Before the Dawn was written to honor the teaching career of Mr. Dave Gott, who served as Director of Bands at Haslett High School in Haslett, Michigan for 19 years. It was commissioned by the Haslett High School Band Boosters. Before I started writing this piece, I visited the Haslett High School Band to ask about their experiences with Mr. Gott and to brainstorm ideas for the piece. What struck me most about their observations and memories of Mr. gott was how he had helped so many of them do things they themselves did not think they could do, both personally and collectively—he saw potential in them that they could not yet see and help them achieve goals they could not have even imagined.
 
I am also fortunate to call Dave Gott my friend. For as long as I've known him, he wakes up well before dawn, getting a head start on the day. For me this time when the deep blue night sky moves toward day through hues of glorious red and orange is a time of hopefulness, joy, and optimism—it feels like anything is possible. My hope with this piece is to capture that feeling—the same optimism, hope, and inspiration that Mr. Gott brought to every student that entered his classroom—and to celebrate it through music. A simple melody rises from the distant horizon, repeating and expanding each time as more voices join. Eventually the melody gives way to unbridled energy, joy, and wonder, with soloists and sections collectively weaving their own unique variation of the melody into a colorful tapestry
 
- Program note by the composer

Many people use narrative to structure the way they listen to music. If a title or a program note does not immediately evoke a story, some will invent one to frame their listening experience. Video games—some more than others—also allow you to create your own story within the framework of a given world. Ghost Apparatus—a hidden network or force—is the soundtrack for a video game that exists only in my head. The narrative for this game is up to you. From the beginning, every note, every decision has a consequence—a cause and effect—that sets in motion a chain of events that cannot be undone. Every note, every gesture is part of a larger puzzle—these single points of sound come together to form something bigger. It’s not apparent from the beginning, but there’s also a force working against the music, against the game. It comes in the form of a melody that emerges slowly—just quick, dramatic swells at first—gradually becoming longer and punctuated by low, loud pillars of sound from the low voices until, finally, the music melts into chaos and this force overtakes the music entirely.
 
- Program note by the composer

It felt like it took a long time to write dream of ember, dream of star. I first started work on it in 2019, but as the 2020 premiere approached the COVID-19 pandemic canceled the premiere, and I stepped away from writing for a while. It was rescheduled for 2021 and then canceled again, and I found myself in the strange position of having unfinished material that I had written in what felt like a lifetime ago. Each piece I write is a snapshot of who I am and what I am feeling at that particular moment in my life, and so many things had happened in those long months that I felt different, changed. I found that I could not finish the piece I had started writing almost two years earlier. I restarted.

dream of ember, dream of star is not what I set out to write two years ago, and it comes from a place emotionally that I do not know how to adequately describe with words. There has been so much fear, so much loss, so much change, so much division, so many different challenges and experiences—for some I imagine it must seem like an entire lifetime’s worth of loss has been compressed into relatively a short time span. But this experience has also brought some things into clearer focus—a nascent hope and joy emerging from the pause—the silence—helping us to discover what is truly important. My hope is that this piece might create a space to reflect. For me, I have been drawn to a recurring image of fire and stars—the warm glow of a campfire under a cold, deep blue sky and twinkling stars—both emanating light but separated by billions of miles and many years, felt and warm and visible to me right here and now.
 
- Program note by the composer

I don’t normally like to begin program notes with dictionary definitions—it feels pretty stuffy to me—but it seemed appropriate for this piece, so here goes…
 
thunk [thuhngk] noun & verb
1. [n.] an abrupt, flat, hollow sound (example: The book landed on the floor with a thunk.); synonym: thud
2. [v.] to produce an abrupt, flat, hollow sound
3. [v.] colloquial past tense and past participle of think.
 
Melodious Thunk was inspired by the famous jazz pianist Thelonious Monk. Monk’s wife, Nellie Smith, nicknamed him “Melodious Thunk” because of his clunky, awkward, and brilliant(!) piano playing, and his, somewhat scatterbrained and disoriented nature. I really liked the idea of playing around with Monk’s name—first, because I personally really enjoy goofing around with “spoonerisms” (silly, ridiculous, mix-and-match letter games, which often happen by accident: for example, slip of the tongue becomes tip of the slung), and, second, because this nickname actually provided great musical inspiration. Melodious—well, that’s fairly obvious—and thunk (which is a great onomatopoeia!) became the starting points for the piece. Big, fat thunks are interspersed with pointy, clunky, bluesy blips, which are then transformed into a long, smooth, laid-back melody accompanied by a funky bass line. I haven’t consciously borrowed any specific tunes or licks from Monk, although I do use a small fragment of Dizzy Gillespie’s tune Salt Peanuts, but I hope you’ll hear some similarities between this piece and Monk’s iconic musical style and quirky attitude.
 
- Program Note by the composer