Constant Companion is an ode to our steadfast idealism, rampant corruptibility, and our incessant ability to generate fear in ourselves and in anyone willing to believe in it. Rather than reflect literally on any one example, the piece seeks to represent a metaphorical progression through five short movements.

Movement I, Andante con moto, opens

Constant Companion is an ode to our steadfast idealism, rampant corruptibility, and our incessant ability to generate fear in ourselves and in anyone willing to believe in it. Rather than reflect literally on any one example, the piece seeks to represent a metaphorical progression through five short movements.

Movement I, Andante con moto, opens with a flowing ostinato which loosely defines the piece's tonal areas (as it does not adhere to particular keys, but rather groupings of specific harmonies and pitches). The strings are muted and snippets of melody flow in and out to form an idyllic dream-like state which is never fully defined like a faded memory; a distraction from reality. However, as dreams fade, our flowing strings slowly evolve into more jarring harmonies revealing a more disturbed memory, a loss of stability, and an increasing uncertainty too veiled to fully comprehend. Our idyllic dream-state struggles to regain control but to no avail as it is manipulated by darker, more ominous thoughts. Finally, the movement reaches a tipping point as the whole orchestra joins, cementing reality over fantasy and propelling us into the second movement.

Movement II, Allegro furioso, brings with it the excitement of conflict and angular precision, often brought on by fear. Or, in other words, no more flowing, idyllic dream-states, only close formations and well-defined movements from now on. Why we are here is unknown, but we must always push on and never look back. What we do know is our dreams are over, our reality is grim, and we must be sure that the other side does not win. The orchestra has been divided into rotating factions between low voices and high voices, horns and woodwinds, strings and brass, etc., always changing but sticking close because individuality means vulnerability. Vague distorted allusions to our dreams are used as reminders of what we're fighting for. The direction is unknown, it continues until it ends, stay close and follow instruction. Instructions change however, and the fight is undermined – our mission is disjunctive and so is the orchestra. We can all agree the fight cannot continue and is brought to a spectacular and unfulfilling end, leaving us with less than we started with.

Movement III, Adagio lamentoso, opens with solo bassoon in an unnatural and strained octave. We fought in groups but are left to pick up the pieces on our own, left with the knowledge that we were a part of something bigger than the individual, something for the benefit of the many. But what does progress cost if those many are made up of broken individuals? A second lone bassoon is joined by the contrabassoon, repeating only what we learned in conflict. Clarinets and bass clarinet join to form an underground movement, sharing what they learned, slowly morphing it into something they can process and gain strength from. Our dream-state motives return, this time corrupted by conflict, cultivated into anger, and representing the new dream: restitution. Traction is gained, word spreads, the movement grows and attention is drawn. A new voice is formed, a new conversation is had but before long we have again lost control. It grows too fast, guilt and hurt turn into anger and discontent, a demand for change, a disturbingly familiar mantra masked by promises of good fortune and prosperity. We try to reign back, to gain control, but it's too late, the momentum has started; conflict is inevitable. The orchestra pauses for reflection. Our original resolution found in the bassoons toward the beginning of the movement echoes in the strings and horns. Can we grow from our history or will we only repeat ourselves again? Is what we are doing now any different than what we did before? The orchestra asks three times only for the answer to be inconclusive.

Movement IV, Grave/Allegro marcato, starts again with a single line but this time instead of the loneliness of individual despair, we are within a group, together scared. The first violins begin but are closely followed by the seconds. The violas (not quite violin, not quite cello) start with their own version a short time later, all three sections searching for resolution that may not exist. Cellos, and then the basses join but maintain the same trembling ten notes over and over again until somebody reinstates that sense of unity too often created through fear. The orchestra grows, finding its voice in unison but some are not speaking with the same pitches; a commonality that has been yet again divided. Once more unto the breach, we plunge into strife, this time more collected, more fierce, a conflict to end all conflict. To fuel the fire, we are reminded by the horns of the blood not long ago shed. But deep and removed from the conflict a new underground movement is growing. The woodwinds have organized again and are not satisfied with what's become of the pain felt from recent history. They have resolved to undermine this process of conflict and resolution; no more shall we have this cycle. But an interloper, the muted trumpet, interjects and the movement is compromised. Soon the strings join bringing the underground movement to daylight. The whole orchestra joins and before long control is lost, a new mantra has been adopted revealing to our dismay that the resolution to end all conflict has been manipulated into a new battle cry by the trumpets and horns. All we are left with is the ashes of our efforts and the fading smoke of another dream deferred.

Movement V, Moderato lacrimoso, asks where are we now and why? If we could separate ourselves from our humanity, would we be where we are? Who is to blame for all of this destruction and why does it feel so familiar? The strings play the part of future generations, always asking, always seeking to understand, always innocent to the battles they will fight in the future. But is what they become designed by what we were? Do they carry with them the guilt of our actions? Can hope overcome fear or will fear prevail? We see the strings begin to ask these questions and the orchestra join to repeat them but with new perspectives and new questions; what about us? The dream lives on that we can cultivate understanding and grow together, but we will always be divided by the blood of our ancestors. Nothing is for certain, and neither is the finale of this piece as it fades away asking itself again three times: can we grow from our history or will we only repeat ourselves again? Only the future holds the resolution and so we end unsatisfactorily.

T.A.DePew 2019

Symphony No. 3 began as an exercise in arrangement using Ferdinando Carulli's 18 Petits Morceaux - a collection of practice pieces for classical guitar. Using piece no. 18, I initially set out to fill in around the existing melody and bass line but, as I continued to write, I found myself taking more liberties with the arrangement. Once I

Symphony No. 3 began as an exercise in arrangement using Ferdinando Carulli's 18 Petits Morceaux - a collection of practice pieces for classical guitar. Using piece no. 18, I initially set out to fill in around the existing melody and bass line but, as I continued to write, I found myself taking more liberties with the arrangement. Once I completed the piece, I decided to take additional pieces from the same collection to write consecutive movements until I had written enough for a short symphony. The movements are as follows:

Movement I, Largo ma con moto, as mentioned, uses no.18 from Carulli's Petits Morceaux and in large part stays faithful to the structure and content of that piece. The piece itself is in a rondo/theme & variations form and stays very near to its home key. The main theme (found in the Flute at first) is passed between the instruments throughout. The coda of the piece presents an interesting foreshadow to the second movement.

Movement II, Lento arioso, marks the departure from arrangement and ventures into the realm of variation. While part of the the opening, secondary theme chord progression, and closing are derived from Petits Morceaux's piece no. 11, the bulk of the movement contains original content. Oddly, the opening alludes to A minor while the key states F Major, but the movement in total remains mostly in the dominant C Major only to resolve finally in the appropriate F Major.

Movement III, Moderato animato, continues the now established practice of borrowing minimal material from the source (no. 14) and containing primarily original material. The melody is of Carulli's and the rest of the piece is built around it with the exception of the counter melody. Finally, Movement IV, Allegro assai, concludes the piece in fanfare using a selection from Carulli's 24 Pièces . Taking no. 20 from this set, the movement uses the original melody, plus 2 variations to present a spectacle in rondo form and close out the piece with good energy. The movement itself is markedly different from its predecessors in that it is focused more on the ensemble as opposed to accompaniment of solo instruments and melody.

T.A.DePew 2020