There was no need for Babbitt to even mention the word “genius.” His call for the embrace of isolation on the part of the “specialist,” and comparison of their work to that of a physicist, displays his thinking that concert music was no longer an artform to be enjoyed by the masses, but a scientific study. The patronage of the past was disappearing, and the public was not interested in supporting the creation of Modernist music, however, the academy was. Babbitt, who was instrumental in creating the first Ph.D program in composition at Princeton University — and who also studied and taught mathematics — saw his work as not only creation, but research. It is interesting to hear his argument for music as an almost scientific study, when unlike physics or biology, systems of music have little to do with natural phenomena. These systems — tonality and serialism — were not discovered, they were made up. Study of these systems do not yield deeper truths into nature or physics. Research and experimentation in music does not occur in a lab, they occur in the mind of the composer. Yet the academy became a natural safe space for this experimentation. Thus, began the continual quest to justify its existence with pseudo-scientific research and scholarship (but that is perhaps a rant for another day).
​
Of course, none of this is to criticize Modernism. Composers like Babbitt helped create new forms of expression, while also producing powerful and evocative music. Yet, that doesn’t make his words any less problematic. Babbitt famously opposed the title “Who Cares If You Listen,” given to the essay by an editor against his will, but that does not make his beliefs any less dangerous for the longevity of our artform. A self-satisfying artform created by specialists for the consumption of specialists alone is not sustainable. Why should the public, government, or university support an endeavor that is not meant to serve or be appreciated by anyone else but those who created it? A purely scientific approach to music is also foolhardy. An expressive and subjective artform turned into an objective study is no longer art.    
While every listener will not be interested in Babbitt’s music, a wiser choice might have been to explain to the layman how his music is constructed, and why he chose to use the serial system instead of tonality. He could have explained that tonality only has the ability to express a portion of human emotions and psyche. He could have explained that even if the layman didn’t “understand” the music, perhaps there was still something in it for them to admire. After all, does the layman actually “understand” a Classical symphony or a work of modern art? Yet there is still something to be appreciated by exploring art that one does not understand. Instead, in 1958, Babbitt wasn’t concerned about reaching out to the layman. After all, if you’re a genius, why bother with the opinions of those beneath you?
 
The myth of genius is a tool to preserve the Classical canon, and has turned the concert hall into a museum.
 
While genius can be off-putting and alienating, genius can also command our fascination and admiration. We flock to hear great minds speak and impart some of their knowledge on us. The concert hall is where we flock to hear the voices of the great composers of the past. The act of creation is both mystifying and worshipped. We often feel like a part of the composer’s soul was left in a work, and hearing that music can reveal it. Going to a live performance is the closest we can come to communing with these long-dead geniuses. The concert hall is a temple, or perhaps a museum.

It has been millions of years since dinosaurs walked the planet. Thousands of years since the pharaohs of Egypt ruled. Hundreds of years since great artists like Da Vinci or Michelangelo created their legendary works of art. But in the museum, we can stand in the shadow of their remains, and somehow feel a little bit closer to them. This is what the concert hall has become over the centuries. It is sadly not out of the ordinary to see orchestral and chamber music seasons consisting solely of the music of the Common Practice. Each orchestra has to put their yearly “bold” stamp on the Beethoven, Brahms, or Mahler symphonic cycles. Occasionally a short new work will be sprinkled in here and there. Perhaps if we are lucky, we may get a full festival or series devoted to new works. Otherwise, Rite of Spring is the most radical that the orchestras of the United States and muster.   

The concert hall is not a venue to see a living, breathing, and relevant artform in action. It is a museum to quietly appreciate the fossils of our artistic past. We (myself, very much included) go to hear music that we’ve heard dozens of time in concert, and hundreds of times in recordings, just to see how this conductor and orchestra do it differently from all the other conductors and orchestras in the world. In no other artform do you see such a strong grip to the works of the past. In most other artforms, new works are not merely tolerated, they are expected and celebrated. Art galleries across the country, from those in small towns to the most celebrated institutions of major cities, devote whole wings or even the whole building to new works. While aging patrons angrily storm out of modern music concerts, modern paintings sell for millions of dollars. While repertory theatres present the classics, new plays and musicals are constantly produced and celebrated. We do not go to movie theaters to watch the same classic films every year. Publishers do not merely keep reprinting and selling the same novels or poetry anthologies, they seek out the best and brightest new writers and extol their work. So why is concert music stuck in the 18th and 19th Centuries? Not only that, but why are American orchestras stuck in 18th and 19th Century Europe? A survey by the Baltimore Symphony of the 2014-15 seasons of twenty-one major orchestras showed that only 10.6% of works performed were by Americans. 37.8% were by German or Austrian composers, and 19.2% were by Russians. Only 11.4% of the repertoire were by living composers, and a measly 1.8% were by female composers. No data was offered on ethnicity.

In our service to dead European geniuses, we have neglected our own music. Some argue that modern music simply doesn’t sell. If orchestras are to continue to exist, then we must give the patrons what they want: more dead white men. However, we see orchestras such as the Los Angeles Philharmonic thrive while presenting innovative seasons with incredible gender and racial diversity without abandoning the classics. We must free ourselves from slavery from the canon and return our operatic and concert houses to what they were in the times of Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn: cultural centers for the music of the current times.   
    
The myth of genius is used to keep concert music dead, white, and male.
 
By turning the concert hall into a museum for the Classical canon, the myth of the composer-genius keeps concert music dead, white, and male. It is no secret the canon is almost wholly comprised of the work of European males. The occasional woman is sometimes included: Hildegard von Bingen, Francesca Caccini, Fanny Mendelssohn, Clara Schumann, Alma Mahler, and Amy Beach. Composers of color are mostly ignored. It is pretty clear that not all of the prerequisites for being a “genius” are skilled-based. White males are afforded the honor much easier than anyone else. Black composers such as Duke Ellington or Thelonious Monk are sometimes afforded the label of genius, however their work was mostly in Jazz. The effect of this exclusion of women and people of color from the pantheon of genius is obvious. Their work is not performed, heard, and valued at the same level of white men. After all, if we have the work of geniuses, why bother with anyone else?

That very argument was famously made in the pages of British magazine, The Spectator in the article, “There’s a good reason why there are no great female composers” by Damian Thompson. Mr. Thompson wrote this article not in 1715, 1815, or even 1915, but 2015. In it, he opposes calls to diversify the music education in Britain based on gender. His reasoning? He does not like the work of female composers compared to those of men. He says:
 
As I write this, I’m listening to a recording that couples the piano concertos of Mr and Mrs Schumann. In track three, I marvel yet again at Robert’s genius. The leaping melody of the finale turns into a fugue and then a waltz, enticed by the piano into modulations that never lose their power to surprise and delight.
 
Then comes track four, the first movement of Clara’s concerto, and within ten seconds we know it’s a dud. The first phrase is a platitude: nothing good can come of it and nothing does. Throughout, the virtuoso passagework is straight out of the catalogue. In her defence [sic], it’s an early piece; her mature Piano Trio is more accomplished, though its lyrical passages could have been cut and pasted from one of her husband’s works.
 
Mr. Thompson goes on to deride the work of Fanny Mendelssohn, Ethyl Smyth, and Amy Beach. While he admits that many of the barriers preventing women from pursuing composition are gone, the only living female composer he mentions is Judith Weir, current Master of the Queen’s Music. His only reasoning for disliking her work, is that her opera, Miss Fortune, received poor reviews. He does contend that, “There may be some [great female composers] in the future, though I’m not sure whether ‘greatness’ is achievable amid the messy eclecticism of 21st-century music.”

It is a mystery why Mr. Thompson, whose degrees are in religion and sociology, felt that his opinion was of any consequence to this subject. However, it does not take a degree to realize how foolish his argument is. One person’s musical tastes should not dictate whether or not any composer’s music should be studied. I may believe that the symphonies of Beethoven are vastly superior than those of Haydn, but I wouldn’t dare to question if Haydn should be studied in school. Even when he feels that Clara’s work matches that of her husband’s in the Piano Trio, he feels that is only more cause to ignore her, since its style is close to Robert’s. Throughout music history there are composers whose style emulated that of another composer, yet no one advocates for ignoring early Beethoven symphonies and piano sonatas because they harken to the style of Haydn.

But this is the problem with putting so much stock in the concept of genius. One listener’s genius is another listener’s derivative hack. And while most would scoff at Thompson’s outlandish beliefs, the repertoire lists of many of the ensembles, presenting organizations, recording labels, and music classrooms of the country would seem to demonstrate some silent agreement with the premise. These repertoire lists are filled with the music of Robert, Felix, and Gustav, but Clara, Fanny, and Alma are ignored. So too are great composers such as Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-George, Samuel Cooleridge-Taylor, William Grant Still, Florence Beatrice Price, Margaret Bonds, George Walker, and so many others (except perhaps for a token performance in the month of February).

Now, more than ever, we must question if the concept of genius fits within the just society most of us hope to one day achieve. We must question if our morals are worth sacrificing for the sake of genius. Yes, Richard Wagner was a virulent anti-Semite (who borrowed heavily from the very Jewish composers he publicly insulted), but he was a genius! Yes, Carlo Gesualdo killed his wife and her lover in a jealous rage, and was found innocent due to his nobility, but he was a genius! Yes, Hector Berlioz stalked Harriet Smithson for years, and would later go on to be unfaithful to her in their marriage, but he was a genius who created his great Symphonie Fantastique for her! There is a reason why a very unstable and unintelligent president desperately wants to be seen as a “very stable genius.” Genius affords privileges not granted to common folk. Their work can live on despite their detestable views and actions, and it is up to us to “separate the art from the artist,” even when those detestable views are central to their art.

Yet our worship of genius has more personal costs as well. So many of us that write and perform music struggle with anxiety, depression, and feelings of inadequacy. We think that we are imposters and frauds who could never live up to work of the geniuses before us. We work ourselves to the bone striving to make each work a masterpiece. Instead we should realize the truth: the composers of the past were humans just like us. They had to put food on the table, pay the rent, and support their families. Not everything they wrote was a masterpiece, some just paid the bills.

We face many challenges in music, and shedding the weight of genius is certainly not going to fix them all, but maybe it is a starting point. Perhaps if we are able to separate ourselves from the myth of genius, then we will no longer see orchestral seasons with no works by living composers, women, or people of color. Perhaps the way we teach music will be more balanced and equitable. Perhaps our schools of music will be more diverse, both in its student and faculty bodies. Perhaps our audiences will be larger and more diverse. Perhaps we can dispense with the anxieties of imposter syndrome or masterpiece syndrome. Perhaps we can concentrate on the joy of making music. ​​

Sometime in the Fall of 2014, Dr. Joel Hoffman, then head of the composition department at the College-Conservatory of Music at the University of Cincinnati, was preparing to give his last faculty recital before retirement from full-time teaching. This recital was made all the more special due to the fact that is son, violinist Benjamin Hoffman, would perform his piece Partenze, a work written in 1990, and dedicated to Benjamin when he was an infant.  

Before this recital, Dr. Hoffman led one of the weekly composition symposia at CCM, and invited his son to perform Partenze for the composition students as a preview to the recital. I was there, as a DMA student at CCM at the time, and watched as Benjamin expertly played this work, as the older Hoffman beamed with pride. Following the performance both father and son took questions from the composition students about the work. One of my classmates asked Benjamin to compare the process of preparing a work by his father to that of a long-dead composer. Benjamin noted that while it was beneficiary to be able to work in person with his father, his preparation was not all that different. His reasoning was that performers should treat the work of living composers with the same respect and commitment as they would one by Bach, Beethoven, Brahms and the like.

Sadly, I did not have the foresight to record or write down Benjamin’s next statement, and I fear that recalling it years later will not do it its full justice, nevertheless it has stuck with me over the last five years, and was the impetus of this blog post. He argued that many probably feel that musical genius has gone out of the world. That the days of great works like those of Mozart, Beethoven, and others are over. Yet he contended that that was not the case. Composer-geniuses did still exist, and it was important to give their work just as much care as you would to those geniuses of the past. The implication here, of course, was that his father was one of those composer-geniuses.

I actually have no qualms in Benjamin Hoffman’s assessment of his father as a genius. In the little time I got to know him before his retirement, it was clear to me that Dr. Joel Hoffman was not only a talented composer and musician, but an incredibly intelligent and thoughtful individual. In fact, from the first moment I met him in my piano proficiency assessment, I was so intimidated by his knowledge and intensity, that I decided I would not study with him — perhaps, out of fear that he would see through my charade of calling myself a composer, and see me for the fraud I really and truly was. By the time I came to realize he was also a kind and supportive teacher, it was too late for me to study with him. He had announced his retirement.

I’m sure we can all admire Benjamin’s commitment to new music. A DMA candidate in violin at Yale, who studied from members of the Cincinnati Symphony as a child, Benjamin’s talent and dedication would make him a dream collaborator for many, especially those of us who have suffered through half-assed performances of our music by string players who would rather be working on Bach Partitas. Yet without knowing it, Benjamin was perpetuating a dangerous myth in not only art, but all of Western society: that great art and achievements can only be the product of genius. Such a myth is not only dangerous to those of us who write music — poisoning us with constant imposter syndrome and anxiety that our work will never be enough — but it has allowed musical culture to become ossified around the work of a select few composers – those worthy enough to be elevated to the status of genius. This ossification has turned concert and recital halls into museums, where music is not to be actively engaged with, but passively admired and respected by those cultured enough to appreciate it. Yet, what happens when society moves on from the museum? When people refuse to pay the high price of admission to listen to the music of long-dead white men? Who will be left to marvel at the works of these so-called geniuses?

Today, I am not here to disprove that composers of the Classical canon were geniuses. I have not searched dusty archives and found long-lost IQ tests taken by the likes of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. Rather, I am here to argue that the persistence of this label is not only unnecessary to the appreciation of the music of these individuals, but that doing away with this label is a step toward saving this art of notated concert music, which we are constantly told is in danger of being lost.
 
What is “Genius”?

But first, what is “genius?” We hold the concept of genius in extremely high esteem, yet the term is so ubiquitous that it has become essentially meaningless. While bemoaning the contemporary trend of over-exaggeration in mundane daily interactions, disgraced comedian Louis C.K. mused in his album Hilarious, “…all these words we use. Anybody can be a genius now. It used to be you had to have a thought no one ever had before, or you had to invent a number.” Yet now, he complained, an act as simple as getting an extra cup while eating out can earn the praise of, "Dude, you're a genius!"

In her article, “Modernist Composers and the Concept of Genius,” musicologist Anna Piotrowska points to Enlightenment philosophers such as Kant for codifying genius in art. In his “Philosophy of Art,” within the larger Critique of Judgment, Kant himself writes, “Genius is the talent (natural endowment) which gives the rule to art. Since talent, as an innate productive faculty of the artist, belongs itself to nature, we may put it this way: Genius is the innate mental aptitude (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.” It is interesting, and perhaps a little ironic, that the Age of Enlightenment — an era when philosophers strived for a greater emphasis on knowledge and reason, and when egalitarian ideals of equality helped to topple empires built upon unearned nobility — that such an era, would produce a concept that held an individual up as exceptional, not through study and practice, but because of some unearned innate ability.

In his book, The Possessor and the Possessed: Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, and the Idea of Musical Genius, musicologist Peter Kivy points even further back to Plato and Longinus, who imagined the genius to be in a state of possession by the muses who would use them as a conduit of creation. “Natural endowment,” possessed by muses — in these definitions we see genius as something that is gifted, not developed. Thinkers such as Cesare Lombroso would go even further, to connect genius to mental illness. This romanticism of mental illness is especially seen in discussions of Robert Schumann, who spent his dying days in a mental asylum. Genius was not only a possession, but it was a possession that the normal human mind could not always handle. It is not his training, years of focused work, or the propagation of his music by powerful patrons, publishers, and tastemakers that make the genius’s art great, it is the fact that he is chosen, gifted either by the divine or by nature to create the masterworks that we enjoy. And yes, I am purposefully using masculine pronouns to refer to the composer-genius, for reasons that will be made clear later (if they are not already painfully clear).

Both Piotrowska and Kivy point to the 18th and 19th Centuries has the height of the adoration of composer-geniuses. Names such as Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven appear as the usual suspects. These composers are known for their massive catalogues of works. The work of these men is so expansive and celebrated, that there is no surprise that the label of “genius” so easily applied. Handel wrote his most-beloved work, Messiah, in the span of twenty-four days (though he made numerous edits and revisions for years to come). Haydn was not only instrumental in defining the symphony as we know it, he wrote one hundred and four of them. Mozart was a well-known child-prodigy, who is said to have written the overture to Don Giovanni the day before (or perhaps even the day of) its premiere. Beethoven is not only credited with starting a new period of music, but composed some of his most celebrated music despite profound deafness. I wouldn’t dare to question the magnitude of these achievements, but the question at hand is: should we chalk these accomplishments up to genius which only few can achieve? Or, were they feats of skill which can be achieved by anyone who devotes their life to the craft?

Anna Piotrowski paints the picture of the revered composer-genius in her article. One whose necessary separation from society allowed them to not only create art for his own time, but to influence the future of music. It is perhaps through Beethoven that we get the fullest picture of the composer-genius. Of Beethoven, Piotrowski writes:

In musicological tradition, Beethoven is credited with the radical change in the status of composers. Even more than Mozart, Beethoven symbolised [sic] an emancipated composer independent of the court hierarchy; he denied the concept of a composer servant working for his master, often asked to undertake several jobs, sometimes unconnected with musicianship, or expected to perform on an instrument, conduct an orchestra, teach and finally compose.

She goes on to argue:

It was Beethoven who, in accordance with the tendency, dedicated himself mainly to instrumental music, which overtook the dominant role of vocal music; he composed instrumental music that gained almost sacral status in the eyes of early Romantic poets and intellectuals.

Already we can see flaws in this logic. Early in his career, Beethoven was employed as a musician in the court of the Elector of Bonn. He went on to have a number of royal patrons, including Archduke Rudolph Johann Joseph Rainier, who studied piano from Beethoven. Beethoven was a frequent performer and conductor who only stopped doing so once his deafness prevented it. And while Beethoven’s “absolute” instrumental music is greatly admired, so too are his works employing vocal forces. However, Piotrowski goes on to write:

Beethoven's patrons — mainly aristocratic ones — were not without ulterior motives: they managed to sustain their role as cultural leaders, who not only possessed good taste, but, while acting as real connoisseurs, could also still define the boundaries of what good, great music was and thus dictate what should be considered as fashionable and desirable — and what not. As a result of their attitude the image of the 'great composer' was being constructed at the same time. The process of creating the ideology of the 'great composer' began. The myth of a genius-artist was not born, as some authors pathetically write — it was socially constructed in order to support not the artists themselves, but their patrons.

We must ask ourselves who does the myth of the composer-genius serve and to what end? More importantly, we must ask if perpetuating the myth not only does a disservice to the work of these great composers, but if it is doing to harm our field. I humbly submit five points of argument as to why this myth is dangerous and should be abandoned:

1. The myth of the composer-genius devalues the skill of the composer.
2. The myth of genius paints composition as only a gift given to a chosen few.
3. The myth of genius has been used to alienate the listener.
4. The myth of genius is a tool to preserve the Classical canon, and has turned the concert hall into a museum.
5. The myth of genius is used to keep music dead, white, and male.

 
This post is Part I in a two-part series. Points 1. and 2. will be covered in this post while points 3-5 will be covered in Part II.  
 
The myth of the composer-genius devalues the skill of the composer.
 
In his famous book Outliers, author Malcolm Gladwell seeks to demystify the road to success for many exceptional individuals. While he contends that there are factors beyond our control that allow some to be more successful than others — such as when and where they are born, or their socio-economic status — no one achieves extreme success without sustained hard work. As evidence, he explores the work of psychologist K. Anders Ericsson, who in the 1990s surveyed students at the Academy of Music in Berlin. Ericsson found out that what set the highest achieving students apart from their colleagues was not God-given talent, but focused practice — about 10,000 hours of it. He goes on to quote neurologist Daniel Levitin:
           
In study after study, of composers, basketball players, fiction writers, ice skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals, and what have you, this number comes up again and again. Of course, this doesn’t address why some people get more out of their practice sessions than others do. But no one has yet found a case in which true world-class expertise was accomplished in less time. It seems that it takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery.
 
He even looks at the career of our child-prodigy Mozart, who wrote his first music at six, and toured Europe playing in concert halls with his father and sister at age seven. He quotes psychologist Michael Howe:
 
…by the standards of mature composers, Mozart’s early works are not outstanding. The earliest pieces were all probably written down by his father, and perhaps improved in the process. Many of Wolfgang’s childhood compositions, such as the first seven of his concertos for piano and orchestra, are largely arrangements of works by other composers. Of those concertos that only contain music original to Mozart, the earliest that is now regarded as a masterwork (No. 9, K. 271) was not composed until he was twenty-one: by that time Mozart had already been composing concertos for ten years.
 
It must be noted that Ericsson would go on to challenge Gladwell’s use of the 10,000-hour rule, and that deciding which of Mozart’s pieces was his fist “masterwork” is a highly subjective endeavor. That said, it is not a controversial idea that it takes years of practice to master a skill. No one wakes up being able to compose concerti and symphonies. I would also argue that few would consider Mozart’s childhood and early adult works to be superior to his later works.

For a few years now, I have been interested in getting back into blogging. Those who have read any of my previous blogs know that they were not related to music, but instead concentrated on politics. In an attempt to be a more "serious" composer and not alienate any potential listeners, performers, or employers, I deleted these blogs and dedicated my professional page solely to music.

Yet, anyone familiar with my music and the topics it often addresses can see that my work is in no way politically neutral. Works like Jonestown, Pralaya, Beautiful Death, and many others make strong and passionate statements about political and social issues that I myself am passionate about. While Classical music is often seen as politically neutral, scholarship shows us that is far from the case. The works of composers such as Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Mahler are all tied up in the politics of the times, not just the times of these composers, but history since their inception, and our own. In addition, we have recently seen the consequences of being silent on the issues that matter, yet many of us are asking what can Classical music do to advocate for the change we wish to see in this world.

A recent and powerful post by musicians Sarah Swong and Jennifer Gersten argued of music making after the election of Donald Trump:

A survey of 21 American orchestras by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra showed that in the 2014-15 season, music by living composers only comprised 11.4% of all programmed works. Only 1.8% of them were works by women. No data on race was given, but considering how few established African American composers are widely known and celebrated, (with notable exceptions such William Grant Still, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, George Walker, Ulysses Kay, TJ Anderson, George Lewis, and Jeffrey Mumford) it wouldn't be very surprising if that number was well below 1%.
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It can be easy to see why a person of color would wonder if this music is for them. Many of us would argue that Classical music is for everyone, but to an outsider looking in, it can appear to be unwelcoming to non-Whites. As a young Black composer in this atmosphere, I find myself asking myself the following questions: 1.) Does my work propagate an art form created by and for wealthy White men? 2.) If so, how do I address this? and of course, 3.) Does any of this matter? Should I just go on being influenced by the great music that inspires me, no matter who wrote it?

​This concerto for harpsichord and chamber ensemble, Dead White Man Music is a reflection on all of these questions. Employing the instruments, forms, and styles of the past to tackle a very contemporary issue. Movement I of the concerto is entitled “Fantasia on ‘Es ist genug,’” using Bach’s setting of this Lutheran hymn as a jumping-off point to explore a wide range of emotions and techniques. Contemporary renditions of "Es ist genug" or "It is enough," declare, "I am content! My Jesus ever lives, in whom my heart is pleased." Its use in Dead White Man Music asks if the accepted canon is enough, and should I be content with the influence of the greats, such as Bach. We do, after all, live in a world where the claim that there are no good non-male (and by inference, non-White) composers can be made with impunity. The movement employs Baroque-style counterpoint and pitch materials, juxtaposed with dissonance, atonality, and pulsing "grooves," all derived from the chorale melody.

This movement is followed by the slow and lamenting second movement, “Flow (My Tears),” turning the Dowland air into a jazzy ballad. "Flow" is sometimes associated with the rhyming style and talent of rappers. A rapper is thought to have good flow if they can create interesting and logical rhymes, while also conforming to the beat. The term has also been used by some jazz musicians to describe an almost mystical place of music making. I was personally inspired to combine jazz with early music by hearing saxophonist Branford Marsalis and his quartet perform Purcell's "O Solitude" several years ago while an undergrad. His quartet also included this rendition of the song in their album Braggtown. Lastly, the final “Toccata” explores virtuosity, while subverting the traditional characteristics of this form, and bringing the work to an exciting close through the use of the Baroque Folia.
 
I am proud to be collaborating once again with Thomas Cunningham and the Urban Playground Chamber Orchestra to bring this project to life. My work Beautiful Death was the first work commissioned by Tom and UPNYC. Tom and UPNYC’s dedication to the music of living composers, especially women and people of color, is a testament to the progress toward inclusiveness in the concert hall which Classical audiences deserve.

Writing of this concerto is underway, and a new campaign on Indiegogo has been started to raise funds for the commissioning fee and performance costs to premiere this work in October of 2017. I believe that now, perhaps more than ever, the statement of Dead White Man Music is an important one. Your support can make this piece a reality. Please visit the Indiegogo campaign to read more about the project and to donate today.