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The Arching Path: A Conversation with Christopher Cerrone

The Arching Path: A Conversation with Christopher Cerrone

Christopher Cerrone is part of a tectonic shift in the new music landscape. Recently named one of The Washington Post‘s “21 Composers and performers who sound like tomorrow,” the Brooklyn-based composer has collaborated with a veritable who’s-who of classical ensembles, ranging from the Los Angeles Philharmonic to Third Coast Percussion. He’s an integral member of the Sleeping Giant collective—a modern-day “Les Six” of sorts—alongside Timo Andres, Jacob Cooper, Ted Hearne, Robert Honstein, and Andrew Norman, all notable composers in their own right. Cerrone has also received numerous accolades in recent years, which includes nominations for the 2014 Pulitzer Prize (for his opera Invisible Cities) and a 2020 Grammy Award (for The Pieces That Fall to Earth). And this just scratches the surface…

Christopher Cerrone
(Photo by Jacob Blickenstaff)

Cerrone’s music is tricky to pin down—in the best possible ways. It’s accessible, but also incredibly rich and thought-provoking. (Not that these things have to be mutually exclusive!) It revels in ear-catching colors and displays an insatiable curiosity for unique sound combinations. (Several of his compositions feature electronic accompaniment, giving them a delicious, digital “sheen.”) It exudes a deep literary sensibility, as well as a fascination with place, memory, sound, and silence. Simply put, it’s amazing stuff.

The affinity for place and memory is particularly evident in Cerrone’s latest album, The Arching Path (available now from In a Circle Records). This release highlights four piano-centric chamber pieces, three of which are inspired by travel—The Arching Path and Double Happiness stem from the composer’s trips to Italy, while Hoyt-Schermerhorn was conceived after many late-night commutes on the New York subway. The centerpiece of the album is I will learn to love a person, an inward-focused song cycle that sets the Twitter-esque poetry of American author Tao Lin. It’s an incredible album overall and definitely one worth checking out. (You can order it on Bandcamp or wherever digital music is sold. It is also available for streaming.)

Chris and I chatting from our respective Zoom “boxes.” (Screenshot used with permission)

A few weeks ago, I had the great privilege to sit down with Chris—albeit virtually, over Zoom—and talk about his new album. Our 45-minute conversation was fascinating and wide-ranging, covering topics from creativity during the pandemic to janky family violins.

Below are excerpts from our discussion, which have been edited for length and clarity:


Kevin McBrien (KM): How have you fared this past year with COVID and lockdown? What has kept you going through this very weird and very strange time?

Christopher Cerrone (CC): It’s extremely strange! I think I have responded to it by just throwing myself into work. I think I’m in a privileged position in a number of ways. Since I’m a composer, we can work in a sense. Of course, not everything is realized on the timeline we’d originally envisioned, but overall, none of my projects—and again, this is a matter of just pure luck—have been fully canceled. Obviously, there’s an enormous psychological toll that it’s taken on everyone, and that’s, I think, universal. But a lot of projects wound up working out really well. I had a percussion quartet with piano [Don’t Look Down, written for Conor Hanick and Sandbox Percussion] that wound up getting a really amazing document over a live stream. I think it would be callous to say that I’ve “benefited” from the pandemic—no one has—but I feel just very, very lucky that everything has worked out the way it has.

Cerrone’s Don’t Look Down, which was composed and premiered during the COVD pandemic.
Continue reading “The Arching Path: A Conversation with Christopher Cerrone”

A Playlist for Holy Week 2.0

A Playlist for Holy Week 2.0

What a difference a year makes! This time last spring, the existential dread was starting to sink in as we hunkered down for the initial surge of the COVID-19 pandemic. Now, several vaccines are being administered by the hundreds of thousands each day, businesses and schools are beginning to reopen, and there’s a general tone of optimism in the air. Of course, we still have a long way to go to reach normalcy (the multiple COVID variants are slightly worrisome…), but for the time being, hope is on the horizon.

Speaking of hope, another Holy Week is upon us. In April 2020, I created a Holy Week playlist on Spotify (which you can check out here) and enjoyed the process so much that I decided to make an entirely different one this year. This time, though, I had some input from my good friend Geoff Nelson, Director of Liturgy and Worship at New City Presbyterian Church. After some discussion, Geoff and I assembled a 3-hour playlist that brims with some amazing sacred music. Like last year’s version, this one presents an aural “journey” through the days of Holy Week and encompasses a spectrum of classical sounds along the way, from Renaissance polyphony to modern Passion settings. (You can view the lineup below; the Spotify playlist itself can be found at the bottom of this post.)

No matter your creed or belief system, we hope that this music will provide you with peace, hope, and encouragement for this time of year, as we look forward to brighter days in the future.

Continue reading “A Playlist for Holy Week 2.0”

The Rest is Noise: The Playlist

The Rest is Noise, Alex Ross’s 2007 Pulitzer Prize-nominated tome, remains one of the most impressive and convincing books on twentieth-century music. I recently finished reading through it a second time (the first was during my undergrad) and instantly fell in love with it all over again. Using cultural history, biography, style history, and analysis (along with a twinge of criticism), Ross pulls together dozens of seemingly disparate threads and weaves together a dazzling historical “quilt” that gracefully charts the development of classical music after 1900. His writing style is also remarkably clear and accessible—something I admire in particular—which makes a potentially complex and “sticky” subject understandable to a wide swath of readers, both music specialists and non-specialists alike.

While working my way through the book, I realized that a Spotify playlist would be the perfect aural complement to Ross’s survey. Below is the fruit of that idea. Going chapter by chapter, more or less in order, I selected about 14.5 hours (!) of musical examples that Ross discusses and/or mentions in The Rest of Noise, beginning with the slinky clarinet phrase that opens Strauss’s Salome and ending with the chugging, minimalist stylings of John Adams’s Nixon in China. Some composers/pieces receive a generous acknowledgment (the playlist highlights seven different selections by Stravinsky, including his entire Rite of Spring), while others only get a brief nod (I only included one selection by Prokofiev, for instance). Still others, sadly, were left on the cutting room floor entirely. (Sorry, Christopher Rouse!) There are also a few selections of my own choosing, including Tōru Takemitsu’s Rain Tree Sketch and a movement from Lou Harrison’s Suite for Violin with American Gamelan. While this playlist can (and should) be enjoyed in tandem with Ross’s book, it can also be listened to on its own—a deep dive into the vast, kaleidoscopic world that is twentieth-century classical music.

(Oh, and here’s a link to purchase Ross’s book for those interested. 10/10 would recommend!)