program notes

Like most of the musicians I know, the initial pandemic lockdowns of March 2020 were a huge wakeup call on many levels. Levels on which I’m still trying to sort out. As I write this in mid-September of 2021, things still largely unresolved, the return to any kind of normalcy seems unlikely. By that I mean, the already abnormal version of the freelance musician is a lifestyle in which a regular income has always been a difficult thing to count on, only to be further compromised by the pandemic. Musicians learn to thrive when things are good, but also learn to remain creative and productive when they are not. In fact, during the good times, the musicians on my end of the musical spectrum tend to reinvest their earnings back into their own creative work, even if this work lacks the chance at being profitable. Outside of music, to even consider this as a possibility, could be viewed as a folly. But such is the life of an artist; passion over reason. 

One thing the pandemic did afford creative musicians though was time….lots and lots of time! Time to learn how to teach private students on Zoom. Time to work on remote projects with other like-minded collaborators. Time to practice your instrument, or to learn one that you hadn’t even played before. Time to compose and experiment with ideas that, outside of a global shutdown, would otherwise seem impractical due to the usual lack of rehearsal and time for players to embrace them. Thanks to the availability of unemployment payments and several other funding sources, many musicians were able to weather the storm and continue to increase their levels of proficiency. 

In mid-Summer 2020, I noticed that my perception of the passage of time had changed and was affecting the way I heard and thought about music. I was hearing music that included voices that moved at differing velocities, sometimes in sync by specific metric ratios, others freely moving with more fluid temporal relationships, and at other times completely random. I was also starting to hear fragments of music that moved forwards and backwards through time. While contemplating these musical fragments, the initial effect that struck me reminded me of the sound of playing a recording of a short music phrase forwards then immediately backwards. Upon further study, I started to become interested in the reversal of all of the musical information afforded to me: pitches, rhythms, dynamics, notation and group interaction. This eventually turned into a fascination and mild obsession with musical palindromes. 

The early versions of the Palindrome Series compositions were conceived by using the technique of graphic notation. This is a method of composition that uses pictorial representations to convey musical information rather than the typical five-lined staff. I began composing the suite by drawing two musical staffs onto an iPad with an Apple Pencil. The first staff was in black and white, and was roughly the shape of a horseshoe lying on its side but with the bottom of one side extending vertically upwards towards the beginning, but without touching it. I had seen many beautiful examples of contemporary graphic scores that were very carefully drawn and with the utmost of precision. These were clearly not that, and were never intended to be. My intention was to write down my musical ideas and consciously bend them back around to where they started. This psychological trick that I played on myself was to try and keep me from thinking only in a strictly linear way. As I completed the first staff I wrote the words “repeat backwards or forwards” into the score because I wasn’t yet sure how the material would be interpreted by the performers, only that it would somehow involve bi-directionality. In writing the second staff I incorporated two different colors, red and blue. I drew a treble clef symbol in red at the beginning (upper left corner) of the staff, and a reversed bass clef in blue at the end of the staff so it would not only be interpreted as the beginning of a part. With this second staff my original idea was to have the treble part moving forward and the bass part moving backwards. These visual works are what ultimately led to creating the written palindromic material for the suite, please see Ex.1 of graphic scores.

I then printed out copies of both staves, #1 and #2, and began to compose directly onto them, constantly hearing the music going in both directions. Once I had several versions of these études, I chose ones that I thought worthy of further exploration and translated them using conventional music notation. These newly notated scores allowed the performers to read the music in a format that they were more accustomed to, without having to decipher the hieroglyphic nature of the graphic scores. Furthermore, since the graphic versions included almost no bar lines, I could take more liberties in the process of writing these notated parts. The result was one of a more abstracted flow which included just enough organization to frame and contain the form of the statements. Finally, staying true to the original concept of the graphic scores, the written material (and for that matter, the work in its entirety) can be performed exactly the same way left to right as right to left.

I was now ready to get to work on developing these ideas into something playable by humans. To my surprise and delight, in mid-August of 2020, I was notified by the Jazz Coalition that I was among fifty composers to be awarded their recently established commission grant. It just so happened that during this same period two of my favorite humans (who also happened to be great musicians) had begun to make weekly treks from Brooklyn to my home in Northern New Jersey. Chet Doxas, a fantastic tenor and soprano saxophonist, clarinetist, and composer and I had been playing together occasionally before the lockdowns, and we had already started to develop a musical rapport. Drummer and composer, Vinnie Sperrazza, and I have been playing together for several years. During 2017-18 my wife, Sandi, and I were planning our move back to the New York area after many years away, first in rural Pennsylvania and then in Baltimore. I was actually Vinnie’s tenant at his apartment in Kensington, Brooklyn, and having Vinnie’s place during that period was amazingly beneficial for my return to the freelance creative musician life that I had been away from for many years. Playing duo with Vinnie in his music studio before heading out to do our daily rehearsals, sessions and gigs was one of my favorite things to do during that time. This period greatly served to help build the foundation that supports this recording and many of the other projects in which we continue to be involved with together. 

To stay on the safe side, during the height of the pandemic Chet, Vinnie and I began playing weekly sessions outside in my backyard. Our repertoire ranged from jazz tunes, to standards, and free improvisations. It would be months before we began playing the palindromic pieces that would eventually become the music on the album Were We Where We Were. Special thanks to my gracious neighbors in West Orange, New Jersey for their generosity and enthusiasm while we rehearsed, especially since I know that this music did not sound so great in the beginning. I really appreciate that no one complained about it! After all, it was a very unusual time for all and we seemed to be working it, one day at a time. 

Michael Formanek