Influence / Interpretation / Adaptation

A Hunger Artist

Thesis

Submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the

Degree of

Master of Fine Arts

in Electronic Music and Recording Media

Mills College, 2014

by

Dylan Neely

Approved by: Reading Committee

______James Fei Director of Thesis

______Zeena Parkins Reader of Thesis ______Maggi Payne Head of the Music Department

______Dr. Kimberley L. Philips Provost and Dean of the Faculty

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Influence 4

Interpretation 10

Adaptation (I) 14

Adaptation (II) 22

Conclusion 3

Bibliography 341

Appendix: A Hunger Artist Score 37

4

“Every writer creates his own predecessors. His work modifies our conception of the past, as it will modify the future.”1 – Jorge Luis Borges

Influence

A Hunger Artist is a one-act chamber opera adaptation of Franz Kafka’s short story by the same name. I first read Kafka in a required college seminar class shortly after turning seventeen. The class, covering a wide swath of post-Enlightenment

Western thought, had already swept through texts from Hegel, Marx, Darwin, Freud,

Nietzsche, W.E.B. Dubois, and E.M. Forster, but it was the final module on The Trial, read alongside Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, that affirmed for me the fundamental shifts in human perception that occurred over the centuries-long project of modernity.2 I had known Kafka as a mythic figure, the gloomy Austro-Hungarian Jew from Prague whose multivalent name is loosely thrown about to describe nightmares and long lines at the DMV. I had eagerly anticipated reading The Trial but had been unprepared for the thrill of his words, which led me to devour all of his novels and collected stories within months (in translation, with some stumbling through the shorter stories in German).

I have returned to Kafka’s parables, stories, and novels regularly. There is no writer, with the possible exception of Borges, whom I find as endlessly renewable.

1 Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings (New York: New Direction Books, 2007), 201. From the essay Kafka and His Precursors.

2 A feeling that was, in retrospect, overblown. Fredric Jameson complicates the relationship between the quote-unquote project of modernity and the aesthetics of modernism effectively: “Most often, the aesthetic experience is itself called upon to function as a utopian suspension; while in modernism, aesthetic value has most often been conceived as a call to radical innovation – whether as a substitute for modernization or revolution or, on the contrary, as a reinforcement of either or both of those things, it is never very clear; and sometimes as a compensation for them.” Fredric Jameson, Brecht and Method (New York: Verso, 1998), 36. 5

Walter Benjamin describes Kafka’s “stories pregnant with a moral to which they

never give birth.”3 The ambiguity of his work makes it tempting and exhilarating to

read explanations into it; Bill Dodd writes:

“Kafka criticism abounds with hobby-horse interpretations which fail to do justice to the structural complexity and semantic and semiotic richness of the fiction, reading into it excessively partial religious, existential, psychoanalytic, and other frames of meaning.”4

While wary of the efficacy or ultimate truth-value of such partial interpretations, the

fecund intellectual experience of analyzing Kafka’s work has been a source of musical inspiration – coincidentally or not, I began seriously composing notated music within a month of first reading The Trial. This gushing is by way of saying that, far from being an incidental text, the desire to interpret A Hunger Artist was something that struck me upon my first reading of it and that gestated in the six years since that time, even as my musical education transpired and provided me with tools necessary to attempt an adaptation.

Decisions concerning the adaptation and interpretation of the text were inextricable from the musical composition. Formal choices and details of the musical material arose from close considerations of the text and a desire to align the music and text around a cohesive aesthetic vision. Cohesion, though, need not imply an aspiration toward dramatic realism or a desire to collapse the distinctions between music, movement, text, and staging. The relationship between text and musical setting takes multiple stances in the piece and is not always one of straightforward support, paralleling the interpretive ambiguity of the text.

3 Walter Benjamin. Selected Writings Vol. 2: 1927 – 1934 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 497.

4 Bill Dodd, “The Case for a Political Reading” in The Cambridge Companion to Kafka, ed. Julian Preece (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 133. 6

The aesthetics of vocalization is a central concern in dramatic adaptation.

Discussing the rise of opera at the turn of the seventeenth century, Ruth Katz writes:

“But the need for ‘pretexts’ for singing continually underlines the fundamental problem opera confronts: namely, the problem of marrying words and music and the resistance that this encounters in the music drama. Hence the extensive theorizing about the aesthetics of opera, and the persistent efforts to define the power and the limits of words and music, which have accompanied the empirical efforts of composers to find solutions.”5

Related to this question of the singing voice and the words being expressed, there

are the encompassing issues concerning the adaptation of literary material into

opera or music theater. At least two fundamental aesthetic problems are apparent:

the affective relationship between music and text, and the translation of prose into

dramatic form. These are both overarching questions, which contain within

themselves competing historical narratives and unresolved debates over the

aesthetic, philosophical, and political principles underlying their various

interpretations.

Composing A Hunger Artist necessitated numerous decisions over the

treatment of language and the relationship of music to text. While these choices are

informed by the historical debates over musical dramaturgy outlined below, they

aren’t easily reducible to a clear ideological framework. Musical meaning and

literary semantics are both contested terrain, and attempting a synthesized, reified

definition of their relationship to each other – either in analysis or in compositional

practice – is beyond my aspirations. It appears as both impossible and undesirable,

an endeavor to replace a flexible shear with a teetering wall. Theorizing music drama would require some sort of working dialectic between semantics, the study

5 Ruth Katz, The Powers of Music: Aesthetic Theory and the Invention of Opera (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1994), 28. 7

of meaning in language, and the heavily debated field of music semiology. Nicholas

Cook provides a good summary of these issues:

“Not only are there widely divergent explanations of musical meaning, but whole systems of musical aesthetics have been built on the premiss that music simply does not have meaning. Now what distinguishes the concept of meaning from that of effect is that the former is predicated on communication, on human agency, whereas the latter is not (that is why we talk about the effects of sunlight, not its meaning). It follows that any analysis of musical meaning needs to begin with a clear grasp of the communicative context within which this meaning is realized. But musical meaning is all too often discussed in the abstract, rather than in terms of specific contexts, as if it were somehow inherent in ‘the music itself’ regardless of the context of its production and reception.”6

The comparison of prose and poetry to music was a common trope of

Romanticism; as music was situated closer to ideals of transcendence and abstract, non-signifying aesthetic beauty, literature was elevated in its move toward music.

Within the rise of “art religion” and the l’art pour l’art ideology of the late- nineteenth century music was held as the ideal form of artistic expression, as evinced by Walter Pater, who declared, “All art constantly aspires toward the condition of music.” Peter Gay bluntly summarizes this statement as, “the purpose of art is art.”7 The related concept of “absolute music” was an invention of the nineteenth century – a term coined as a pejorative by Richard Wagner; Carl

Dahlhaus explains:

“The older idea of music, against which the idea of absolute music had to prevail, was the concept, originating in antiquity and never doubted until the seventeenth century, that music, as Plato put it, consisted of harmonia, rhythmos, and logos. Harmonia meant regular, rationally systematized relationships among tones; rhythmos, the system of musical time, which in ancient times included dance and organized motion; and logos, language as the expression of human reason. Music without language was therefore reduced, its nature constricted: a deficient type or mere shadow of what music actually is.”8

6 Nicholas Cook, Analysing Musical Multimedia (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 4.

7 Peter Gay, Modernism: The Lure of Heresy (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2005), 54.

8 Carl Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 8. For more on this discussion, see chapter one, “Spirituality and Power in Western Music,” of The Musical Politics of 1920s Berlin, my undergraduate thesis. 8

This theory was explicated most influentially by Eduard Hanslick, who wrote,

“Music has no subject beyond the combinations of notes we hear, for music speaks

not only by means of sounds, it speaks nothing but sound.”9 Recalling as it does

Cage’s call to “Let sounds be themselves, rather than vehicles for man-made theories

or expression of human sentiments,”10 the unquestioned romanticism of strains

within the post-war musical avant-garde becomes evident. Taruskin elucidates this

link:

“It fell to Cage to magnify and purify the notion of absolute music beyond anything the romantics had foreseen. In his compositions of the 1950s, romantic art reached the most astounding, self-subverting purism of its whole career. In this way, Cage’s “Zen” period paradoxically represented a long-heralded, if little recognized, pinnacle of Western art. In so doing, it reexposed with unprecedented boldness the problematic and self-contradictory aspects of the idea of absolute music, the West’s most cherished esthetic tenet.”11

The complementary conceptions of art religion and absolute music have been

challenged repeatedly since their cultural ascendancy over the nineteenth century,

but nowhere was the repudiation more pronounced than within the highly

politicized atmosphere of the Weimar Republic.

The musical attitudes of the Weimar Republic were a radical shift away from

the history of western music with regard to the social and political context of music.

From Paul Hindemith’s Gebrauchsmusik [music for use] to Hanns Eisler’s working

songs to Kurt Weill’s Zeitoper [opera of the times], these artists took social context

as something inextricably linked to musical production – content, form, and

9 Carl Sandberger, liner notes, Intimate Letters: Janacek’s String Quartets 1 & 2; Berg’s Lyric Suite. CD: Sony, 1996.

10 Cage, interview with Brian Eno. Quoted in Michael Nyman’s Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 51.

11 Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music, Volume 5: The Late Twentieth Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 69. 9

performance. Politics becomes not only a necessity, but a source of aesthetic

inspiration. Reflecting on his work, this is how Weill summarized his music:

“In retrospect, looking back on many of my own compositions, I find that I seem to react very strongly to the suffering of underprivileged people, of the oppressed, the persecuted. When my music involves human suffering, it is, for better or worse, pure Weill.”12

This attitude toward social engagement – not as a corrective for some essential

artistic asceticism nor as a blunt tool of propaganda, but rather as an intrinsic

outgrowth of political concerns – stands as a simple beacon among warring conceptions of music’s relationship to society. I find Weill’s comments to be valuable in their direct proclamation, neither abashed nor dogmatic, that his compositions are of our messy world. For Fredric Jameson, it is precisely here that he sees the true legacy of musical experimentation. He asks rhetorically:

“Is it fair only to salvage Brecht-Weill out of this general debacle and to call it the Weimar moment, thereby at least marking the relationship to spectacle and the musical, to opera, along with a relationship to music which will be prolonged, via friend and collaborator Hanns Eisler, into the heart of contemporary musical experimentation?”13

This debate over meaning and function within music are spectres within the historical Zeitgeist depicted in Kafka’s texts. A Hunger Artist, for all its ambiguities, is concerned with questions of power in society, the role of the artist, and the misstatements of history. In situating this composition as oppositional theater, I drew upon Brecht’s theory of Episches Theater alongside Weill’s related conception of Zeitoper. The dramaturgy of A Hunger Artist is tightly connected to the musical form of the piece. This attempt to integrate form and content, alongside an acute awareness that the most loyal adaptation would be one that abstracted narrative

12 David Farneth, introduction to Kurt Weill: A Life in Pictures and Documents (Woodstock: Overlook Press, 2000). Originally from an “Opera News on the Air” feature broadcast by The Metropolitan Opera.

13 Jameson, Brecht and Method, 9-10. 10

time, was shaped by the Kafka-influenced work of the playwrights loosely categorized as Theater of the Absurd – Samuel Beckett, Harold Pinter, Eugene

Ionesco.14 The perception of time alongside the exploration of the boundaries between musical and linguistic meaning were major themes in the postwar challenges to the operatic context – namely, Perfect Lives (Robert Ashley) and

Einstein on the Beach (Philip Glass/Robert Wilson). These are the foundational aesthetic and ideological bricks from which I begin to build my work. Bill Dodd elucidates precisely the characteristics of Kafka’s works that I attempted to draw forth through the tools of musical-theatrical adaptation:

“[Kafka’s] fictions are composed as intellectual and moral challenges to the reader, offering us the potential of analytical insight and radical perspective which it is for us to activate. Seen in this way, his works are constructed as provocations, invitations to see into the mechanisms of power through the ‘smudges’, as Adorno says, which they leave behind on the surface of conventionalised reality. . . [Kafka’s] critique of patriarchy and other forms of power is at once subtle and capable of self-irony.15

Interpretation

The interpretation of A Hunger Artist carries a number of challenges. The short story, only about four thousand words in length, takes place over the entire professional life of its protagonist. One of Kafka’s late stories, it is narrated in his distinctive third-person voice - precise in its details, mythic in its sweep, and imbued with a winking fatalism toward the absurdity of modern life. Its subject is a fasting artist. He achieves fame under the control of an impresario who takes great care in the marketing of his subject. While the artist wants to break his own records

14 The term coined by Martin Esslin in The Theatre of the Absurd (New York: Anchor Books, 1969).

15 Dodd, “The Case for a Political Reading,” 146-147. 11

of fasting, his impresario limits him to forty days and insists upon a great and popular spectacle for the breaking of the fast – a ritual the artist loathes. The artist’s dissatisfaction with the space between his public success and aesthetic self-approval is a cruelty preserved in my libretto; Kafka writes:

“So he lived for many years, with small regular intervals of recuperation, in visible glory, honored by the world, yet in spite of that troubled in spirit, and all the more troubled because no one would take his trouble seriously. What comfort could he possibly need? What more could he possibly wish for? And if some good-natured person, feeling sorry for him, tried to console him by pointing out that his melancholy was probably caused by fasting, it could happen, especially when he had been fasting for some time, that he reacted with an outburst of fury and to the general alarm began to shake the bars of his cage like a wild animal. Yet the impresario had a way of punishing these outbreaks which he rather enjoyed putting into operation. He would apologize publicly for the artist’s behavior, which was only to be excused, he admitted, because of the irritability caused by fasting; a condition hardly to be understood by well-fed people; then by natural transition he went on to mention the artist’s equally incomprehensible boast that he could fast for much longer than he was doing; he praised the high ambition, the good will, the great self-denial undoubtedly implicit in such a statement; and then quite simply countered it by bringing out photographs, which were also on sale to the pubic, showing the artist on the fortieth day of a fast lying in bed almost dead from exhausting. This perversion of the truth, familiar to the artist though it was, always unnerved him afresh and proved too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature ending of his fast was here presented as the cause of it! To fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of non-understanding, was impossible.”16

This tension is resolved through external changes in circumstance, as fasting loses its popularity in a changing Europe. The artist joins a circus where no rules are imposed upon him and, while he loses his audience, he gains the freedom to achieve the apotheosis of durational fasting – the irony being, of course, that no one remains to mark his achievement. He confesses before his death that he was never a true artist at all, because he had never found any food he liked – there was no struggle for him to achieve his feats. While he loathed the ignorant observers who assumed that he would sneak food and cheat, he found his integrity compromised nonetheless by his own internal contradictions. In the end, he has neither relevance nor self-assurance. Kafka concludes:

16 Franz Kafka, The Complete Stories (New York: Schocken Books, 1971), 272-3. 12

“In his dimming eyes remained the firm though no longer proud persuasion that he was still continuing to fast. ‘Well, clear this out now!’ said the overseer, and they buried the hunger artist, straw and all. Into the cage they put a young panther. Even the most insensitive felt it refreshing to see this wild creature leaping around the cage that had so long been dreary. The panther was all right. The food he liked was brought him without hesitation by the attendants; he seemed not even to miss his freedom; his noble body, furnished almost to the bursting point with all that it needed, seemed to carry freedom around with it too; somewhere in his jaws it seemed to lurk; and the joy of life streamed with such ardent passion from his throat that for the onlookers it was not easy to stand the shock of it. But they braced themselves, crowded around the cage, and did not want ever to move away.”17

The story’s ambiguity and ironic edges carry obvious resonances with the futility, contradictions and self-doubt inherent in any artist’s working life. Details of the plot are elucidated by the historical context of early twentieth-century Europe.

The hunger artist appears a practitioner of “art religion,” a spiritual descendant of

Charles Baudelaire, Oscar Wilde, and Théophile Gautier. His life is inseparable from his performance. In Gautier’s 1835 preface to his novel Mademoiselle de Maupin, he writes:

“Nothing is truly beautiful but what can never be of use to anything. Everything that is useful is ugly, for it is the expression of some need, and human needs are ignoble and disgusting, like men’s own poor and feeble nature. The most useful place in a home is the latrine.”18

If food is the most useful of substances, sustenance itself that allows us to continue living, what could be a greater expression of beauty than refusing it? The protagonist’s plight is a grotesque apotheosis of artistic modernism’s self-created mythology, as described by Gay:

“Outsiders like the makers of modernism collected psychological dividends from being outsiders, but they nearly all paid for their prominence. They could glory in notoriety – that was certainly true of late nineteenth-century bohemian circles in Munich and Paris, of Dadaist protesters against the First World War, or of self-promoting Surrealists like Salvador Dali. They could treasure being called names . . . But their rejection of an artistic and popular consensus, their very originality, exposed them to the hazard of walking a solitary path.”19

17 Ibid., 277.

18 Peter Gay, Modernism: The Lure of Heresy (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2005), 53.

19 Ibid., 44. 13

There are also the striking parallels between the fading glory and hubristic

determination of the artist and the contemporaneous demise of the Austro-

Hungarian Empire. A changing world is not concerned with the inner squabbles of

an anachronism. The quixotic folly and hyper-individualistic narcissism of the

modern artist are signposts aestheticizing aspects of what Camus calls “the feeling

of the absurd” – anxiety, existential despair, a cry into the void of cosmic

incomprehensibility and a heroic attempt to make meaning regardless.20 Camus

writes, “The absurd is born of his confrontation between the human need and the

unreasonable silence of the world.”21 His morality is predicated on interpersonal

relationships, not universal ethics. Absurdism questions the classical

desire for timelessness; preserving the dated, historical nature of Kafka’s story was,

to me, a necessity of the adaptation. Brecht’s description of his Verfremdungseffekt

[alienation effect] is appropriate:

“The [Vermfremdungseffekt] was achieved in the German epic theatre not only by the actor, but also by the music (choruses, songs) and the setting (placards, film etc.). It was principally designed to historicize the incidents portrayed . . . The bourgeois theatre emphasized the timelessness of its objects. Its representation of people is bound by the alleged ‘eternally human’. Its story is arranged in such a way as to create ‘universal’ situations that allow Man with a capital M to express himself . . . But for the historicizing theatre everything is different. The theatre concentrates entirely on whatever in this perfectly everyday event is remarkable, particular and demanding inquiry.”22

A Hunger Artist lapses through time, moving through the years of the artist’s

life. In my reading, it narrows its lens twice: first, on the ritual humiliation the artist

faces when he is forced to eat by his impresario at the end of each of his forty day

20 Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays (New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf), 1969.

21 Ibid., 28.

22 Bertolt Brecht, “Alienation Effects in Chinese Acting: The A-Effect.” In Twentieth Century Theatre: A Sourcebook. Edited by Richard Drain. New York, NY: Routledge, 1995, 114. 14

fasts; second, on his dying confession. These narrative foci became the two

monologues the artist delivers, around which the rest of the structure is shaped. The

structural interruptions of the monologues are, in their very intrusiveness, the

interpretive core of the work; they are Kafka quoted at length.

Adaptation (I)

A variety of musical materials interpose each other in the formal

Stage (instruments) Loft (dancer) Loft (singers)

Prologue (mm. 1) a in darkness

Prologue (mm. 44) i (dance)

Scene 1 (mm. 1) b (still) b

Scene 1 (mm. 61) b’ (still) b’ / a (transition)

Scene 2 (pt. 1) ii (dance)

Scene 2 (pt. 2) ii’ (monologue)

Scene 3 (mm. 1) b (slow – with singers) a (transition)

Scene 3 (mm. 54) b’ (slow – with singers) a’

Scene 4 (pt. 1) iii (dance)

Scene 4 (pt. 2) iii’ (monologue)

Epilogue (mm. 1) a a (in darkness)

Epilogue (mm. 18) a/b

construction of the piece. Music, movement, and setting are all interlinked to create

symmetries in the piece’s larger form. Each scene is split into two parts. The

prologue emerges out of airy, unpitched string glissandi to introduce a post-tonal

idiom (a) straddling consonance and dissonance (influenced by the musical climate 15

of the Weimar Republic and composers such as Weill, Ernst Krenek, Alban Berg and

Hindemith). It settles into a B-D-E-flat triplet ostinato in the saxophone

accompanied by slow-moving harmonies from the other instruments. Following the

instrumental prologue, the dancer is introduced in the second half of this scene.

There is an extended transition as low-frequency electronics slowly subsume the texture, presaging the sudden lighting of the loft to reveal the artist, whose movement has already begun. Atonal pitch sets determined the musical material for the prologue. This material is hinted at again in scene three, and reprised in part one of the epilogue.

Scene one’s two parts are divided by the cackling sprechstimme of soprano II at measure 55 (I’ll make sure / he won’t eat / if he does . . . ). Scene one uses tonal harmonies and recurring, propulsive figures, with the evident stylistic influence of

Glass, Steve Reich, and Terry Riley (b). A 2:3 polyrhythm is first introduced when the violin switches to eighth-notes against the ostinati triplets of the saxophone and cello at measure 15. This establishes a pattern of simple polyrhythmic relationships between the instruments which recur in scene three and the second half of the epilogue. The frenetic non-functional tonality of part one occurs within a B-flat minor tonal region. There is a crescendo into a climax where the instruments incessantly deliver a functionless C-minor seventh chord from measures 51 to 58, even as the soprano II clashes with her piercing ascending fifth, which arrives at an

A-flat in measure 58. For forty measures in the second part of the scene beginning at measure 61, there is a static F# dominant chord unvaryingly arpeggiated by the 16

flute. The saxophone cycles through this same line while string tremolo supports it

and the voices emerge through eighth-note hocketing.

Scene two begins with dance and ends with the first, hubristic monologue of

the hunger artist. In scene one, the musical activity of the first part gives way to an enervated version of the material in part two of the scene. This gesture is repeated in scene two, as the dancer’s movement in the first part subsides to stillness and spoken words in part two. The same structure supports scene three, where sound and movement are combined in their downward thrust, as the melodic line and arpeggiated accompaniment beginning at measure 13 stands in contrast to the slow tempo and silent interludes of the scene’s second part. By scene four, the audience is well-prepared for its formal shape, which finally results in the death of the artist.

Scene three begins with a saxophone solo emerging from the darkness of the electronics, inverting the relationship established when the electronics fade in over the instruments to begin the second half of the prologue. When the flute introduces a clear melodic line in measure 13, the saxophone returns with a dissonant countermelody beginning at measure 17. It is the ascending major line with which

Soprano I begins scene one (D-flat – E-flat – F). There is a slow return to the polyrhythms and ostinati introduced earlier beginning in measure 34 of scene three, but the material is now harmonically muddied and slower in tempo. Silence is introduced as the structural divider of scene three into its two parts. Over the course of the second half of the scene, the singers slowly leave the stage. The exception is the second soprano, representing the overseer, to whom the artist addresses his final speech in scene four. From measure 55 to 66, the flute and 17

saxophone converge on an unchanging repetition of the D-flat – E-flat – F motive in half-note triplets. The violin and cello form an opposed block, with a harmonically distant eighth-note ostinati figure outlining a G-dominant chord. At measure 67, there is a sudden shift to an unadorned, unchanging quarter-note contrapuntal line between the flute and saxophone, which is interspersed with an increasing number of rests. This culminates at measure 84 in a full bar of silence. Scene four follows the same form as scene two – dance and then monologue - but the content of music and text is darkened. It ends with the artist’s death, prefigured throughout the work.

The opening measures of the epilogue are a return to the instrumental expressionism of the prologue. Beginning at measure 18, the voices begin a coda without meaning, wordless and delivered in darkness. At measure 40, a minor-third

C - E-flat - C sixteenth-note motive first heard in the saxophone in measure 6 of the prologue becomes a repetitive figure in the flute here. At the same time, the saxophone’s line recalls the motive from measure 55 of scene three, while the strings create a texture of clashing minor seconds in their triplet ostinati. The epilogue recasts material used instrumentally and vocally throughout the piece, now quiet, highly dissonant, and reflective of the artist’s death and the coming end of the piece. By measure 42, the oppositions of the musical material from the prologue (a) and the first scene (b) are merged into a dense harmonic cloud configured within polyrhythmic ostinati, interrupted only by beats of silence. The instruments finally arrive on a static harmony and slowly descrescendo to nothing.

The droning electronics first introduced in measure 44 of the prologue are defined in pitch but unstable in time, settling into and out of pulses in an abstract 18

correspondence with the jerking, twitchy movement of the hunger artist. Scenes two

and four – the ones paired with the artist’s monologues – are variations of this

theme. The breadth of the artist’s movements expand in correlation with the

confidence of his monologue in scene two and contract into a small cage as his death

looms in scene four. There is a parallel to this in the electronic sounds: scene two

includes brittle, energetic bell-like clangs alongside movement in the frequency

range of the droning sounds; scene four reduces to ponderous internal change

within a fundamentally static, low-frequency soundscape.

The voice is treated in three ways in A Hunger Artist. The first (A) is as a

spectrum of meaning in a process of dissolution, and is deployed through electronic

playback and manipulation of the piece’s text, as well as through the amplified

singers mimicking and mumbling these materials live. The second use of voice (B) is

through conventionally notated writing in conjunction with musical accompaniment

– a traditional approach to operatic setting broadly defined. This corresponds with

the tonal material (a) of scene one. The third treatment (C) are the spoken

monologues delivered by the hunger artist following his dance.

A (Prologue) B (Sc. 1) A (Transition) C (Sc. 2) A (Sc. 3) C (Sc. 4) A (Epilogue)

It is the first of these approaches that begins and ends the piece, and recurs

in variation between each use of the other vocal modes. As the audience takes their

seats, short bursts of spoken text are played in surround sound at a volume that

blends with the ambient chatter of the crowd. When the lights dim, only the

playback of these snippets – the voices of the singers and dancer reciting the 19

monologues the hunger artist later delivers – is left. In this initial context, full words

and sometimes phrases are audible. The lexicon of the work is randomized and

distributed, not unlike the experience of mentally distancing oneself at a party,

stepping back, experiencing the wash of conversation around and discerning a

general gestalt of material specific to the shared concerns of the surrounding guests.

This introduction of the sampled material blends with and then replaces the lexicon

of the restless concert audience.

The next use of voice begins scene one with an ostinato figure – “Look at him”

– first with one singer and then all four. The singers introduce the repetitive musical

language that characterizes the strain of musical material that defines scene one and

returns in scene three and the epilogue. Repetition of activity is a theme that runs

throughout Kafka’s work. A particularly illustrative example occurs in The Trial

during Josef K.’s first visit to the courthouse:

“ ‘You’re a little dizzy, aren’t you?’ she asked him. Her face was now quite near; it bore the severe expression some young women have precisely in the bloom of youth. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘there’s nothing unusual about that here, almost everyone has an attack like this the first time. You are here for the first time? Well, you see then, it’s nothing at all unusual. The sun beats down on the attic beams and the hot wood makes the air terribly thick and stifling. That’s why this isn’t such a good location for the offices, in spite of the many other advantages it offers. But as far as the air is concerned, on days when the traffic of involved parties is heavy you can hardly breathe, and that’s almost daily. Then if you take into consideration that a great deal of wash is hung out here to dry as well – the tenants can’t be entirely forbidden from doing so – it will come as no surprise that you feel a little sick. But in the end people get quite used to the air. When you come here the second or third time, you’ll hardly notice the stuffiness at all.”23

It was this aspect of Kafka’s work that led me to use repetition as a foregrounded musical characteristic of the main act material. The voices in scene one represent both the audience for the hunger artist and his greedy impresario, who insist upon him doing the same thing over and over – fasting for forty days, being observed, and

23 Franz Kafka, The Trial (New York, NY: Schocken Books, 1998), 74. 20

enjoying the experience of breaking the fast, an experience he loathes precisely

because of its repetitive nature, abstractly related as it is to the cycle of the

professional day.24 Jacques Attali makes the connection between musical repetition

and modern productivity when he writes: “Repetition constitutes an extraordinary

mutation of the relation to human production. It is a fundamental change in the

relation between man and history, because it makes the stockpiling of time

possible."25

It is only when the hunger artist is forgotten, when his art goes out of fashion,

that he is able to fast “as he had once dreamed of doing, and it was no trouble to him,

just as he had always foretold, but no one counted the days, no one, not even the

artist himself, knew what records he was already breaking, and his heart grew

heavy.”26 As Ruth Gross summarizes:

“The irony is that he is to be forgotten just at the point where he is close to perfecting his art. He has hungered so well because people have ceased to pay attention to him . . . At the point at which he works honestly, he cannot attain the reward, which is to set a record which will be his memorial.”27

This irony is interpreted through the changing relationship to musical meaning in

the vocal writing. In the first scene, the hunger artist is the subject of the singers’ repetitive figures, their ambivalent attraction to the glory and grotesquerie of his act. The relentlessness of the musical material – for example, forty measures

24 Ruth Gross, “Kafka’s short fiction” in The Cambridge Companion to Kafka, ed. Julian Preece. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2002, 92.

25 Jacques Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), 101. Attali makes little distinction between musical reproduction through recording and repetition in musical content.

26 Franz Kafka, The Complete Stories (New York, NY: Schocken Books, 1971), 276.

27 Gross, “Kafka’s short fiction,” 92. 21

hocketing between E and F# beginning at measure 61 in scene one – is an interpretation of this mentality. In scene three and the epilogue, the singers engage in variations on the sampled electronic playback of the work’s beginning, where semantics disintegrate more and more. The commemoration of the artist is given no true voice, his desire to be remembered is unfulfilled, and we are left with only the fragments of forgotten history.

The other decisive treatment of the voice are the two unbroken monologues from the hunger artist, delivered at the peak of his fame and at the moment of his death with minimal musical accompaniment (a quiet, electronic low-frequency wash) and no melodic or rhythmic adornment. Unlike the loose, thematic approach taken to create scene one’s sung libretto, the text in these monologues is adapted directly from the story, with the only significant difference being the changing of narrative voice from third- to first-person.

Each of the approaches to vocal writing employed in A Hunger Artist exhibits a different relationship to meaning and evokes its own historical precedents. Žižek

writes,

“We sing for different reasons: At the very beginning of his Eugene Onegin, Pushkin presents the scene of women singing while picking strawberries on a field – with the acerbic explanation that they are ordered to sing by their mistress so that they cannot eat strawberries while picking them.”28

This pithy contradiction of mainstream cultural assumptions about music generally,

and singing particularly,29 hints also at the impossibility of the hunger artist’s

28 Slavoj Žižek, Opera’s Second Death (New York, NY: Routledge, 2002), 105.

29 Expressed by Bernard Williams here: “W.H. Auden said that ‘in a sense, there can be no tragic opera’, because singing in itself too evidently seems a free and enjoyable activity: ‘the singer may be playing the role of a deserted bride who is about to kill herself, but we feel quite certain as we listen 22

condition, a metaphor for both Kafka’s own life and the modern notion of the true artist. He resents how he is misunderstood and constrained when he has success, how he is misunderstood and forgotten when he loses it, and, ultimately, how he is a failure regardless of the public’s understanding or interest in him because of what he perceives as a constitutional flaw in his modes of desire (his lack of interest in food and corollary lack of difficulty in fasting). This is beautifully described in a section shortly after he begins fasting at the circus:

“When the public came thronging out in the intervals to see the animals, they could hardly avoid passing the hunger artist’s cage and stopping there for a moment, perhaps they might even have stayed longer had not those pressing behind them in the narrow gangway, who did not understand why they should be held up on their way toward the excitement of the menagerie, made it impossible for anyone to stand gazing quietly for any length of time. And that was the reason why the hunger artist, who had of course been looking forward to these visiting hours as the main achievement of his life, began instead to shrink from them. At first he could hardly wait for the intervals; it was exhilarating to watch the crowds come streaming his way, until only too soon – not even the most obstinate self-deception, clung to almost consciously, could hold out against the fact – the conviction was borne in upon him that these people, most of them, to judge from their actions, again and again, without exception, were all on their way to the menagerie. And the first sight of them from the distance remained the best.”30

Adaptation (II)

The parallels between the hunger artist’s pathos and the plight of the state of contemporary performing arts are uncomfortably obvious. While at least some symbolic distance separates Kafka as writer and the hunger artist as story subject, there is a direct metonymic relationship between this practitioner of a fading live performance tradition and the current state of concert music and dramatic theater.

Just as the hunger artist’s glory fades with changing trends, the ascent of television that not only we, but also she, is having a wonderful time’. The judgment about tragedy might be disputed, but Auden’s remark contains an important truth about the aesthetics of opera.” Bernard Williams, On Opera (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), 3.

30 Kafka, The Complete Stories, 274-5 23

and film has left the theater and concert hall as niche cultural spaces. The freedom

that has accompanied a general tolerance of avant-garde principles (albeit

differently applied in different venues and contexts) is accompanied by the same

ironic diminution of audience central to Kafka’s text. Just as the crowds teem past

the artist’s cage toward the menagerie, the effortless distribution facilitated by the

internet likewise encourages thoughtless, overconfident perusal and casual

judgments. These resonances were unquestionably an influence on my choice to

adapt the text, though I tried to maintain an allusive quality in the libretto. There are reflections of this many-streamed interpretive approach in the polyglot musical idiom of the piece.

Kafka’s vision is exacerbated by the bluntness and absurdity in a contemporary context of the fasting artist’s profession. This evoked, for me, material ideally suited to a conception of opera informed by Brecht’s notion of the

Verfremdungseffekt, epic theater, and the dramatic innovations of Beckett and

Ionesco. Brecht and Weill’s collaborative vision of the music drama is radically different from Wagner’s, wherein the composer’s vision dictates the entirety of a work.31 In contrast, Brecht and Weill imagined a creative, dialectical relationship

between text and music. Benjamin writes of how, much like the creation of non-

Euclidian geometry coexisting alongside and independent of Euclidian geometry,

Brecht’s Epic Theater is non-Aristotelian drama. He goes on: “Instead of identifying

31 Gay, Modernism, 233. He writes: “And [Wagner] promoted the ambitious notion of the total work of art – Gesamtkunstwerk – in which all aspects of a performance, the music, the libretto, the costumes, the direction, the dances (if any), were unified as the expression of a single sovereign artist’s imagination, in which music served the text.”

24

with the characters, the audience should be educated to be astonished at the

circumstances under which they function.”32 Brecht eliminates the ideal of

catharsis, “the purging of the emotions through empathy with the stirring fate of the

hero.” Instead, his theater strives to alienate the audience from the stage’s action and characters – now revealed as actors33 – and to force a level of intellectual

consideration through foregrounding the political nature of both his subject and

theater itself.34

The ironic distance between macabre subject matter and upbeat musical

mood is a recurring trope in Der Dreigroschenoper and Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt

Mahagonny. This irony serves an intellectual aim, as the emotional manipulation

implicit in affective music drama is jarringly revealed in its uncomfortable

association with the socially grotesque. In Brecht’s theory, this leads to a heightened

didactic awareness of the content. As Benjamin explains:

“The task of the epic theater, according to Brecht, is not so much the development of actions as the representation of conditions . . . the truly important thing is to discover the conditions of life. (One might say just as well: to alienate them.) This discovery (alienation) of conditions takes place through the interruption of happenings.”35

The formulation of musical irony is on display in scene one of my piece,

where a jaunty (albeit tonally minor) line in the flute beginning at measure 61 and

wordlessly reinforced through vocal hocketing returns in measure 132 as a line in

32 Benjamin, Illuminations, 150.

33 Brecht: “The actor must show his subject, and he must show himself. Of course, he shows his subject by showing himself, and he shows himself by showing his subject. Although the two coincide, they must not coincide in such a way that the difference between the two tasks disappears.” Ibid., 153.

34 Ibid., 150-154.

35 Ibid., 150. 25

the cello now accompanying the ominous, looming barks of the singers – “Watch

him!” The first half of the scene exhibits a similar tension, with a division of tonal

material between the singers and instruments resulting in the simple, consonant

lines from the voices and energetic accompaniment clashing with the grotesque

sentiments of their words. This tension culminates in the unaccompanied

sprechstimme line at measure 55. Formally, there is a recapitulation of this climax

with the saxophone at measure 101.

The function of electronics as a musical correlative to the emotions of the

hunger artist recalls two conventional modes of operatic dramaturgy. In its freezing of time and connection to the artist’s spoken monologues, it functions as an aria in the Italian tradition. In organizing specific musical material to correspond with the actions of an associated character, it summons the Wagnerian leitmotif. I was

interested in the cohesion and dramatic function of clearly delineating the hunger

artist and providing a dramatic space where text could be spoken rather than sung

(which struck me as wholly unappealing given the artist’s character and situation).

I attempted to preserve the form of the aria and the function of the leitmotif

while transforming both aesthetically through the use of a morphing, electronic

drone rather than resorting to outmoded operatic vocal setting and the use of a

mnemonic melodic snippet, respectively. The electronics allowed me to sidestep

some of these issues, though in the end the spoken text strikes me as a bland and not

fully successful solution to the problem of attempting to give the hunger artist a

voice somehow outside the performative logic of the piece. Benjamin’s description 26

of Epic Theater provides an intriguing alternative interpretation for these narrative breaks:

“This Epic Theater is utterly matter-of-fact, not least in its attitude toward technology . . . the principle of Epic Theater, like that of montage, is based on interruption. The only difference is that here interruption has a pedagogic function and not just the character of a stimulus. It brings the action to a halt, and hence compels the listener to take up an attitude toward the events on the stage and forces the actor to adopt a critical view of his role.”36

The placement of the dance and the voices in the loft of the Mills College concert hall while the musicians fade into darkness during the narrative component of the piece creates a second level of separation between audience and performance.

This is one of several dramatic attempts on my part to attempt a professional-in- appearance production while simultaneously acknowledging a Brechtian distance between appearance and reality; as Jameson writes,

“The well-made production is one from which the traces of its rehearsals have been removed (just as from the successfully reified commodity the traces of production itself have been made to disappear): Brecht opens up this surface, and allows us to see back down into the alternative gestures and postures of the actors trying out their roles: so it is that aesthetic experimentation generally – which has so often been understood as generating the new and the hitherto unexperienced, the radical innovation – might just as well be grasped as the ‘experimental’ attempt to ward off reification.”37

The aesthetic paradigm Jameson discusses is one that appeals to me, and it is one that is problematic in its essence. A successful production of Brecht has “the traces of its rehearsals” eliminated just as surely as the production of a Broadway musical.

This disavowal of reification suggests the unreproducible, the singular experience, the “auratic” in Benjamin’s terminology.38 While live performance in our period of digital media entertainment is inevitably tinged with ephemerality, a conscious

36 Idem., Selected Writings Vol. 2: 1927 – 1934, 584-5.

37 Jameson, Brecht and Method, 12-13.

38 Benjamin, Illuminations, in particular The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.

27

sense that in its failure to produce perfect copies it will be forgotten, Jameson’s

notion of the experimental is more the province of improvised music and performance art than composed music and theater, where miniscule nightly variations upon an essential production are inseparable from the promise of the medium. Here, I wish to invoke Samuel Beckett, whose “whole theatre” is described by Katharine Worth thus: “failure the theme, the drama itself perfectly complete.”39

The placing of the musicians on stage, while an expediency of the space,

creates a jolted expectation when the loft is revealed as the “significant” space of the

performance. It literally reaches for Benjamin’s formulation that epic theater “may

be called the filling in of the orchestra pit.”40 The separation of musical space and

the ambiguous relationship between the musicians and the dancer is exacerbated by

the amplification of the instruments and the singers. Rather than using amplification

as a strictly supportive acoustic aid, it takes on an imposing stance as both singers

and instruments are highly amplified during climactic musical sections and are sent

through quadraphonic speakers, creating the disorienting experience of being

surrounded by sounds which you can see produced in front of you. Of course, an

immersive surround-sound environment is hardly novel, but it is unusual in the

treatment of live acoustic instruments. This relates to the chattering voices, already

mentioned, which accompany the audience as they take their seats. The beginning of

the piece is destabilized; as the audience quiets, fragments of voices continue. I

unabashedly combined two disparate influences in this choice: first, the synthesizer

39 Katharine Worth, “Words for Music Perhaps” in Samuel Beckett and Music, ed. Mary Bryden (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1998), 20.

40 Benjamin, Illuminations, 154. 28

bass line already playing when the house opens in Einstein on the Beach; second, the

notion of interpassivity as elaborated by Slavoj Žižek:

“The one who originally "does it for me" is the signifier itself in its external materiality, from the "canned prayer" in the Tibetan prayer wheel to the "canned laughter" on our TV: the basic feature of the symbolic order qua "big Other," is that it is never simply a tool or means of communication, since it "decenters" the subject from within, in the sense of accomplishing his act for him.”41

The audience’s chatter is accomplished for them. Later, the singer’s whispers

blend with the electronic playback - a phantasmagoria between the live and the

recorded. This recalls the stance between the pre-performance audience and the prerecorded, manipulated vocals, which only becomes recognizable as a relationship once the piece begins and this moment has passed. In contrast, we have the unamplified words of the hunger artist in his monologues. They are unmediated, delivered by a self-conscious dancer as a declamation rather than by an actor in a staged reality. To the extent that this succeeds or fails, it is the closest A Hunger

Artist comes to a Brechtian dramatic interpretation. The musical form is broken at

these two points and the text is presented in its sharp prose with no concern for

lyricism. They are moments of interruption, and it is not coincidental that they are

the two moments of explicit intellectual engagement. Again, Brecht becomes a useful

model for adapting Kafka; as Benjamin writes, “Brecht’s subject is poverty . . . This

Brechtian poverty is more like a uniform and is calculated to confer a high rank on

anyone who wears it. It is, in short, the physiological and economic poverty of man

in the machine age.”42 This explicates underlying political concerns of Brecht’s epic

41 Slavoj Žižek. The Interpassive Subject.

42 Benjamin, Selected Writings Vol. 2: 1927 – 1934, 370.

29

theater and is, incidentally, a rather apposite commentary on A Hunger Artist.

Benjamin describes Brecht’s “untragic hero” as “nothing but an exhibit of the

contradictions which make up our society.”43 He continues, “It may not be too bold

to regard the wise man in the Brechtian sense as the perfect showcase of its

dialectics.”44 In his contradictions and penury, the fasting artist is a protagonist suited for Brecht’s theatrical methods.

There is a central way in which I diverge from Brecht’s notion of epic theater, which insists on an explicit didactic function to the play. The edifying apparatus of

Brecht’s theory, though, is clearly ill-suited to the ambiguities of Kafka’s text. I see my adaptation as political and centrally concerned with power relationships and the elusive thread separating the demotic from the demagogic. It is critical, but it is not a tool to spur the audience to social action. If it were, it would be an evident failure.

Beckett evinces a more sympathetic mission in his approach to semantics; Mary

Bryden writes:

“In championing the ‘intimate and ineffable nature’ (Proust, 92) of music, Beckett is implicitly aligning his own compositional art with that same dynamic of inexplicability. By permeating his writing with his own sensitivity to sound and music, he is not seeking to add an extra dimension of ‘meaning’, but rather to enhance its ambiguity.”45

The theatrical tradition of absurdism becomes the other philosophical-

aesthetic tradition with on overweening influence on my adaptation of Kafka. It is

fitting to the point of obviousness, as Martin Esslin’s introduction to The Theater of

the Absurd shows:

43 Walter Benjamin, Illuminations (New York: Schocken, 1969), 149.

44 Ibid., 149.

45 Mary Bryden, “Beckett and the Sound of Silence” in Samuel Beckett and Music, ed. Mary Bryden (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 34-5. 30

“ ‘Absurd’ originally means ‘out of harmony’, in a musical context . . . In an essay on Kafka, Ionesco defined his understanding of the term as follows: ‘Absurd is that which is devoid of purpose . . . Cut off from his religious, metaphysical, and transcendental roots, man is lost; all his actions become senseless, absurd, useless.’ This sense of metaphysical anguish at the absurdity of the human condition is, broadly speaking, the theme of the plays of Beckett, Adamov, Ionesco, Genet . . .”46

From them, I take clues as to how to adapt Kafka, the patron saint of their dramatic

enterprise. The bars of lighting, symbolizing the artist’s imprisonment and growing more plentiful as time progresses; the slow movements of the singers and the

collapse of meaning from their voices; the contrast between the jerking and flailing

of the artist during his solo dances and the painfully drawn out unraveling of his

costume during scene three. These decisions were influenced by visual precedents

in the staging of Beckett, Ionesco, and Genet, and the visual style of Robert Wilson.

As Camus writes, “Perhaps we shall be able to overtake that elusive feeling of

absurdity in the different but closely related worlds of intelligence, of the art of

living, or of art itself.”47

Scene three introduces silence as an important musical component. There is

a pause at measure 54 filled by the whispers of the singers mixed with the electronic

grains discussed above. Silence fills more and more of the material until concluding

with a full measure of it at 84. The pause after the hunger artist dies is significant

and could signal the end of the piece, but it does not. Time slows drastically in the

epilogue and varying length measures of silence are interpolated throughout. In this

choice to interweave musical silence as an associative appendage to the hunger

artist’s death, I am again indebted to Beckett, particularly his late plays.

46 Martin Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd (New York: Anchor Books, 1969), 5.

47 Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, 12. 31

Beckett understood silence as structural and as laden with meaning.

As early as 1932, more than a decade before he turned to the theater, he writes:

“The experience of my reader shall be between the phrases, in the silence,

communicated by the intervals, not the terms, of the statement.”48 Silence becomes

an important element in his plays, as Pountney explains:

“Indeed in the strict sense of admitting silence as part of the work of art, Beckett found the theatre to be at least as effective as music. Silence is part of the theatre’s natural language and as such can be used to counterpoint the spoken word – thus forming a subtext, or to communicate without words and through action alone.”49

The silence in scenes three and the prologue are distinct from the suspensions of

time represented by the hunger artist’s “arias.” Rather, they are intended to open up

time and form an empty, paradoxical countermelody. They stand in contrast,

particularly, to the rhythmically dense texture of scene one, when the hunger artist

is still the focus of worldly attention. Lastly, it is worth noting Beckett’s extensive

“use of recorded, disembodied voices” in plays including Krapp’s Last Tape and

Footfalls.50

Conclusion

A Hunger Artist is my first composition of both significant length and

coherent vision. It is a descendant of opera in some senses, at least – there is a

composed score that incorporates voices and enacts the staging of an adapted text.

48 Mary Pountney, Theatre of Shadows: Samuel Beckett’s Drama 1956 – 1976 (Totowa, NJ: Barnes and Noble Books, 1988), 4.

49 Ibid., 5.

50 Bryden, “Beckett and the Sound of Silence,” 35. She writes, “In the case of the voice, Beckett’s work resists any notion of a unified vocal identity.” 32

Kyle Gann recounts the anecdote of how Robert Ashley “once exclaimed in good humor to a music critic, ‘Well, if I say it’s opera, it’s opera! Who’s running this show anyway?’”51 Ultimately, it doesn’t seem very important how this work is categorized, though its proximity to theater and the use of through-composed music limit the possibilities.

The process of negotiating mixtures of electronic and acoustic musical sources is something that is increasingly central to my musical output. This includes my work with improvisation and solo compositions for an electroacoustic violin setup, which has become my primary instrument as a performer. The use of electronics in the music of A Hunger Artist was a crucial tool for my experiments with Brechtian dramaturgy; in the future, I imagine expanded use of electronic and electroacoustic sound sources as a means toward the fulfillment of an experimental operatic vision.

I hope to continue composing in a variety of multimedia contexts.

Extramusical considerations and the collaborative process are creative spurs.

Nothing strikes me as more stifling than the isolation and asceticism of the romantic paradigm’s idea of artistic inspiration. I look forward to exploring the possibilities of large-scale theatrical works in public spaces and other places outside of the concert hall. I find my inspiration in relationships, the machinations of power, and the endlessly fascinating interplay between societal ideals and human actions; conversely, Arcadian fantasies of the natural world and the nineteenth-century legacy of l’art pour l’art carry little creative interest for me.

51 Kyle Gann, Robert Ashley (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2012), 2. 33

I will end with a second quotation from Borges. The epigraph at the top of this thesis comes at the end of a paragraph that begins:

“If I am not mistaken, the heterogeneous pieces I have enumerated resemble Kafka; if I am not mistaken, not all of them resemble each other. This second fact is more significant. In each of these texts we find Kafka's idiosyncrasy to a greater or lesser degree, but if Kafka had never written a line, we would not perceive this quality; in other words, it would not exist.”52

With those enigmatic lines, I’ll allow my elaborations and justifications of an ambitious adaptation to cease. If the work is unsuccessful, language can surely elaborate why; if it is successful, perhaps this text can aid in circumscribing its influences, though it may not be able to mark its center.

52 Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings, 201. 34

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______. Illuminations. Edited by Hannah Arendt. New York, NY: Schocken, 1969.

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______. The Complete Stories. New York, NY: Schocken Books, 1971.

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A Hunger Artist

A Chamber Opera in One Act

Adapted from the Story by Franz Kafka

Music and Libretto by Dylan Neely

38

Instrumentation

Flute Alto / Tenor Saxophone Violin Violoncello

Soprano I Soprano II Alto I Alto II

Live Electronics

Notes

Live Electronics

The live electronics are controlled through a Supercollider patch with a Graphical User Interface. It consists of a set of buttons, amplitude controls, and additional control over the timing of the granulated vocals. The broken speech samples play as the audience takes their seats – the density can be controlled through a slider. They recur at measure 54 of scene 3. The prologue drone is triggered beginning at measure 46 of the prologue. The “sc2” drone is triggered at the beginning of that scene, and “sc2_pt2” is triggered fifteen seconds into the scene. The chimes are triggered during scene 2 in response to larger gestures from the dancer. “chimes1” is non-harmonic; “chimes2” is harmonic and denser in occurrence. The “sc4” drone is triggered at the beginning of scene 4. All electronic cues are indicated in the score.

39

Dance The Hunger Artist character is introduced at measure 43 of the prologue and follows with 2’30” of movement which precede scene 1. Scenes 2 and 4 both begin with movement before the spoken “aria” is delivered.

Singers The singers are placed in the same space as the dancer and interact visually with him. They are asked to assume multiple roles. They play alongside the instruments, mimic the granulated vocal electronic sounds that precede the piece, and create textures out of whispering and sibilance. They are costumed.

Instrumentalists The instrumentalists are placed in a space distinct from the dancer and singers. A conductor cues all entrances and exits.

Staging The semi-staged premiere of the work took place on March 8, 2014 during the Signal Flow Festival at Mills College. The dancers and singers were placed in the balcony of the stage, while the instrumentalists were placed on stage. Lighting from the main board is supplemented with overhead projectors in the wings of the balcony. The stage lights fade to darkness as the instruments fade out during the prologue, and come back up for the epilogue. Changing transparencies of black and red bars of light act as lighting cues for the loft from part two of the prologue through the end of scene 4.

Mills College Concert Hall, 2.28.14.

40

Libretto

Scene 1(a)

Chorus: Look at him Look at him Look at him Look at him

Look at him / See him there Look at him / See him there Look at him / See him there Look at him / See him there

Look / See Look / See Terrible / Amazing Terrible / Amazing Fantastic / Horrible Fantastic / Horrible

Is he real? / Are you true? Is he real? / Are you true? I love you / I hate you I love you / I hate you Will he live? / Let him die Will he live? / Let him die Will he live? / Let him die Will he live? / Let him die (solo) I’ll make sure He won’t eat If he does… (sigh) what a disappointment it will be

Scene 1(b)

Each night Each night Watch him Watch him Make sure he don’t eat Make sure he don’t eat All night long 41

Watch him Watch him Make sure he don’t eat Make sure he don’t eat Each night long

(whispering) 109 pounds // vital organs healthy // he’s so boring

Scene 2

Hunger Artist: It always happens the same way. On the fortieth day of my fast the cage opens, excited spectators fill the hall, a military band plays, two doctors come inside my cage and measure me. They use instruments. They measure the results of the fast, is what they say. These results are announced through a megaphone – 109 pounds! Vital organs healthy! Then two young women appear, blissful at being chosen for the honor of helping me down those steps which lead to the tiny table on which food overflows. A carefully chosen invalid repast. But I do not want to eat. I try to say no, but the crowds cheer and finally my impresario tells me enough with my bullshit and they all chant louder and louder for me to eat and finally I do. And they’re satiated. (pause) They call me pampered. They resent my success. The crowds aren’t there for you, they say, all they care about is spectacle. If the crowds leave, if fashions change, it’s just a matter of time before fasting comes into fashion once again. I can fast as well as I ever could, better, if they would let me fast as long as I like. I will. I will fast as long as I like. I will leave my impresario and his fascist rules. I will join a circus that lets me do what I want. I will fast as long as I want.

Scene 3 Chorus: Textured, breathy whispering of meaningless syllables Return of voices mimicking the broken-up speech sounds from the electronics

Scene 4 Hunger Artist: How many days has it been? Someone used to come each day and update the notice board; it has stayed at the same number for longer than I can remember. Has anyone counted? I haven’t, have you? I have broken all the records. My heart is heavy. I have broken all the records. My heart is heavy. Sometimes a passer-by will stop and make merry over the old figure on the board, that measly low figure, and speak of swindling, and commit the stupidest lie ever invented by indifference and inborn malice. I have never cheated, I have only worked honestly; the world has cheated me. So let me die. Let me die, forgotten in the straw. I only have one apology 42

to make before I go. I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.

Epilogue

(chorus hums, then murmurs over each other the names of animals) Giraffe / Kangaroo / Frog / Monkey / Zebra / Deer / Fox / Penguin / Wolf / Ostrich / Hyena / Squirrel

43

Prologue

Dylan Neely

Broken-up electronic vocal sounds are playing in the concert hall before the audience sits down, spatialized, at a barely audible volume and a sparse level of density. Measure 1 begins over these sounds.

q = 38 Flute ° &45 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑

Alto Saxophone 5 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&4 air-tone/harmonics gliss over middle third of string ¿~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Violin ° &45 p sul C air tone/harmonics gliss over middle third of string Violoncello ? 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 4 ¿ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ¢ p

Electronics / 45 ppp p n 44

5 q = 76 o o œb œ œ œ Fl. ° & ∑ ‰™ ŒŒŒ ≈ ≈ p mf

^ . œ. Alto Sax. œ ≈ ‰ œb œ Œ ≈ ‰ œb œn. & Œ‰ J ≈ ™ J œ ¢ f œ œ mf œ mf mp pœ œ

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vln. ° &

Vc. ?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ¢ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7 œo ™ œo ˙#o œ œ# Fl. ° & Œ ≈ J ÓŒ Œ ≈ ≈ p Alto Sax. & œ ‰™ ‰™ ‰ œb ‰ œb ≈ ŒÓ ¢ pœb. œ..œ œ. . œ..œ œ..œ œb..œ . œ. œ...œ œ

settle into pitched harmonic with a wide vibrato o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ œ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vln. ° ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & sul G settle into pitched harmonic with a wide vibrato o Vc. œ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ¢ 45

9 . œ# œ. Fl. ° Œ œ œ™ ‰ ∑ 3 & 3 4 mf

3 3 3 Alto Sax...... & œ ‰™ ≈ œ# œ œ Œ ≈ œ œ œ Œ‰ ≈ ‰ j‰Œ j 43 ¢ mfR œb œ œ œ. œ. . œ. œ..œ . œ. œ. œ. sul A ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ œo Vln. ° ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & 43 sul C o Vc. ?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ œ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 3 ¢ 4

11 œb œb œb œ œ œ œb œb œn Fl. ° &43 45 f

3 Alto Sax. 3 ∑ ≈ ≈ œb ‰ ∑ 5 ¢&4 œ..œ œ. . œ..œ œ..œ 4

œ Vln. ° 3 œ œ œ 5 &4 ∑ Œ œ# 4 mp arco pizz. œ Vc. ? 43 Œ ≈ œ ≈ ≈ œ ≈ œ ‰ ≈ ≈ ≈ œ ≈ ŒŒ 45 ¢ mf J œ mp 46

14 œn ˙ œ# Fl. ° &45 ŒŒ ≈ ≈ ∑

3 Alto Sax. 5 ≈ ≈ ‰Ó ∑ ¢&4 œ œ œ œ . œ..œ œ..œ ... ^ ^ ^ --> scratch tone œb œ^ œb œ^ œn Vln. ° 5 Œ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ &4<#>˙ ) f --> scratch tone ˙ ) œ-----œ œ œ œ Vc. ? 5 Œ ¢ 4

16 œb œ œb œ ^ œb^ ^ ^ ^ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ & ≈ ≈ ŒŒŒ ≈ ≈ ‰™ ‰™ ‰™ ‰™ ‰™ 43

Alto Sax. ∑ ≈ œ œb ≈ ŒŒŒ ≈ œ œ ≈ 3 ¢& 4

œn ----œ œ œ œ --> scratch tone Vln. ° 3 & ˙ Œ 4 mp )

œb^ œb^ œ^ œ^ œ^ Vc. - œb- --- ? ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ œb œ œ œ 43 ¢ f mp 47

18 ...... œb œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œb. œ œ œ œ œ œ. &43 ≈ 45 Ó ≈ ≈ Œ ≈ ≈

œ Alto Sax. 3 œn œb 5 ∑ ¢&4 4

œ..œ œb- œ--œ Vln. ° œb R R &43 œ œ 45 ‰™ ‰™

- œb- ... œ œb œ œ œ Vc. ? 3 œb œn 5 R ‰™ R ‰™ R ‰™ ¢ 4 4

20 œn œ œ œb œ œn Fl. ° ÓŒ‰‰ J ∑ œ 3 & 3 3 3 4

Alto Sax. ∑ ≈ œ ≈ ŒŒ‰ œ Œ 3 ¢& œ# œ# 4

-- ... œ# œ œ œ œ - - Vln. ° R R R -œb - œ - œ# & ‰™ ‰™ ‰™ œ œ# 43

--> scratch tone .. --- œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ) Vc. ? R ‰™ R ‰™ Œ 3 ¢ 4 48

22 ...... œ. œ..œ œ œ œ œ œ# Fl. ° œ# œ œ œ R œ# &43 ∑ ≈ ≈ 45 p f

Alto Sax. 3 . 5 &4 ≈ ≈ œ# œ œ ∑ Ó‰™ œ 4 ¢ f œ œ œ ... R œ...œ œ œ. . . mf

œ œ œ ^ ^ œ^ Vln. ° œ# œ œb œ œb &43 R ‰™ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ 45 f p f

^ Vc. œ r ^ ^ ? 3 œ œ# œ œ œb ‰™ ≈ œb ‰ ≈ œn ‰ 5 4 p œ 4 ¢ f f

25 œ#^ ^ . ^ œn œ. œ œ. œ œ^ ^ Fl. ° œ# &45 ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰Œ 43 ∑ 45 3 p 3 f 3

Alto Sax. 5 .. œ...... œ...... œ. 3 5 &4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ R ‰™ 4 ∑ 4 ¢ 3

^ ^ œ^ Vln. ° œ# œ &45 ∑ 43 ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ ≈ ‰ 45

^ ^ ^ Vc. ? 5 ∑ 3 ≈ œ ‰ ≈ œ ‰ ≈ œ# ‰ 5 ¢ 4 4 4 49

27 . œb . . œ. œ...œ œ œ. . œ..œ œ...œ œ œ..œ œb œ. Fl. ° œ œ &45 ≈ ≈ ≈ mp

3 Alto Sax. >œb &45 ‰ j j ‰ ‰ œ ≈ fJ > œb ¢ œ œ œb œ p. mpœ Vln. ° &45 ∑

Vc. ? 5 ∑ ¢ 4

28 . œb œ œn œb ..œ œb œb œ œn œ Fl. ° & ≈ ≈ ≈ Œ ≈ ≈ ≈

Alto Sax. & ‰ ≈ ≈ Œ ≈ ≈ ≈ ¢ œ. œb. œb œ œ œ œn œ œ

Vln. ° & ∑

Vc. ? ∑ ¢ 50

29 . œ# œ# ˙™ œn ..œ œn .. œ# . Fl. ° œ# œ 4 3 4 & ‰ ‰™ ≈ Œ‰ 4 Œ 4 ∑ 4 f

3 3 Alto Sax. œn œ# œ# 4 3 4 & Œ Œ œ œ# ‰ 4 ˙# ™ Œ 4 ∑ 4 ¢ œn f œ œ#

Vln. ° ∑ 4 ∑ 3 4 & 4 4 ≈œœœ ≈œœœ ‰ 4 mp... œ# . .. . œ.

Vc. ? ∑ 4 ∑ 43 4 ¢ p˙™

32 ˙™ w Fl. ° &4 Œ 45 p

3 3 Alto Sax. &4 Œ ˙™ ≈ ‰ 45 ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ p mf......

Vln. ° &4 45 pw w Vc. ? 4 5 4 ≈ œ...œ# œ œ œ...œ œ# œ. œ œ..œ# œ...œ œ œ w 4 ¢ mf . . . p 51

34 . . . œ...œ œ œb œ..œ œ..œ œ œ....œ œ œ œ. œ œ..œ Fl. ° &45 ≈ ≈ ≈ mf

Alto Sax. &45 ˙b ™ ˙ ¢ p

Vln. ° 5 &4 ˙b ™ ˙

Vc. ? 5 ˙™ ˙ ¢ 4

35 . . . . œ œ. œ. œ œ..œ œ. œb œ. œ..œ œ œ. œ. œb œ. Fl. ° ‰ & ≈ ≈ 4 ∑

3 3 3 Alto Sax. &˙™ ˙ 4 ‰ œn ‰ œ ‰Œ ¢ mp œ œb œ œ

Vln. ° 4 &˙™ ˙ 4bbw~

wo Vc. ? ˙™ ˙ 4 ¢ 4 52

37 ^ œb œ# œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ≈ ≈ Œ ≈ ‰™ ‰ ‰ J ‰ f p mp

3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ ¢& œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ

Vln. ° & bw~ bbw~

wo wo Vc. ? ¢

39 . . œn . . œ..œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ Fl. ° J & Ó ≈ ≈ ≈ ‰™ ‰ ≈ ‰ mf

3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ ¢& œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ

Vln. ° b & b w~ n~ wo wo Vc. ? ¢ 53 Movement Begins 41 œ œ œb œ œ œ œ Fl. ° J R w & ‰ ≈ ‰ ‰™ ∑ p 3 3 3 Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ œb œ & ‰ œœ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œœ ‰ œœ ‰ œ ‰ œœ ‰ œœ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb

Vln. ° b & bbw~ bw~ b w~

” “wo wo wo Vc. ? ¢

44 wb Fl. ° w w &

3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ & ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb œ œb œ œ

Vln. ° b~ & b w n~ bbw~ < > “ wo wo wo Vc. ? ¢

Electronics / ppp 54

47 wb Fl. ° w w &

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ ¢& œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ

Vln. ° b & bw~ bbw~ b w~ wo wo wo Vc. ? ¢

Electronics /

50 wb w Fl. ° w & 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ & ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰Œ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ¢ œ œb œ œ 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb p

Vln. ° & n~ bbw~ bw~ ” wo “wo wo Vc. ? ¢

Electronics / p 55

53 wb Fl. ° w w & 3 3 3 Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ œb œ & ‰ œœ ‰ œœ ‰ œ ‰ œœ ‰ œœ ‰ œ ‰ œœ ‰ œœ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb

Vln. ° b & bbw~ b w~ n~ < > “ wo wo wo Vc. ? ¢

Electronics /

56 wn w Fl. ° & 3 3 Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ & ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ œb 3 3 3 œ œb pp

b b~ Vln. ° wb~ w &

” “ wo wo Vc. ? ¢

Electronics / 56

58 w Fl. ° & 3 Alto Sax. œb œ & ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ œb b~ Vln. ° b w & < > “ wo Vc. ? ¢ Electronics /

59 w o Fl. ° w & pp

3 Alto Sax. œb œ œ œb œ & ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 œ œb

bbw~ nn~ Vln. ° ~ & < > “ wo wo Vc. ? ¢ Electronics / 57

--> breath tone 61 hold until cue Fl. ° w w &

hold until cue Alto Sax. & w w ¢ ppp

harmonics gliss hold until cue ¿~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vln. ° & pp sul C harmonics gliss hold until cue Vc. ? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ¿ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ¢ pp

Electronics / crescendo continues

Following the exit of the instruments, there is 90 seconds of movement accompanied by slowly morphing low frequency electronics. As the dancer assumes a still pose, the electronics fade to quiet.

Scene 1 then begins. 58

Scene 1

1 q = 60 Flute ° &43 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑

3 3 3 Alto Saxophone 3 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&4 œb œ œ p œ œb œ œ œ œ

Soprano 1 ° œb œb œ œb œb œ œb œb œ œb œb œ œb œb œ &43 Look at him Look at him Look at him Look at him Look at him p

Soprano II œb œb œ œb œb œ &43 ∑ ∑ ∑ Look at him Look at him p

Alto I 3 &4 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ œb œ Seeœb him there p

Alto II 3 &4 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ œb œ ¢ Seeœb him there p

q = 60

Violin ° &43 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑

Violoncello ? 3 ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢ 4 59

6 ˙b Fl. ° œ & ∑ ∑ ∑ p

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. & ¢ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œœ

S. I ° œb œb œ œb œb œ œb œb œ & ∑ Look at him Look at him Look at him

S. II œb œb œ œb œb œ œb œb œ & ∑ Look at him Look at him Look at him

A. I & œb œ œb œ œb œ ∑ Seeœb him there Seeœb him there Seeœb him there

A. II & œb œ œb œ œb œ ∑ ¢ Seeœb him there Seeœb him there Seeœb him there

= 10 ˙b ˙b ˙b Fl. ° œ œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. & ¢ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ

œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ Vln. ° & ∑ p 3 3 3 3 3 3

3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. j j j j j j ? ∑ œb ‰ œb œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œb ‰ œb œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ pJ J J J J J 60

13 ˙b ˙b ˙b Fl. ° œ œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. & ¢ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ

S. I ° & ˙b ™ ˙b ™ œb œ œ See Look Ter ri ble

S. II ˙b ˙b œb œ œ & ™ ™ See Look A ma zing

A. I & ˙b ™ ˙b ™ œb œ œ Look See Ter ri ble

A. II & ˙b ™ ˙b ™ œb œ œ ¢ Look See A ma zing

œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ..œ œ..œ œ..œ Vln. ° & 3 3 3 3 3 3

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. ? œb ‰ j œ ‰ j œ ‰ j œb ‰ j œ ‰ j œ ‰ j œb ‰ j œ ‰ j œ ‰ j ¢ J œb J œ J œ J œb J œ J œ J œb J œ J œ 61

16 ˙b ˙b ˙b Fl. ° œ œ œ & ∑ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. & j‰ j j‰ j ¢ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œb œ œ œ ˙ œb

S. I ° œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ & ∑ Fan tas tic Ter ri ble Fan tas tic

S. II & œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ ∑ Hor ri ble A ma zing Hor ri ble

A. I & œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ ∑ Fan tas tic Ter ri ble Fan tas tic

A. II & œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ ∑ ¢ Hor ri ble A ma zing Hor ri ble

œ..œ œ..œ œ..œ œ..œ œ..œ œ..œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ œ...œ œ Vln. ° ∑ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. j j j j j j j ? œb ‰ œb œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œb œb ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œb ‰ œb œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ˙ œb ¢ J J J 3 J J J J J J J 3 J 62

20 ˙™ ˙™ ˙™ Fl. ° U & ÓŒ mp n U œb œ œb œ œb œ Alto Sax. Œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 ¢ ˙ mp 3 3 3

. œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ Vln. ° U œ œ œ & ÓŒ ∑ ∑ mp

U bœ...... œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? b˙ Œ b œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ b œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ b œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ < > J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J ¢ mp 63

24 œb œ œb œ œb œ Alto Sax. ° œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 ¢ 3 3 3

S. I ° & ∑ œb œ œ œb œ œ Is he real? Are you true?

S. II & ∑ œb œ œ œb œ œ Is he real? Are you true?

A. I & ∑ œb œ œ œb œ œ Are you true? Is he real?

A. II & ∑ œb œ œ œb œ œ ¢ Are you true? Is he real?

. œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ Vln. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ...... Vc. bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ ? J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 64

27 œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ Alto Sax. ° œb œ œb œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œb œ œb œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 ¢ 3 3 3

S. I ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ & I love you I love you Will he live? œ œ œ œ œ œ S. II & œb œ œ I hate you I hate you Will he live?

A. I & œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ I love you I love you Let him die

A. II & œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ ¢ I hate you I hate you Let him die

. œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ Vln. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ &

...... Vc. ? bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 65

30 œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ Alto Sax. ° œb œ œb œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œb œ œb œ œ & 3 3 3 3 3 3 ¢ 3 3 3

S. I ° œb œ œ œb œ œ & œb œ œ Let him die Will he live? Let him die

S. II œb œ œ œb œ œ & œb œ œ Let him die Will he live? Let him die

A. I & œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ Will he live? Let him die Will he live?

A. II & œb œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ ¢ Will he live? Let him die Will he live?

. œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ Vln. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ &

...... Vc. ? bœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

=

33 ˙™ ˙™ ˙™ Fl. ° & ¢ mp n . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ . œb . œb . œ. œ . œ. œ Vln. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ & ...... Vc. ? bœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 66

36 œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œb œ œ œ œ & ∑ œ œb œ œ p 6 6 6

Alto Sax. & ∑ ˙ ¢ pœ

. œ. . œ. . œ. . œb . œb . œ. œb . œ. œb œ œn œ œ œ œ Vln. ° œn œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ & p ...... Vc. bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ ? J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 p 3 3 3

=

38 œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ & œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. ¢& œ ˙ œ ˙

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. ° œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ &

...... Vc. bbœ œ œ œ œ œ bbœ œ œ œ œ œ ? J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J J ‰ J ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 67

40 œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ & œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. ¢& œ ˙ œb ˙

œ œ 3 3 3 Vln. ° œ# œ & ŒŒ œb œb. œ . œ. œ. œ. œ. œ. œ...... Vc. bbœ œ œ œ. . . . œb . . . œ. ? J ‰ J J ‰‰Œ œ œb œ œ œ œ ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 68

42 œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & œb œ 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. ¢& œ ˙ ˙™

S. I ° œb œ œ & ∑ Is he real?

S. II œb œ œ & ∑ Is he real?

A. I & ∑ œb œ œ Are you true?

A. II & ∑ œb œ œ ¢ Are you true?

3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & j ‰ j j ‰ j j ‰ j œb œb. œ œb œ œ œ œ œ . œ. œ. œ. œ. œ. œ...... 3 3 3 Vc. ? œb œ. . . œb . . œ. œ j j j j j j œb œ œ œ œb ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ 3 3 3 ...... 69

44 œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. ¢& ˙™ œ ˙

S. I ° œ œ œ & œb œ œ Are you true? I love you

œ œ œ S. II & œb œ œ Are you true? I hate you

A. I & œb œ œ œ œ œ Is he real? I love you

A. II & œb œ œ œ œ œ ¢ Is he real? I hate you

3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° ‰ ‰ ‰ j ‰ j j ‰ j j ‰ j & j j j j j j œ œ œ œ œ œ œb ...... œ œ œ œ œ ......

3 3 3 Vc. ? j j j j j j ...... œb ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ ¢ ...... J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J 70

46 œb œb œ œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & œ œ 6 6 6 mp 6 6 6

œ œ œ Alto Sax. & ∑ ¢ mp

S. I ° œ œ œ œb œ œ & I love you Will he live?

œ œ œ S. II & œb œ œ I hate you Will he live?

A. I & œ œ œ œb œ œ I love you Let him die

A. II & œ œ œ œb œ œ ¢ I hate you Let him die

3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & j ‰ j j ‰ j j ‰ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ...... mp œb œb œ œ œ œ

Vc. ? œ...... ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 3 ¢ J 3 J J 3 J J 3 J mp 71

48 œb œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. œb œb œb œb œ œb œ œ œ ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° œb œ œ œb œ œ & Let him die Will he live?

S. II œb œ œ & œb œ œ Let him die Will he live?

A. I & œb œ œ œb œ œ Will he live? Let him die

A. II & œb œ œ œb œ œ ¢ Will he live? Let him die

3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vc. ? œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 72

50 œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° œb œ œ & ∑ Let him die

S. II œb œ œ & ∑ Let him die

A. I & œb œ œ ∑ Will he live?

A. II & œb œ œ ∑ ¢ Will he live?

- - - 3 3 3 œ- œb œ- œ œ- œ Vln. ° & œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ

œb œ œ Vc. ? œ œ œ œ œ œ œ- œb- œ- œ- œ- -œ ¢ 3 3 3 73

52 œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. œb œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œb œ œ œ ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ------œ- œb œ- œ œ- œ Vln. ° -œb œ œ- œ œ- œ &

Vc. œ- œ- -œ ? -œb œ- œ- œ- œb- œ- œ- œ- -œ ¢

=

54 œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 f 6 6 6

Alto Sax. & œ œb œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ f

sprechstimme S. I ° & ∑ œb œ œ ¢ I'll make sure ff

------œ- œb œ- œ œ- œ Vln. ° -œb œ œ- œ œ- œ & f - - - Vc. ? -œb œ œ- œ œ- œ œ- œb- œ- œ- œ- -œ ¢ f 74

56 œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 6 6 6 6 6 6

Alto Sax. ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° œb œ œ œ œ œ & ¢ He won't eat If he does ------œ- œb œ- œ œ- œ Vln. ° -œb œ œ- œ œ- œ &

- - - Vc. ? -œb œ œ- œ œ- œ œ- œb- œ- œ- œ- -œ ¢

= 58 œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ U Fl. ° ∑ ∑ & 6 6 6

U Alto Sax. ∑ ∑ ¢& œ œ œ hurried, with stilted rhythm ˙b ™ S. I ° ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ¢ (sigh) what a disappointment it will be!

- - - Vln. ° -œb œ œ- œ -œ œ U & ∑ ∑ - - - U Vc. ? -œb œ œ- œ -œ œ ∑ ∑ ¢ 75

61 q = 96 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ &4 œ# œ# œ# ¢ mp

A. I ° 4 j j j j j j j j j j j j &4 ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ¢ Ah...... Ah Ah Ah sim. mf = 64 œ# œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ# œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ ¢&

A. I ° & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ....œ œ œ œ#...... œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ = 67 œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢& S. I ° œ....œ œ œ & ∑ ∑ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J Ah ah ah ah mp

A. I j j j j j j j j & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ#...... œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ....œ œ œ = 70 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢& S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J sim.

A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 76

73 œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ Fl. ° œ# œ# œ œ œ# œ œ# œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ# œ ¢& ...... S. I ° œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

A. I ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢& œ#...... œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ

=

76 œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œn œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ œ# œ#

Alto Sax. ∑ œ# œ# & œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ ¢ mp œ# œ# .... S. I ° œ# œ œ œ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

A. I j j j j & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ#....œ œ œ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ ppœ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ pp 77

79 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ#

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ ¢ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ#

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ∑

S. II œ....œ œ œ & ∑ ∑ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J mf

A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ∑ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ.

A. II ∑ ∑ ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢& œ œ œ œ mf....

Vln. ° & œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ 78

82 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ#

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ ¢ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ# œ œ# œ

S. II ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

A. II & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ pocoœ# a pocoœ cresc.œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ poco a poco cresc. 79

85 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ#

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ ¢ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

S. II œ. & ∑ ∑ J ‰ŒÓ f

A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

A. II & ∑ ∑ j ‰ŒÓ ¢ œ. f

Vln. ° & œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ mf

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ mf 80

88 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ# poco a poco cresc.

Alto Sax. œ# œ# œ# & œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ ¢ œ# poco a poco œ# cresc. œ#

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J Œ J ‰Œ J ‰Œ J ‰Œ J ‰ f

S. II œ. œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & J ‰ŒÓ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

A. I j j j j j j j j & ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ Œ œ ‰Œ œ ‰Œ œ ‰Œ œ ‰ ...... f

A. II & j ‰ŒÓ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ¢ œ. œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ œ# œ œ œ pocoœ# a pocoœ cresc.œ œ œ# œ œ œ

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ poco a poco cresc. 81

91 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ# f

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ œ œ# œ# œ# œ œ œ# œ# œ# œn œ# œ ¢ œ œ# œ œ œ# œ fœ œ# œ

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & Œ J ‰Œ J ‰Œ J ‰Œ J ‰‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

S. II œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰

A. I & Œ j ‰Œ j ‰Œ j ‰Œ j ‰‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

A. II & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ ¢ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ f poco a poco cresc.

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ f poco a poco cresc. 82

94 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ#

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ# œ ¢ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

S. II œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰

A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

A. II & j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ ¢ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ 83

97 œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# œ# œ# ff

Alto Sax. & œ# œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ ¢ ffœ œ# œ œ œ# œ œ œ# œ

S. I ° œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J

S. II œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰

A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

A. II & j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ ¢ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Vln. ° & œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ff

Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ œ# æ œæ œæ œæ ¢ ff 84

100 œ# œ# œ Fl. ° œ œ# œ œ U & œ# ∑ ∑ Ó™ Œ 42

ad libitum . 3 Alto Sax. œ œ œ. œ œ# œ U 2 & œ# œ# œ# œ ‰ œ# œ# œ# ™ j 4 ¢ œ œ# œ œ œ 3 3 œ œ œ# œ > > œ ˙b œ

S. I ° œ...œ œ œ. U & ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ∑ ∑ Ó™ Œ 42

S. II œ....œ œ œ U & J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ ∑ ∑ Ó™ Œ 42

U A. I & ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ∑ ∑ Ó™ Œ 42 œ...œ œ œ. U A. II & j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ j ‰ ∑ ∑ Ó™ Œ 42 ¢ œ....œ œ œ

Vln. ° U & ŒŒŒ 42 œ# æ œæ œæ œæ w w œ U Vc. ? œ# æ œæ œæ œæ w# w œ ŒŒŒ 2 ¢ 4

= q = 108 104 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. &42 ∑ 4 ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ p 85

107 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ¢&

S. I ° w & ∑ ∑ p Night

S. II w & ∑ ∑ p Night

A. I & w ˙™ Œ ∑ p Each

A. II Œ ∑ ¢& w ˙™ p Each

=

110 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ¢& S. I ° ˙™ & Œ ∑ ∑

S. II ˙ & ™ Œ ∑ ∑

A. I & ∑ w ˙™ Œ Each

A. II ∑ Œ & w ˙ ¢ Each ™ 86

113 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ¢&

S. I ° w ˙™ & Œ ∑ Night

S. II w ˙ & ™ Œ ∑ ¢ Night

=

116 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ 45

Alto Sax. & ∑ ∑ œb ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ 45 ¢ p œ œ œ œ

^ ^ A. I ° & ∑ œ œ Ó ∑ 45 f Watch Him

A. II ∑ ^ ^ Ó ∑ 5 ¢& 4 œWatch Himœ f 87

119 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° &45 ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ 4 mf Alto Sax. 5 Ó™ Ó œ# ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ 4 ¢&4 4 mf œ œ œ œ œ

^ ^ ^ ^ A. I ° &45 œ œ ÓŒ œ œ ÓŒ 4 Watch Him Watch Him

A. II 5 ^ ^ ÓŒ ^ ^ ÓŒ 4 ¢&4 4 Watchœ Himœ Watchœ Himœ = 121 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° &4 ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ∑

Alto Sax. &4 œ# ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ∑ ¢ 4 œ œ œ œ

5 S. I ° œ œ œ œ œ &4 ∑ ∑ Make Sure He Won't Eat pp

5 S. II œ œ œ œ œ &4 ∑ ∑ Make Sure He Won't Eat pp ^ ^ ^ ^ A. I &4 œ œ Ó œ œ Ó ∑ Watch Him Watch Him

A. II 4 ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ∑ ¢&4 Watchœ Himœ Watchœ Himœ 88

124 wo Fl. ° & ∑ ∑ pp Alto Sax. ∑ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ∑ ¢& œ# œ œ œ ppœ# œ œ œ

5 S. I ° œ œ œ œ œ & ∑ ∑ Make Sure He Won't Eat

5 S. II œ œ œ œ œ & ∑ ∑ ¢ Make Sure He Won't Eat

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° j j & œ# œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ∑ œ# œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ #pp---œ œ œ -----œ œ œ œ œ ---œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 j j Vc. ? œ# œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ∑ œ# œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ #pp---œ œ œ -----œ œ œ œ œ ---œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 89

127 o o w w œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ mf

Alto Sax. & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ mf

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ A. I ° & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

œ# œ# œ Vc. °? ∑ ∑ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ mp

=

130 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢&

^ ^ ^ ^ A. I ° & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vc. °? œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ 90

132 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢&

œ#^œ ^ S. I ° & ∑ Ó f Watch Him

^ ^ S. II & ∑ œ# œ Ó f Watch Him

^ ^ ^ ^ A. I & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

Vln. ° & ∑ œ# œ# œ œ# œ mp œ œ œ#

œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vc. ? œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ 91

134 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢&

œ#^œ ^ œ#^œ ^ S. I ° & Ó Ó Watch Him Watch Him

^ ^ ^ ^ S. II & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

^ ^ ^ ^ A. I & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

Vln. ° æ æ æ æ & œ# œ# œ œ# œ œ# œ# œ# œ æ æ œæ æ œ œ œ# poco a poco cresc. œ œ# œ

œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vc. ? œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ æpoco a pocoæ æcresc. æ æ æ æ æ 92

136 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢&

œ#^œ ^ œ#^œ ^ S. I ° & Ó Ó Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ S. II & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ A. I & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

Vln. ° & œ# æ æ œ# æ œæ æ æ æ æ œ# æ æ œ# æ œæ æ æ æ æ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ

œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vc. ? œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ 93

138 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ¢&

œ#^œ ^ œ#^œ ^ S. I ° & Ó Ó Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ S. II & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ A. I & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

œ# œ# œ Vln. ° œ œ# œ œ & œ# æ æ œ# æ œæ æ æ æ æ œ# œ# œ œ# œ œ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vc. ? œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ ¢ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ 94

140 œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ‰ ∑

Alto Sax. œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ# œ# ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ ∑ ¢&

œ#^œ ^ œ#^œ ^ œ#^œ ^ S. I ° & Ó Ó Ó Watch Him Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ S. II & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him Watch Him ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ A. I & œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó œ# œ Ó Watch Him Watch Him Watch Him

A. II ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ^ ^ Ó ¢& Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ Watchœ# Himœ

œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ œ# œ# œ Vln. ° œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ & œ# æ æ æ æ œ# æ æ æ æ œ# æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æf æ æ æ æ æ æ æ œ# œ# œ# Vc. ? œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ œ# œ œ# œ œ œ# æ æ æ æ œ# æ æ æ æ œ# æ æ æ æ ¢ æ æ æ æ æf æ æ æ æ æ æ æ 95

143 w# w œ Fl. ° & ŒÓ ∑ ff n Alto Sax. & w w œ Œ Ó ∑ ¢ ff n

begin whispering S. I ° & ∑ ∑ ¿ ¢ 109 pounds 109 pounds mf

sul G o o Vln. ° & ∑ ∑ Œ ˙™ w p sul C o o Vc. ? ∑ ∑ Œ ˙™ w ¢ p 96

147 Fl. ° ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&

S. I ° & He's so boring He's so boring

following soprano I, begin whispering S. II & ¿ mf Let's go ok let's go 109 pounds 109 pounds

following soprano I, begin whispering A. I & ¿ mf 109 pounds Let's go ok let's go Vital organs healthy

following soprano I, begin whispering A. II ¿ ¢& mf Vital organs healthy Let's go ok let's go Vital organs healthy

o o Vln. ° & w w ∑ ∑ n o o Vc. ? w w ∑ ∑ ¢ n

Singers continue whispering into the beginning of scene 2. They fade to quiet approximately 20 seconds after the electronics begin. 97

Scene 2

Voices continue whispering as they were at the end of scene 1, with a slow diminuendo to nothing over the first twenty seconds of the scene.

The dancer begins to move. The electronics are triggered:

Slow crescendo of low frequency electronic sounds. After approximately 15 seconds, a second electronic layer is introduced:

Rapid gestures from the dancer are to be occasionally matched with chimes-like sounds:

(Non-harmonic) (Harmonic)

After approximately 90 seconds of movement, the dancer slows and assumes a position at the front of the stage. The droning electronics diminuendo to pianissimo. The dancer begins to speak:

It always happens the same way. On the fortieth day of my fast the cage opens, excited spectators fill the hall, a military band plays, two doctors come inside my cage and measure me. They use instruments. They measure the results of the fast, is what they say. These results are announced through a megaphone – 109 pounds! Vital organs healthy! Then two young women appear, blissful at being chosen for the honor of helping me down those steps which lead to the tiny table on which food overflows. A carefully chosen invalid repast. But I do not want to eat. I try to say no, but the crowds cheer and finally my impresario tells me enough with my bullshit and they all chant louder and louder for me to eat and finally I do. And they’re satiated. (pause) They call me pampered. They resent my success. The crowds aren’t there for you, they say, all they care about is spectacle. If the crowds leave, if fashions change, it’s just a matter of time before fasting comes into fashion once again. I can fast as well as I ever could, better, if they would let me fast as long as I like. I will. I will fast as long as I like. I will leave my impresario and his fascist rules. I will join a circus that lets me do what I want. I will fast as long as I want.

The dancer stands resolutely facing the audience. The electronics fade out.

98 Scene 3

q = 68 1 Flute ° &43 ∑ ∑ ∑ 87 ∑

3 3 Alto Saxophone 3 œb œb j j j j 7 œ™ œ# œ &4 œb ™ œ J œ œ œb œ ‰‰ œb œ ‰ œ œ ‰ 8 ¢ mp 3 œn > >

return of whispering, breathier Soprano I ° 3 7 &4 p 8

return of whispering, breathier Soprano II 3 7 &4 p 8

return of whispering, breathier Alto I 3 7 &4 p 8

return of whispering, breathier Alto II &43 87 ¢ p

q = 68

Violin I ° &43 ∑ ∑ ∑ 87 ∑

Violoncello ? 3 ∑ ∑ ∑ 7 ∑ ¢ 4 8 99

5 Alto Sax. ° œ > > & œn ™ œ œ Œ œ ‰Œ 43 ŒŒ 87 ¢ J J œ œ œb ˙b œ f ™ S. I ° & 43 87

S. II & 43 87

A. I & 43 87

A. II 3 7 ¢& 4 8 100

10 q = 112 Alto Sax. ° œb œn > > > &87 œb ™ œ œ™ œb œb Œ œb ‰‰ œ 43 ˙™ ∑ ¢ mf J J J

S. I ° 7 3 ∑ ∑ &8 4n

S. II 7 3 ∑ ∑ &8 4n

A. I 7 3 ∑ ∑ &8 4 n

A. II 7 3 ∑ ∑ ¢&8 4n q = 112

Vln. I ° œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ &87 ∑ ∑ ∑ 43 œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ pæ æ

= 15 ˙™ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ Fl. ° & ∑ ∑ p Alto Sax. & ˙b ™ ∑ ∑ ˙b ™ ∑ ¢ p p

Vln. I ° œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ æ æ æ æ æ Vc. ? ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢ 101

20 œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ Fl. ° & 3

Alto Sax. ˙b ™ ∑ ˙™ ∑ ¢&

Vln. I ° œ œæ œæ œœ œæ œæ œœ œæ œæ œœ œæ œæ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ æ æ æ æ

= 24 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ Fl. ° & 3 3

Alto Sax. ˙b ™ ∑ ˙b ™ ∑ ¢&

Vln. I ° œœ œæ œæ œœ œæœ œæ œœ œæœ œæ œœ œæœ œæ ¢& æ æ æ æ

= 28 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ Fl. ° & 3 ˙ Alto Sax. ™ ∑ ˙b ™ ∑ ¢&

Vln. I ° œœ œæœ œæ œœ œæ œæ œœ œæ œæ œœ œæ œæ ¢& æ æ æ æ 102

32 ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ ™ ˙™ ™ Fl. ° &

˙ Alto Sax. ˙b ™ ∑ ™ ˙b ™ ˙b ™ ¢&

Vln. I ° œœ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ œ œæ œæ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ æ æ æ æ æ

=

37 ˙™ ˙™ ˙™ Fl. ° &

Alto Sax. ˙™ ˙b ™ ˙™ ¢&

œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

œ æ œ æ œ æ Vc. ? œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ ¢ æ æ æ 103

˙ 40 ˙™ ™ ˙™ Fl. ° & 4

Alto Sax. ˙b ™ ˙b ™ ˙™ 4 ¢& 4

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & œ œ œ œ œ 4 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

œ æ œ æ œ æ Vc. ? œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ 4 ¢ æ æ æ 4

=

43 w œ œ œ# œ Fl. ° &4

Alto Sax. 4 w ∑ ¢&4

œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ &4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

œ æ œ æ œ æ Vc. ? 4 œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ ¢ 4 æ æ æ 104

45 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° ¢&

œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 œ æ œ æ œ Vc. ? œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ ¢ æ æ æ

=

47 w œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙™ Fl. ° & 43

Alto Sax. ∑ 3 ˙b ™ ∑ ¢& 4

Vln. I ° œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œæ œæ & œ œ œ œ œ œ 43 œ œœ œœ œ œ œ 3 3 3 3 æ æ æ æ æ œ æ œ æ œ æ Vc. ? œœ œœæ œ œœ 3 œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ ¢ æ 4 æ æ 105

50 œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ∑ ∑ ∑ 3 3 3 Alto Sax. œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ ‰ œ œ ‰ ‰ ∑ & œ Œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ¢ 3 3 3 œ 3 3 œ mf

Vln. I ° œ æœ œæ œ œæ œæ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ ∑ æ æ æ æ æ œ æ œ æ œ æ Vc. ? œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œ œœ œœæ œœæ œœæ ¢ æ æ æ n 106

Out of Time - approximately 30 seconds before conductor cues mm. 55 54 Fl. ° & ∑ 4 ¢ mimicking the electronic vocal grains S. I ° & 4 mf mimicking the electronic vocal grains S. II 4 & mf 4 mimicking the electronic vocal grains A. I 4 & mf 4 mimicking the electronic vocal grains A. II & 4 ¢ mf

Out of Time - approximately 30 seconds before conductor cues mm. 55

Electronics / 4 mf n 107 q = 68 55 ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙ ˙b ˙ Fl. ° &4 p 3 3 3

3 3 3 Alto Sax. 4 &4 ˙ ˙ ˙ ¢ p˙b ˙b ˙b ˙b ˙n ˙b

continue murmuring vocal grains after electronics fade out, slowly reduce density S. I ° 4 &4 p

continue murmuring vocal grains after electronics fade out, slowly reduce density S. II 4 &4 p

continue murmuring vocal grains after electronics fade out, slowly reduce density A. I &4 p

continue murmuring vocal grains after electronics fade out, slowly reduce density A. II &4 ¢ p

q = 68 Vln. I ° 4 œ..œ &4 ∑ ∑ Œ‰ J Œ‰ J p œ- - sim. œ œ œ œ- œ- œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? 4 ¢ p 108

58 ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙ ˙n ˙ Fl. ° & 3 3 3

3 3 3 Alto Sax. ¢& ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙n ˙n ˙

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

.. ... Vln. I ° œ œ œ..œ œ œ œ & Œ‰ J Œ‰ J Œ‰ J Œ‰ J Œ‰ J J ‰‰ J

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ 109

61 ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙ ˙n ˙ Fl. ° & 3 3 3

3 3 3 Alto Sax. ¢& ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙n ˙n ˙

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

. ... Vln. I ° œ œ...... œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ œœ & J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ 110

64 ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙ ˙n ˙ Fl. ° 5 & 3 3 3 4

3 3 3 Alto Sax. 5 ¢& ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙n ˙n ˙ 4

S. I ° & 45 pp

S. II & 45 pp

A. I & 45 pp

A. II & 45 ¢ pp

...... Vln. I ° œœ œœœœ œœ œœ œœœœ œœ œœ œœœœ œœ 5 & J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J J ‰‰ J 4

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? œ œ œ œ œ œ 5 ¢ 4 111

67 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° &45

Alto Sax. &45 ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° &45

S. II &45

A. I &45

A. II 5 ¢&4

...... Vln. I ° 5 œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ &4 J ‰‰ ‰‰ J Œ J ‰‰ ‰‰ J Œ sul A air tone/harmonics gliss over middle third of string ¿ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vc. ? 5 ¢ 4 112

69 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ

Alto Sax. & œ œ Œ œ ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

sul G air-tone/harmonics gliss over middle third of string ...... Vln. I ° œœ œœœœ œœ œœ œœœœ œœ & J ‰‰ ‰‰ J Œ J ‰‰ ‰‰ J Œ ¿~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vc. ? ¢ 113

72 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ Œ

Alto Sax. & œ œ Œ Œ œ ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

Vln. I ° & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vc. ? ¢ 114

75 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ Œ Œ Œ Œ Œ

Alto Sax. Œ Œ Œ Œ Œ Œ ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

Vln. I ° & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vc. ? ¢ 115

78 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ Œ ŒŒ Œ ŒŒ Œ

Alto Sax. Œ Œ ŒŒ Œ ŒŒ Œ ¢& œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

S. I ° &

S. II &

A. I &

A. II ¢&

Vln. I ° & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ n

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vc. ? ¢ n 116

= 60 81 œ œ œ q wb Fl. ° & Ó ÓÓ ÓÓ Ó 4 ∑ pp

Alto Sax. & Ó ÓÓ ÓÓ Ó 4 ∑ ¢ œ œ œ ppw

S. I ° & ∑4 ∑ ∑ n

S. II & ∑4 ∑ ∑ n

A. I & ∑4 ∑ ∑ n

A. II & ∑4 ∑ ∑ ¢ n

q = 60

Vln. I ° & ∑ ∑ ∑4 ∑ w pp

Vc. ? ∑ ∑ ∑4 ∑ w ¢ pp 117

86 w w# wn w wb wb Fl. ° &

Alto Sax. w# w wb ¢& w w# w#

Vln. I ° w wb wn w & w w#

Vc. ? ¢ wb w w# wn w# wn

=

92 wb wb w Fl. ° & ∑ p

Alto Sax. wb wb ∑ ∑ ¢&

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° & æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ æ

Vc. ? ¢ w w w w 118

96 w w w Fl. ° & n 3 3 3 3 3 3 Alto Sax. & œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ ¢ p

œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° & æ æ æ æ ∑ ∑ n

Vc. ? ¢ w w w

=

99 Fl. ° & ∑ ∑ ∑

3 3 Alto Sax. & œb œ œ œ œ œ ∑ ∑ ¢ n

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. I ° & p n

Vc. ? ¢ w w w n 119

Scene 4

The single electronic cue for the scene is triggered:

As the muted electronic sound palette fades in, the dancer begins to move, slowly, as if trapped. After approximately two minutes, he ends facing the second soprano, acting as the overseer. The electronics fade to pianissimo, and he delivers his final aria to her:

How many days has it been? Someone used to come each day and update the notice board; it has stayed at the same number for longer than I can remember. Has anyone counted? I haven’t, have you? I have broken all the records. My heart is heavy. I have broken all the records. My heart is heavy. Sometimes a passer-by will stop and make merry over the old figure on the board, that measly low figure, and speak of swindling, and commit the stupidest lie ever invented by indifference and inborn malice. I have never cheated, I have only worked honestly; the world has cheated me. So let me die. Let me die, forgotten in the straw. I only have one apology to make before I go. I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.

As he crumples to the ground, the electronic sounds die and the stage goes to darkness. The epilogue begins immediately. 120 Epilogue

q = 54 œ œb œ Flute ° œ &43 ∑ ∑42 ∑43 ∑ Ó f

3 3 3 Alto Saxophone &43 42 43 ‰ j ¢ mpœb œ œb œb œb œ œb œb ˙ ˙b œb œ œb œb ˙ œb œ mf

Soprano ° &43 ∑ ∑42 ∑43 ∑ ∑ ∑

Soprano &43 ∑ ∑42 ∑43 ∑ ∑ ∑

Alto &43 ∑ ∑42 ∑43 ∑ ∑ ∑

Alto 3 ∑ ∑2 ∑3 ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&4 4 4

q = 54 Violin ° œb œb œ œ ˙b ˙ ˙b œb œn œ &43 42 43 ™ œb œ œn œ mp 3

Violoncello ? 3 ∑ ∑2 ∑3 ∑ ∑ ¢ 4 4 4 œb mfœ œb œ 121

7 œ œb œ œb ˙™ wn wb wn Fl. ° & 42 ∑4 41 ∑4 41 ∑ 4 3 p ppp

Alto Sax. & 42 ∑4 41 ∑4 41 ∑ 4 ¢ pwb ppp wb ˙ œb ˙b ™ w

Vln. ° w w w & œ œb œ œb ˙™ 42 ∑4 41 ∑4 41 ∑ 4 3 p ppp

Vc. ? 2 4 1 4 1 4 b˙ œb ˙b ™ 4 ∑4 wb 4 ∑4 w 4 ∑ 4 wb ¢ < > p ppp 122

15 >œ œb œ œ Fl. ° & Œ ‰Œ ≈œœ≈ Œ œb ˙ w ∑ ∑ mf p

Alto Sax. ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&

S. ° & ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑

hum low sound with approximate, variable pitch S. & ∑ ∑ ∑ ŒÓŒ Ó mp¿ ¿ hum low sound with approximate, variable pitch A. ∑ ∑ ∑ Ó ŒÓ Œ & ¿ ¿ mp hum low sound with approximate, variable pitch A. ∑ ∑ ∑ Ó™ Ó™ ¢& ¿ ¿ mp

Vln. ° w & ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑

Vc. ? ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢ w

Electronics / pp 123

20 Alto Sax. ° ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢& humming S. ° & ∑ w# w w w mp

S. & Œ ÓÓ ŒÓ ŒÓ ŒÓ™ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

A. Ó ŒÓ™ Ó™ ∑ ŒÓ & ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

A. & ∑ ŒÓŒ ÓŒ ÓÓ Œ ¢ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

Electronics / 124

25 Alto Sax. ° ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&

S. ° &<#>w w wn w w

S. & Ó™ ∑ ŒÓŒ ÓŒ Ó ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

A. Œ ÓŒ ÓÓ ŒÓ ŒÓ Œ & ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

A. & Ó ŒÓ ŒÓ™ Ó™ ∑ ¢ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

Electronics / 125

30 Alto Sax. ° ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢&

S. ° & w w w wb

S. & Ó ŒÓ ŒÓ ŒÓ™ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

A. Ó™ Ó™ ∑ ŒÓ & ¿ ¿ ¿

A. & ŒÓŒ ÓŒ ÓÓ Œ ¢ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿

Electronics / 126

34 wb w w Fl. ° & ∑ mp Alto Sax. ∑ ∑ ∑ ∑ ¢& begin whispering the names of animals S. ° bw w &< > pp begin whispering the names of animals S. & Ó™ ∑ ∑ ¿ pp

A. Œ ÓŒ Ó ∑ ∑ & ¿ ¿

A. Ó ŒÓ Œ ∑ ∑ ¢& ¿ ¿

Electronics / 127

38 œb œ w œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & ∑ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ p

3 3 Alto Sax. & ∑ ¢ p˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

S. ° &

S. &

begin whispering the names of animals A. & pp

begin whispering the names of animals A. & ∑ ¢ pp

sul G 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & ∑ ∑ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ p

Electronics / n 128

41 œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈

3 3 Alto Sax. & ¢ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

S. ° &

S. &

A. &

A. ¢&

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ sul G œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? ∑ J J J J ¢ p 3 3 3 3

Electronics / ∑ 129

43 œ œb œ œ œ œ w Fl. ° & Œ ≈Œ ≈ ∑

3 3 Alto Sax. & ∑ ¢ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

S. ° &

S. &

A. &

A. ¢&

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vln. ° & œb œb œœ œ œ œœœœ œ œ œb œb œœœœœœœœœœ œb œb œœ œœœ œœœ œœ

3 3 3 3 œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œœ Vc. ? J J J J J J J J j œ j œ j œ j œ ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 œ œ œ œ 130

46 w w w w Fl. ° & 41 ∑ 4

Alto Sax. wb w w wb 1 ∑ 4 ¢& 4 4

S. ° & 41 ∑ 4

S. & 41 ∑ 4

A. & 41 ∑ 4

A. 1 ∑ 4 ¢& 4 4

3 3 3 Vln. ° & ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙ wb 41 ∑ 4

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. ? j j j j j j j j j j j j w 1 ∑ 4 ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 4 4 131

51 œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ Fl. ° &4 Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ p

3 3 Alto Sax. &4 ¢ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

S. ° &4

S. &4

A. &4

A. 4 ¢&4

œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. ° œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ &4 p 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. ? 4 j j j j j j j j ¢ 4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 132

53 œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ Fl. ° & Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ Œ ≈ 41 ∑ 4

3 3 Alto Sax. & 41 ∑ 4 ¢ ˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

S. ° & 41 ∑ 4

S. & 41 ∑ 4

A. & 41 ∑ 4

A. 1 ∑ 4 ¢& 4 4

œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vln. ° 1 ∑ 4 & 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 4

sul G œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Vc. ? J J J J J J J J 41 ∑ 4 ¢ 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 133

56 Fl. ° w w &4 pp

Alto Sax. 4 ¢&4 ppwb w

slowly reduce density, fade out S. ° &4

slowly reduce density, fade out S. &4

slowly reduce density, fade out A. &4

slowly reduce density, fade out A. 4 ¢&4

3 3 Vln. ° &4 pp˙b ˙b ˙ ˙b ˙b ˙

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 Vc. ? 4 j j j j j j j j 4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ¢ pp 134

58 w w w Fl. ° w & n

Alto Sax. ¢& w wb w w n

S. ° & n

S. & n

A. & n

A. & ¢ n

3 Vln. ° & wb w w ˙b ˙b ˙ n

3 3 3 3 Vc. ? j j j j ¢ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ w w w n