Symphony Orchestra University Chorale Bienen Contemporary/Early Vocal Ensemble Donald Nally, conductor Saturday, April 27, 2019 at 7:30 p.m.

Northwestern University

Am I Born (2011) David T. Little Henry and Leigh on a text of Royce Vavrek (b. 1978) Part I. Prelude: Am I Born Born By Brushstroke Part II. The Sound of Cold To Be Seen, A View A Tree Falls in Brooklyn, Part I Part III. A Tree Falls in Brooklyn, Part II A Picture Quite Curious Northwestern University Symphony Orchestra Aryssa Burrs, vocals University Chorale University Chorale Bienen Contemporary/Early Vocal Ensemble 20 minute intermission Donald Nally, conductor My City (2015) Judd Greenstein on poems of (b. 1979) Mannahatta Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

Pick-Staiger Concert Hall Bienen Contemporary/Early Vocal Ensemble 2018–19 season

Eric Southern, lighting Kevin Vondrak, supertitles

Please silence all electronic devices, including pagers, cellular telephones, and wristwatch alarms. a note from the conductor their skeletons hung, desperate to flake off the canvas At first glance, the works on this program may seem tied together by their roots and rest in peace. in Brooklyn: Walt Whitman’s poems set by Judd Greenstein describe the poet’s journey from his home in Brooklyn to Manhattan; David T. Little’s work gives The desire to be both seen and invisible, to be recognized as existing, to be voices to early 19th-century Brooklynites forever captured in Francis Guys’ remembered; these themes run through both works heard this evening as we painting “Winter Scene in Brooklyn” that hangs today in the Brooklyn Museum. ponder connectivity. Walt’s conclusion is that we are all one, written out in the frenzy of his final stanza in which he turns at last from the You and the I, to the For me, this is just a starting point for looking at the shared themes between We­—a We that is both the (literal) group on the ferry, viewing the awaiting these two recent musical works. Their deeper connection lies in the way in crowd on the shore, as it is the writer and reader—the Us, “generations hence”— which authors and composers alike question our sense of ‘being,’ and how art in fused together into a Singular in which there is not a poet and a reader, not Your some ways preserves that ‘being,’ proving that we were here, or that we are, as soul or My soul, but “the soul,” the one. He celebrates Us—the subject of his captured in Royce Vavrek’s libretto for Am I Born: poems, then and now – caught forever in his Words like the woman in Guy’s painting. He celebrates Us in the reverent synthesis of the final, dancing meters We depend on documents of Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, heard as a kind of “giving over” to Time, as Judd’s My to suggest we ever existed City concludes, for now:

The document is the painting. It is the poem. In David and Royce’s work, the We use you, and do not cast you aside–we plant you permanently figure in the painting speaks of the two-hundred years of eyes passing by and within us, what she has learned from looking into those eyes from her frozen position in We fathom you not—we love you–there is perfection in you also, the painting. This is so similar to Walt’s speaking directly to us from his writing You furnish your parts toward eternity, desk a few blocks away from that painting: Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

I am with you, you men and women of a generation, –Donald Nally, Evanston, April 2019 or ever so many generations hence, On the eve of Walt Whitman’s 200th birthday, May 31, 2019 Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt, Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd, Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh’d, Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood yet was hurried,

Just as on a train or plane, standing at the rail of a ferry has one both not moving, and yet moving quite quickly; perspective. Relativity. Walt goes on to celebrate the interconnectivity of all things – he becomes advanced physicist, evolution- ist, and friend all at once, as he embraces the eternal call of the artist: “Listen to Me.” Similarly Francis Guy’s painting, his “Look at Me” inspires his unnamed, perhaps unknowing and even reluctant, subject to exclaim, two centuries later:

To be seen a view. Friendly faces: this is them, this is then. Held by nail, program notes texts

Am I Born Little Am I Born like once-visible breath. Brooklyn, To view an old painting or to sing an old song is to commune with the past. In A moment in time. and only ghosts can our oratorio Am I Born, we sought to explore the mystical aspects of that com- PART I hear, munion. Prelude: Am I Born GHOSTS OF 1820 are its roots enough I believe in a rhythm, remembrance? Am I Born combined inspirations from two 19th century sources. The first was GHOSTS OF 1820 a meter to the lives. Francis Guy’s 1820 painting “Winter Scene In Brooklyn”—which depicts an area I believe in a rhythm, V. Parade now in the footprint of the Brooklyn Bridge. The second was Ananias Davisson’s Am I born an intersection of time 1816 hymn Idumea, which, like our work, begins by asking: “am I born to die?” to die? Like once visible breath, WINTER SCENE an intersection of time. Faces shuffle by: In our oratorio, the soprano soloist gives voice to Guy’s painting. Over decades I. Born By Brushstroke some spend minutes the painting draws consciousness from viewers visiting the museum. The con- PART II others seconds. scious painting eventually pours from its frame into the cold night of modern Framed inside III. To Be Seen, A View Some seem day Brooklyn, confused and alone as past and present collide. At this moment, a snapshot uninterested, Davisson’s question is modified to ask “am I born?” in oil. To be seen altogether, Am I Born marks the first time that our work engaged concurrently with ques- Living, breathing a view. their eyes fix, tions of mortality, the mystical, and an imagined inter-dimensional nature in art. people. Busy little village then dart away. We further explored these ideas in our 2016 opera JFK, and they continue to be Brushstroke born, to and fro preoccupations in our current work. now frozen. by sled, Eyes widen, The day-to-day saddle or eyes tired, Cast in seven connected movements, Am I Born was originally composed in of our village. saunter. eyes squinting, 2011 for the Brooklyn Youth Chorus and Brooklyn Philharmonic. The new old eyes burdened with version for adult chorus was premiered in January by the Choir of Trinity Wall WINTER SCENE To be seen cataracts, Street; the work’s Midwest premiere is given this evening. Am I born to die? a view. eyes well up, —David T. Little Small Dutch village, eyes cry, II. The Sound of Cold they come and go. mascara tumbles down My City Greenstein Snow crunches, To be seen cheeks My City is a setting of two Walt Whitman poems about New York travelling feet sing the a view. of emotional ladies City, Mannahatta and Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, with the former, simpler poem afternoon song. Friendly faces: painting abstract serving as an introduction to the epic work that follows. If you squint your eyes to Little noises, this is them, responses get past the sometimes-outdated imagery and descriptions, Whitman’s New York tiny wordless noises. this is then. to my value... is still very much our own. As well as any other artist, the great poet captures Held by nail, New York’s energy and sense of freedom, the strange interplay between individu- Music freezes, their skeletons hung, GHOSTS OF 1820 ality and collective spirit that I have never encountered anywhere else. In the mid-air; desperate to flake off Perhaps not of latter poem, he extends his gaze across time, finding evidence of our common Suspended. the canvas significant excellence humanity through the lens of a simple boat ride. Whitman’s vision of humanity Melody hanging. and rest in peace. in art... Held by briskness. ... but still of great value is not simple or clean but ambiguous and messy and decidedly of-our-time. Unable to ring out. IV. A Tree Falls in to us. —Judd Greenstein Muted. Brooklyn, Part I

Snow crunches, GHOSTS OF 1820 the tune vanishes When a tree falls in WINTER SCENE PART III WINTER SCENE brown-faced sailors; Eyes eyes eyes, a parade VII. A Picture Quite I’m afraid. The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft; of eyes desperate to Curious I’m afraid to walk that The winter snows, the sligh-bells—the broken ice in the river, glean my value. road. passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide; VI. A Tree Falls in WINTER SCENE AND The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful- Brooklyn, Part II GHOSTS I am afraid faced, looking you straight in the eyes; Altogether a picture to walk that road Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and GHOSTS OF 1820 quite curious afraid to feel like a shows, When a tree falls in to stand on the same visitor The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating; Brooklyn, spot in my own home. A million people—manner free and superb—open voices— and the ghosts are busy and think of it now. hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men; elsewhere, GHOSTS OF 1820 Free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! we depend on documents GHOSTS OF 1820 An intersection of City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts! to suggest it ever Stand out on Front times. City nested in bays! my city! existed. Street today, Am I born? We depend on documents hold out your hands... Am I... Mvt. 2 CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY to suggest we ever we will pull you, existed. guide you through our 1 village. Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face! My City Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face.

Mvt. I MANNAHATTA Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me! I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name! more curious to me than you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, more in my meditations, than you might suppose. unruly, musical, self-sufficient; I see that the word of my city is that word up there, 2 Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and won- The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the day, derful spires, The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, every one disite Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships— grated yet part of the scheme, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, The similitudes of the past and those of the future, Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splen- The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on the walk in didly uprising toward clear skies; the street and the passage over the river, Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them, the villas, The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others. The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d; Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to shore, The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the Others will watch the run of the flood-tide, houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money- Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of brokers—the river-streets; Brooklyn to the south and east, Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week; Others will see the islands large and small; The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high, A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high them, and glaringly into the night, Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-back to the Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow light over sea of the ebb-tide. the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.

3 4 It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not, These and all else were to me the same as they are to you, I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river, hence, The men and women I saw were all near to me, Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt, Others the same—others who look back on me because I look’d forward to Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd, them, Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.) refresh’d, Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood 5 yet was hurried, What is it then between us? Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the thick-stemm’d pipes What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? of steamboats, I look’d. Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not, I too many and many a time cross’d the river of old, I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine, Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air floating with I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the waters around motionless wings, oscillating their bodies, it, Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left the rest in I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, strong shadow, In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me, Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the south, In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me, Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water, I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution, Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, I too had receiv’d identity by my body, Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my head in That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of the sunlit water, my body. Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward, Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, 6 Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving, It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, The dark threw its patches down upon me also, Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor, The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious, The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars, My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil, pennants, I am he who knew what it was to be evil, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses, I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d, The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset, Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant, and glistening, The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me, The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting, storehouses by the docks, Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting, On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on each side Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest, by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated lighter, Was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing, Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn! against me as I sat, Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers! Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly, yet never told Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution! them a word, Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public assembly! Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping, Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my nighest Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress, name! The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like, Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! Or as small as we like, or both great and small. Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one makes it! Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking 7 upon you; Closer yet I approach you, Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid in my stores hasting current; in advance, Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born. Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you! Who was to know what should come home to me? Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one’s head, in Who knows but I am enjoying this? the sunlit water! Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at you now, for all Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d schooners, you cannot see me? sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset! 8 Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall! cast Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-hemm’d red and yellow light over the tops of the houses! Manhattan? River and sunset and scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide? Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are, The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul, belated lighter? About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung out divinest aromas, Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers, What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual, call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach? Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face? You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers, Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you? We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward, Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us, We understand then do we not? We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us, What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted? We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also, What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not accomplish is You furnish your parts toward eternity, accomplish’d, is it not? Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

9 —Walt Whitman (1819-1892) Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide! Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves! Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me! profiles Other recent works include the earthen lack (London Sinfonietta / BGSU), The Conjured Life (Cabrillo Festival / Cristian Macelaru), Ghostlight—ritual for six Judd Greenstein is a composer of structurally complex, viscerally engaging works players (eighth blackbird / The Kennedy Center), AGENCY (Kronos Quartet), for varied instrumentation. A passionate advocate for the independent new and dress in magic amulets, dark, from My feet (The Crossing / ICE). Little is currently composing a new opera with Royce Vavrek, commissioned by the music community across the United States, much of Judd’s work is written for Metropolitan Opera / Lincoln Center Theater new works program, and the the virtuosic ensembles and solo performers who make up that community and music-theatre work Artaud in the Black Lodge with poet Anne Waldman (Beth is tailored to their specific talents and abilities. Morrison Projects).

Judd’s philosophy as both a composer and a curator involves music that is an This season, the Miller Theatre spotlights Little on its renowned Composer organic blend of multiple styles, sounds, and instruments, open to all influ- Portrait series, presenting the New York premiere of AGENCY alongside Haunt ences. Standout groups that reflect this polyglot sensibility, including yMu- of Last Nightfall, performed by ACME and Third Coast Percussion, respec- sic, Roomful of Teeth, and NOW Ensemble, all counted Judd among their tively. JFK makes its European debut at Staatsteater Augsburg, and Soldier earliest commissions and continue to perform his work to this day. As a national Songsreceives its German premiere in Saarbrücken. and international audience has taken notice of these and other like-minded art- ists, Judd has been increasingly in demand as a composer for the orchestra and Little’s music has been presented by the LA Philharmonic, Carnegie Hall, LA Opera, the Park Avenue Armory, Holland Festival, BAM Next Wave, and Opéra the stage, with recent commissions from the Minnesota Orchestra, the Lucerne de Montréal. He has previously served as Executive Director of MATA and on Festival, and the North Carolina Symphony, among many others. Recent proj- the board of directors at Chamber Music America, and currently chairs the ects attest to the diversity of Judd’s output: an orchestral song cycle for indie rock composition program at Mannes—The New School. From 2014–2017, he was vocalist DM Stith, an opera about Robert Moses and Jane Jacobs, a ballet score Composer-in-Residence with Opera and Music-Theatre Group. for Isabella Boylston and choreographer Gemma Bond, and a flute concerto for The founding artistic director of the ensemble Newspeak, his music can be heard Alex Sopp and the Knights. In 2020, Judd will be re-launching The Yehudim, an on New Amsterdam, Innova, and National Sawdust Tracks labels. ensemble of singers, percussionists, keyboards and guitars that explores Biblical subjects through a contemporary lens. David T. Little is published by Boosey & Hawkes. In addition to his work as a composer, Judd is active as a promoter of new music in New York and around the world. He is the co-director of New Amsterdam Reprinted by kind permission of Boosey & Hawkes. Records, an artists’ service organization that supports post-genre musicians in developing their most personal new projects. He is the curator of the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York’s Merkin Hall, an annual showcase of new collabora- tive concerts between artists from different musical worlds, and he is a founding member of NOW Ensemble, the composer/performer collective that develops new chamber music for their idiosyncratic instrumentation. He also co-curates the Apples & Olives festival in Zurich, Switzerland, helping to bring to Europe the post-genre ethos of the Ecstatic Music Festival and New Amsterdam.

Judd has received degrees from Williams College, the Yale School of Music, and Princeton University, and has received Fellowships from the Tanglewood Music Center, the Bang on a Can Summer Institute, the Six Points Fellowship for Emerging Jewish Artists, and the Sundance New Frontier Story Lab.

David T. Little is “one of the most imaginative young composers” on the scene (The New Yorker), with “a knack for overturning musical conventions” (The New York Times). His operas Dog Days, JFK, and Vinkensport(librettos by Royce Vavrek), and Soldier Songs have been widely acclaimed, “prov[ing] beyond any doubt that opera has both a relevant present and a bright future” (The New York Times). northwestern university symphony orchestra university chorale Dario Amador-Lage Benedict Hensley Anna Piparo Victor Yampolsky, director Hope Banach Renata Herrara Lorenzo Pipino Violin I Bass Trombone Shreya Bhadriraju Penelope Hough Jane Recker Luke Lentini** Adam Maloney* Jonathan McNeer † Brittany Brewer Ikechi Ihemeson Lauren Reynolds Weilu Zhang Avery Weeks Jake Mezera § Hanna Bingham Sarah Bryant Cynthia Chou Shannon Johnson Madison Rice Ayeong Jeong Jakob Gerritsen Bass Trombone Ian Clark Grace Jong Benjamin Roberts Zion Lee Caleb Christiansen Cassidy Cottle Ezri Killeen Valeria Rodriguez Hannah Chou Flute Matthew Cramer Ayla Langer Alex Rothfield Joshua Henderson Christine Kim † Tuba Kaleb Drawbaugh Nicholas Lin Wesley Shirola Sean Klopfenstein Jamie Lee Alec Mawrence Valentina Guillen Elizabeth McCormack Rachel Drury Ryan Lustgarten Aaron Shoemaker Lucy Song § Percussion Corey Everly Andrew Major Cassidy Sledge Violin II Tarun Bellur* Jeremy Edelstein Morgan Mastrangelo Lily Smith Noel Kim* Piccolo Christine Comer Tim Ellis Ian Morris Marin Tack Daniel Kim Elizabeth McCormack Evan Jose Valerie Filloux Andrew Morstein Anne Teeling Tara Pagano-Toub Lydia Cho Oboe Timpani Megan Fleischmann George Ordiway Meghan Ward Kevie Yu Eric Jo Isaac Frank Mason Frasher Olivia O’Brien Alex Wiebe Cassiel McEvoy Tyler Kuehn § Tyler Frye Grant Papastefan Sarah Zieba Jessica Cao Kelley Osterberg † Harp Carla Fuster Vargas Andrew Payne Andrew Reed Dallas Turner Samantha Bittle Jeffrey Goldberg Ben Perri Viola Clarinet Piano Benjamin Wagner* Josh Goo † Charles Foster Sae Rheen Kim Jordyn Krause § Seth van Embden Guitar Sachin Shukla Bassoon Joseph Badion bienen contemporary & early vocal ensemble Caleb Paxton William George † § Isaac Henry Matt Melillo Dana Anex Walter Aldrich Mary Katherine Henry Molly Phelan Nicolas Guerra Saxophone Joseph Badion Paul Hunter Russell Pinzino Eric Zheng Gabrielle Barkijija Kyle Jensen Olivia Prendergast Cello Peter Eom* Horn Concertmaster ** Elio Bucky Lauren Kelly Jack Reeder Lucas Buterbaugh Kayla Howell † Principal* Aryssa Burrs Henry Koch Kathryn Riopel Jacqueline Rogers Justin Ruleman § Matthew Cramer Zachary Kurzenberger Emma Rothfield Jasmine Pai Principal Winds/Brass: Jeremy Edelstein Christopher LaMountain Tiana Sorenson Grant Zempolich Trumpet Little † Lucy Evans Pablo Laucerica Anna Ucik Hana Takemoto Joe Brozek § Greenstein § Morgen Low † Corey Everly Kandise Le Blanc Grace Wipfli Hannah Nussbaum Bradley Fielding Andrew Major Amanda Simmons Nicholas Hauger Kira Neary

production

Lighting Design Eric Southern Supertitle Design and Operation Kevin Vondrak choral organizations institute for new music

Director of Choral Organizations Donald Nally Director Hans Thomalla Associate Director of Choral Organizations Albert Pinsonneault Associate Director Ben Bolter Accompanist Charles Foster Administrative Assistant Jesse Borower Administrative Assistant Jesse Borower Graduate Assistant Ben Zucker

Bienen Contemporary/Early Vocal Ensemble Conductor Donald Nally concert management office staff Graduate Assistant Conductor Matthew Cramer Director of Concert Management Jerry Tietz University Chorale Concert Operations Manager Jason Shadle Conductor Donald Nally Ticketing Manager Claire Guyer Graduate Assistant Conductor Corey Everly Marketing Manager Laura Nielsen Marketing Coordinator Tess Coffey University Singers Technical Services Manager Bill Milgram Conductor Albert Pinsonneault Technical Services Coordinator Henry Stewart Graduate Assistant Conductor Jeremy Edelstein Concert Business Manager Meg Lindsey Supporting Staff 150 Northwestern Students Northwestern Camerata Conductor Andrew Major Dean, Bienen School of Music Toni-Marie Montgomery Accompanist Pan Xiao

Alice Millar Chapel Choir Conductor Stephen Alltop for your information Organist and Music Associate Eric Budzynski • Latecomers will be seated at the discretion of the house manager. In consideration of the artists and orchestra program other members of the audience, patrons who must leave before the end of the concert are asked to do so between pieces. Director of Orchestras Victor Yampolsky • Photography and audio/video recording of performances is strictly prohibited without prior written Carol F. and Arthur L. Rice Jr. University Professorship in Music Performance consent of the Concert Management Office. Patrons are requested to leave cameras and recording Associate Director of Orchestras Dr. Robert G. Hasty devices with an usher. Librarian and Orchestra Office Administrative Assistant Danielle Ray • A limited number of assisted listening devices are available for the hearing impaired. Inquire at Symphony Orchestra Personnel Manager Taichi Fukumura the box office. Symphony Orchestra Stage Manager Michal Cohen • Smoking is prohibited by law in all Bienen School of Music performance venues. Chamber Orchestra Manager Sarah Kim • Every patron who will be occupying a seat must have a ticket in order to be admitted into the concert. Philharmonia Manager and Librarian Rose Xiao • The presenter reserves the right to ask any patron who is disrupting the event in any way to leave Seminar Class Manager Xuedan Du the concert hall. Contemporary Music Ensemble Manager Victor Huls • In the event of a medical emergency, please notify the nearest usher. • To request a large-print program, contact the business manager at 847/491-5441 at least three business days prior to the concert. • When joining us for upcoming concerts, please leave the Concert Management Office phone number (847/491-5441) with anyone who might need to reach you in case of emergency.