Compositions are listed alphabetically. A Voice from the City (1994) 14 min. John Peterson's A Voice from the City comes from texts by Henry Lawson. Lawson remained emotionally insecure throughout his life. Despite his immense popularity, poems like Crossroads, ridden with guilt and self-contempt, appear occasionally in his output. While he spent only a small part of his life living in the Australian 'bush', it strongly influenced his writing, and a large part of Lawson's output is concerned with recreating the attitudes and lifestyles of those who lived there. Peterson comments, "sometimes these poems are melancholy and wistful, The Song and the Sigh, for example, while others are inhabited by characters who display great strength in adversity". Lawson saw women and children as being the real victims of a raw society and an inhospitable landscape and, in The Water-lily Lawson shows that these women are often left alone to bear the burden of loss and that even the strongest survivors can be haunted by nightmarish visions.
The title, A Voice from the City, comes from
another of Lawson's poems. It was to have formed the basis of a fourth song in Peterson's cycle, but was never completed.
Poetry by Henry Lawson (1867-1922) At the Still Point (1998) 4 min. 30 sec.
Inspired by this quotation from T. S. Eliot, At the Still Point is a fast and exuberant dance which tries to create a paradoxical atmosphere of furious activity where time itself seems to stand still. The 7/8 time signature gives an added rhythmic impetus to this piece which is in three sections. In the outer sections, the relentless drive of the viola part, ever-whirling and almost frantic, is contrasted with the rhythmic piano part whose bass line features long pedal points. While the harmonies do change over the long pedal points in each section, the piece remains strongly fixed to its basic (harmonic) roots. The character of the middle section is quite different to that of the outer sections. It is less frantic and features long melodic lines in the viola part.
The "turning world" is thus exemplified by the use of simple
ternary form; the two hectic outer sections (extrovert) surround a
somewhat more rhapsodic central section (introvert). Ultimately, the
piece ends abruptly, giving a feeling of "neither from nor
towards" --- at the "still point", there is only the dance.
Diabolic Dance (1998) 5 min. 30 sec. Diabolic Dance was written in early 1998 for violinist Christine Myers and cellist Eleanor Lewis. The title refers to the "diabolus in musica", the medieval name given to the tritone (the augmented fourth), an interval which is emphasised throughout this piece. Disonant intervals such as tritones, as well as augmented fifths and major sevenths are used both harmonically and melodically to create a musical tension which is not resolved until the final bars of the piece.
This tension is heightened by the rhythmic interaction between the violin and the cello. The instrumental interplay is
sometimes playful, sometimes rigorously aggressive and very often quite intricate, with many changes of time signature
and heavy use of displaced rhythmic accents creating many "diabolic" problems for the performers.
Drive (1998) 4 min. 30 sec. Description Eternity's Sun Rise (1995) 12 min.
Although the songs which comprise Eternity's Sun Rise predate the Masterprize competition, they exhibit many of
the elements which can still be found in much of my work, particularly the idea of "continuous" music in the
accompaniments and the use of additive rhythm which appears in the fourth song. These settings of fragments of text by
William Blake were written especially for Marianne Powles in 1995 and are dedicated to the memory of my close friend
Allan Byrnes.
William Blake From Mountains to Sea (1999) 9 min. 30 sec. From Mountains to Sea is in one continuous movement divided into two sections. The fast tempo established at the opening, coupled with the use of additive rhythms firstly in 17/8 and then in 13/8, creates a rhythmic energy which propels the work along. Influenced by rock and popular music styles, as well as by some American and African music, Hyper-Ballads is typical of my work in that it reflects my own fierce optimism about the future, something that seems to be more important as we approach the new millenium.
From Mountains to Sea is dedicated to my sister, Helen, who entered hospital for major surgery while I was writing this
piece. Technology has saved her life, which seems another good reason to be optimistic.
Grave Fairytale (1993) 22 min. The image of a woman and her virtue, locked up in a tower has resonances throughout the history of English literature. From Rapunzel to the Lady of Shalott, the arrival of a heroic lover has fundamentally altered an entrapped maiden's destiny, for better or for worse. Australian poet and playwright, Dorothy Hewett has had a life long interest in such stories, and in her 1975 poem Grave Fairytale she dramatically reworks some of the conventions. Hewett's Rapunzel takes control of her own fairytale and sends her Prince to his stinking demise. However, this is no simple feminist parody. There is obscurity in the relationship between the characters, in the motivation behind Rapunzel's actions, and in the implications of the conclusion. Sydney composer, John Peterson seems constantly to be inspired and challenged by such obscurity. In his 1990 theatre piece At the Hawke's Well, he responded to W.B.Yeats' unlikely Irish folk-tale-Noh-drama without attempting a musical reflection of this mish-mash of genres, but rather concentrated on an almost cinemagraphic evocation of atmosphere, foregrounding the narrative quality of the text. Grave Fairytale provides a perfect vehicle for this style of text setting. It is tangibly atmospheric, contains imagery which is almost uncomfortably vivid, and operates on several literal and figurative levels, remaining intriguingly obscure. Peterson's setting uses a clear declamatory vocal line to present the text, over an orchestral accompaniment which works to evoke the settings and characters. As he had said, "I knew there was no need to musically illustrate any of the events that occur within the poem as the dramatic power of the words was enough to make those images palpible for an audience. What I intended to do, rather, was to accompany these words with a suitable musical mood which somehow reflected the emotional state of the character or situation". A slow introduction of ascending octatonic lines ominously evokes the solitary gloom of the tower. Rising and falling motifs representing climbing and dropping from the tower alternate and overlap throughout the piece. Not only does the slow introduction establish the notion of climbing, but also sets up another tension which pervades the composition, that between an octatonic tonality and the frank diatonicism which characterises the allegro. Peterson uses these tonalities to represent the characters of the witch and Rapunzel (or perhaps the two sides of Rapunzel's nature). The juxtaposition of these two sound worlds occurs throughout the piece until they become so interchangable in the final minutes that they fuse into one as Rapunzel is left alone in the tower. The arrival of the "glowing Prince" is represented by the shimmering sounds of vibraphone and bowed cymbal in the midst of a sparse texture full of instrumental bell tones. The climax of the piece coincides with the shift from Rapunzel's first person narrative to that of the witch, who observes the sexual frenzy "crouched in the corner". An orchestral tutti which represents both the musical and sexual climax follows the narrative of a now jagged and vigorous vocal line. The material is octatonic but gives way to the diatonic section in which Rapunzel's descending string pattern is mingled with a strident rising trombone theme which represents the Prince and his sense of conquest. The Prince's theme appears once and is quickly discarded, much the same as the Prince himself. The cutting of the hair - the Prince's murder - recalls the introduction through the use of a rising base line. The vocal line is masterfully matter of fact, Rapunzel sent the Prince to his death with as little passion as she earlier caught "a hawk, a bird and once, a bear". The Prince's fall from the tower is accompanied by rising melodic lines as he vainly "claws through space".
Dorothy Hewett's description of the Prince's decomposing body is deliciously callous (right down to the rotting of his
"great sword"). A syncopated stringed accompaniment and a cheeky vocal line enhance the effect of detatched cynicism.
The ending answers the opening in that the repeated four note rising base motif of the introduction is replaced by a
long slow fall through four notes in the base. Although essentially diatonic, there are enough chromatically altered
intervals to hint at the presence of the octatonic mode. Rapunzel is left alone, or both sides of her personality have
been united.
Mourning and the Light Within (2006) 18 min. Mourning and the Light Within is a meditation on death, in particular the death of a child, or children, in tragic circumstances. The opening section of the work sets the opening verses of the Latin text known as the Stabat Mater Dolorosa, a thirteenth century hymn that details the suffering and sorrow of Mary, Jesus Christ's mother, witnessing the death of her son during his crucifixion. The text represents the mother-son bond that unites Mary with Jesus during his experience of suffering and death - an experience with which any parent, who has had to deal with the death of a child, can identify. Initially the musical accompaniment to the text ebbs and flows, as if expressing 'waves' of emotion, but becomes more rhythmically aggressive and harmonically dissonant in the second part of this section, representing, for me at least, another stage in the mourning process - anger. The middle section of this work sets various extracts from newspaper accounts of the 2005 commemoration service that marked the first anniversary of the end of a hostage crisis that occurred at a school in the Russian town of Beslan on 3 September 2004. The stark images expressed in the texts are a vivid reminder of just how many families were affected by this tragedy and of the depth of their personal loss. One particular image, that of a bell sounding during the commemorative service, has influenced many aspects of the way in which the musical accompaniment works in this section. In fact, when the two pianos enter the orchestral texture, almost halfway through this section, they act much like tolling bells - doleful and almost agonisingly repetitive - with each piano chord representing one child lost during the hostage crisis; there are one hundred and eighty-six chords here, reminding us of the enormity of this tragedy. The final section of this work is a setting of a few well-known lines from Ecclesiastes 3, as well as several verses from the ending of the Stabat Mater Dolorosa text. While the fast tempo and rhythmic energy inherent in the music here might indicate a celebratory dance, there is still an aura of regret that emanates from the music. However, hope is the light within the darkness and we should always remember that mourning is not forgetting; indeed it is an opportunity to reflect and, in turn, celebrate the happier memories of a life too often cut brutally short. Notes © John Peterson 2006
Port Kembla (1998) 11 min. This piece was written as a personal homage to my home town of Port Kembla, New South Wales, and is a musical expression of my own mixed feelings, both past and present, about this place. In the 1960's and 1970's, Port Kembla, mainly because of the integrated steelworks located there, was justifiably notorious as a dirty, polluted and ugly place to live. Imbued with an almost savage beauty, the vast conglomeration of rust-red coloured buildings, blast furnaces, coking ovens and chimney stacks which made up the steelworks, was something completely at odds with its beautiful surroundings. It is my memory of this enormous industrial blight on an otherwise scenic landscape that is described in the first half of this two part work. The music, here, is dark and sombre and unfolds through its five sections in a very ritualistic manner : each successive section increasing in speed and agitation. Each section represents a different view of the same thing, the steelworks. The melodic material is similar in each section, austere melodies played mainly by the brass instruments, firstly trombones, then french horns, trumpets and finally the entire brass section, indicating that this whole first section is a representation of one view, but one that has been fractured, as if seen from different angles. In 1998, the steelworks at Port Kembla is a vastly different place. Increased use of automation and the installation of more efficient processes have made it much cleaner and environmentally friendly. It still dominates the landscape but its influence over the surrounding areas is, in many ways, less intrusive. There is still a sense of energy and power about this place, but, to me, it has been tempered somewhat by the reduction in the human involvement in the steelmaking process. Today, the steel mills are eerily silent with very little visible activity. Production continues, however, and in the second half of the piece, I have attempted to capture the spirit of industrial energy which was once pervasive there, but which now exists, I believe, only in the memories of those who remember a time when people were proud of Port Kembla's achievements. Musically, the final moments of this piece are also tinged with a sense of regret, reflecting my own ambiguous feelings about progress and whether this place has indeed changed for the better.
Port Kembla is dedicated to the memory of my father.
Rituals in Transfigured Time (1997) 12 min. This work is about the impact that technology has had on our lives in recent times. Time, the containment of it, the use of it, and the compression of it, has become an increasingly controlling element in the everyday life of many people all around the world. The ability to access information on the Internet from all over the world in the privacy of our own homes has created a new, almost religious fervour amongst many people. The speed of the modern world is calculated in terms of how fast something can be done on a computer or how fast something can be accessed on the world wide web. This, inevitably, has changed the way many of us perceive time and how we use it.
Rituals in Transfigured Time is in five clearly defined sections. The fast outer sections reflect the pace at
which our lives are lived today, the impact that technology has had upon us and how that technology can become an
almost overwhelming presence. The middle section represents a point of repose amid the vortex of modern life, and
suggests that we should also be trying to manipulate time to create a space for ourselves where we can gain access
to our inner selves, to regain some of those elements lost from our lives through an obsession with the technological
over the personal.
Shadows and Light (2004) 24 min. My setting of the texts from the Requiem Mass is unconventional in some ways as it makes use of only some of the texts used in that ritual and is, therefore, not meant to be used in liturgical situations. It does, however, follow the same emotional trajectory of the Requiem Mass service: a movement away from the shadows cast by death towards the enlightened state of hope. Shadows and Light contrasts the texts from the Requiem Mass with other texts derived from various contemporary sources in an attempt to comment on the present condition of the world (although it could be argued that the world has always been thus), a Requiem for the many who have died, perhaps, rather than a specific individual. The first movement, In Visible Darkness, represents the grim reality of the world as it appears at the present moment. It makes partial use of texts derived from recent newspaper and magazine headlines, and the movement unfolds as a series of 'exclamation points': the chorus and orchestra becoming increasingly animated as the movement progresses, representing not only the escalation of violence but also the news media's often palpable eagerness in reporting these latest tragedies to us. These tets are combined with those of the Kyrie (at the beginning) and the Requiem aeternam (at the very end of the movement) that ask for forgiveness and mercy; while the central section combines the newspaper-derived text with that of the Dies irae, the words of which predict the chaos and darkness of judgement day. The second movement, Where Light in Darkness Lies, uses texts derived from the writings of Japanese author Jun-ichiro Tanazaki, taken from his book In Praise of Shadows. Tanazaki, writing in the 1930s, describes the complex intermingling of shadoes and light that shapes the interiors of Japanese houses, and makes them appear quite different to those in Western societies. According to Tanazaki, the typical Westerner tries to banish shadows from a room by providing more and more light, while the Japanese use the shadows to create a more natural atmosphere in which to live. I have adopted this as an analogy for the fact that we should realise that we cannot banish the shadows (war and conflict) from our lives - total peace (light) on earth is just not possible. What we can do is accept these shadows are part of our lives and work towards a better understanding of what causes them. Tanazaki's concept of shadows and light working together to produce something beautiful is reflected in the text of the Sanctus, where it is made clear that both heaven (light) and earth (darkness) '...are full of thy glory'. Musically, this duality (of shadows and light, heaven and earth, male and female, etc.) is represented through the contrast between the use of a traditional Japanese folk song melody that appears in the beginning (and thence at different points throughout the movement), and the use of a rather cliched Western harmonic progression that outlines the setting of the Sanctus text. The final movement, Shadows and Light, is in two parts: the first half of the movement uses both a text derived from newspaper headlines (and a few lines from Martin Luther King, Jr) and the text of the Libera me as a means to express the desire that we try to escape from the vicious cycle of violence used against violence that appears so often in the world today. Musically, this cycle is represented by the cyclic harmonic progression, heard in the opening, that dominates much of this movement. The second half of the movemement combines a text derived from newspaper headlines with that of the Lux aeterna to make the comment that only by escaping the cycle of violence can we aspire to an enlightened state. It is important that we begin to accept the fact that no single point of view is the correct one: in terms of religion there are many different faiths that are equally valid, and we should accept another viewpoint as a possible interpretation of events and not judge others by our own individual standards.
Throughout this work, the music reflects my interest in the structures, the rhythmic energy and the harmonic progressions
inherent in several styles of popular music, while the choral writing favours a declamatory style, as opposed to an overly
florid, melismatic style, in order for the words to be more clearly audible.
Songs from a Sunrise Land (2006) 12 min. In December 2005, I travelled through the deep south of the United States, passing through Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee, Georgia, and South Carolina, ostensibly on a journey to learn more about the origins of jazz and the ‘blues’. I was, however, also struck by how deeply the impact of the American Civil War, fought almost 150 years before, is still felt by so many people, particularly in the South. This is unsurprising given the ferocity with which the war was fought, and the sheer numbers of people wounded and killed during the conflict, but I found myself realising how difficult it must have been for families to have their sons, fathers and/or husbands, go off to fight and possibly never return. Thus, when recently asked to write a song cycle for female voices and string quartet, I was immediately attracted to the idea of finding texts that reflected the female perspective of sending loved ones off to war. The texts I have chosen to set to music all come from the “Poetry and Music of the War between the States” website (http://civilwarpoetry.org). While the authors are all unknown, the sentiments expressed reflect the anguish, nervous expectation, acceptance of loss and, finally, hope for the future that was felt by so many families during the American Civil War. Unfortunately, these sentiments remain relevant today, especially in light of recent political and social upheavals around the world. Musically, the settings of these texts remain relatively simple, especially in terms of texture and construction, in order to concentrate primarily on the evocation of the emotion inherent in the words of the poems.
Authors unknown Spike! (1999) 9 min.
Initially, two cellos calmly introduce the minor third as a primary melodic element that reappears throughout the work. Then
a faster second section tries to capture the energy of rock music within an additive rhythmic framework. In the final section,
common time is coupled with fast divisive rhythms and syncopations. This is an overt link to rhythms found in rock music. The
harmonies and harmonic progressions are also influenced by popular music styles.
Staring at the Sun (1998) 14 min. 30 sec. Staring at the Sun is an attempt to translate, in musical terms, my feelings about the flat, arid landscapes of western New South Wales and South Australia, places I first experienced with my family when I was about ten years old. My memories of our travels in these areas remain vivid to me as the overwhelming sameness of these flat lands is, to me, never boring and can be endlessly fascinating. My emotional responses to these places are largely influenced by the power of natural forces like the sun and wind, the sense of loneliness and isolation, and the beauty of natural formations.
In fact, these concepts could be used as sub-titles for the three sections of Staring at the Sun. The opening
section, for example, represents the sameness of a desert landscape basking under a hot sun (and thus, literally
staring back at the sun) and sometimes caressed by swirling winds. The third section follows on from this idea, with
varying textures and melodic contours representing different physical aspects of the landscape itself. By way of contrast,
the contemplative middle section is inspired by feelings of loneliness and isolation which can grip visitors
to these regions, particularly at night.
Tallawarra (1999) 4 min. 30 sec. Tallawarra is an aboriginal word meaning 'slippery place'. It is also the name given to a particular area on the western shores of Lake Illawarra where, in 1954, a power station was built which supplied much of the Illawarra's electricity requirements up until recent times. The vivid image of this power station situated, alone at the side of the lake and in the shadow of the mountains which surround the region, has remained with me since childhood.
The music of Tallawarra, tried to capture not only a sense of the energy which emanated from the power station
itself but also the odd dichotomy of this industrial building in idyllic surroundings. The surging 11/8 rhythm that
dominates the work propels the music along, accompanied by harmonies and harmonic progressions which originate in my
love for rock and popular music. The melodic lines, in their sinuous way, reflect the original aboriginal meaning of
the word. Tallawarra was written especially for the Shostakovich String Quartet.
The Still Point (1997) 14 min. The Still Point was inspired by the following quotation from Burnt Norton, the first of the Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot:
The music of The Still Point is an attempt to create a sound world which fulfils the implications of Eliot's text. Much of the melodic music is supported by essentially static harmonic elements while the syncopated rhythms provide the impetus fo the "dance". The Still Point has a symmetrical Fast / Slow / Fast plan for its three movements, while each movement is also divided symmetrically into three sections.
Each movement ends enigmatically or,
in the case of the third movement, quite abruptly, as if each movement were merely an excerpt of a much larger concept
which could continue indefinately ("the turning world" continues to turn, perhaps). The Still Point is a joyous
piece, an energetic dance to celebrate life. It was written for, and is dedicated to, Eleanor Lewis.
Walking on Glass (1992) 10 min. Peterson's piano piece, Walking on Glass, was written for Robert Zocchi in 1992. A novel of the same name by Iain Banks furnished the title. The music concerns itself here with the enigma in one of the three stories of the novel: "What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?". In Peterson's words, "this riddle, which proves to be a curious linking device between the seemingly diverse storylines of the novel, and its solution, influenced not only the structural design but also the overall ambience of the music". The final section in particular becomes a musical representation of Iain Bank's enigma.
Within the one movement format, there are five clearly discernible sections, thus forming a
fast - slow - fast - slow - fast structure. As a harmonic basis for the piece, Peterson used two transpositions of an
octatonic mode. By alternating
the use of each mode quite strictly within each of the first four sections, he then uses the two modes simultaneously in
the last climactic section of the work. Much of the piece is founded on the use of rapid ostinati, the gradual accumulation
of rhythmic intensity and various permutations of simple rhythmic devices.
WiredLife (1999) 10 min. Description |