct the work. Subsequent performances at Sarah Lawrence College and The New England Conservatory took place without a conductor.

The fanciful title has to do with the commissioning ensemble—Cygnus—a swan. Research turned up a treasure-trove of myths and legends about swans from earliest times to recent. One alluring fairy tale told of a swan who needed to be pursued to a castle in an obscure land West of the Moon. That phrase captured my fancy for the title, though the legend in fact had nothing to do with the actual process of composing!

Music for The Mirror for violin, clarinet, double bass, percussion, narrator, mezzo-soprano and baritone (1972)

Music for the play The Mirror was written for the Yale Repertory Theater production in 1972-1973. The play, typically set in a ghetto or shtetl of Poland or Russia, concerns itself with sexual fantasies born of sexual denial, neglect and repression. These are hardly the usual subject matter for folk material about Jewish life! For the ensemble I chose instruments that would make up a Klezmer band: Violin, Clarinet, String Bass, and Drum. The music itself is permeated with the tunes, tonalities, and dances of the Jews of Eastern Europe, heard through a contemporary sensibility, however, just as Singer was reexamining the folk material he inherited from his background.

Video: Yehudi Wyner discussed Music for The Mirror

Yedudi Wyner’s music is published by Associated Music Publishers, Inc. (G. Schirmer)

Recordings of  Wyner’s music can be found on:

Naxos

Bridge

New World

Albany

Special thanks to Lowell Milken Center staff Mark Kligman (Director), David Brown (Manager) and Sharyl Holtzman (Event Coordinator), Eiden Choe (Student Assistsant) for their tireless assistance in helping make this concert possible, and our hard working tech team, Luis Henao, Jose Carillo.