Behind the Music: "hope is not a language the dark voices understand"

The phrase, "Your final project will be a 3-5 minute large ensemble piece that will be performed at

the end of the semester" instilled panic in many of my classmates. I felt panicked too, but not by the scope of the composition class final project. Rather, I was panicking about what I would write about. Even as a young child with dreams of being a book author, I struggled to know what to write about. My writing had to mean something. My creations had to be for something.

I see this as a calling to create art that serves a greater purpose. As a person created by God, I am called to create in return. If my art does not impact others positively, then what is it for?

It was with these thoughts and feelings (though significantly less fleshed out) in mind that junior-year-of-college-Moriah endeavored to decide what to write for this assignment. In the past, I had written pieces for various smaller projects, arrangements for friends, medleys I wanted to experiment with. But never had I been given the opportunity for a piece of my music to be played by such talented musicians. Admittedly, this project was low-stakes in the long run, but at the time I didn't know if I would ever have an opportunity like this again. It had to be perfect. It had to be impactful. (Spoiler alert: it's definitely not perfect, though I hope it still is impactful.)

As I started writing the first draft of my final project, I knew I wanted the music to portray my belief in goodness always overcoming evil, a belief strongly influenced by my faith. However, as melodic fragments and music theory rules kept me up at night (even months before the project was even due), I worried anything I wrote would be subpar at conveying such a powerful concept. Ask my college roommate: there were many times I should've been focusing on my online badminton homework instead of ruminating on the best way to weave together the "dark" theme and the "light" theme of this piece. The piece grew gradually, but as it took more shape I knew I needed to name it before I could polish it up. I actually turned to Google for inspirational quotes I could maybe use (steal). As I sifted through the Goodreads list of "quotes about good versus evil," I came across one by my favorite singer-songwriter and author Andrew Peterson. In a foreword to a friends book he reflected on how the dark voices of doubt and shame threaten to silence his creativity and abandon his calling. Yet despite these voices, he chooses to focus on the hope of the Gospel of Jesus and through that hope, continues to create and give glory to God. He says, "I write these words with a profound sense of my weakness, but an imagination flooded now with the ringing of bells and the rustle of bright wings. The gospel gives me hope, and hope is not a language the dark voices understand." I was immediately struck by these words. Peterson's words encapsulated my own feelings. How can I even dream to write something, create something, worthy of the Creator Himself?

The beauty of creating art is that it doesn't have to be perfect. In fact, it's impossible for it to be perfect by human standards. With this quote on one screen and my musical offerings on the other, I realized that I didn't need to try so hard to be the "greatest college-aged composer of all time" because I wasn't going to be. I didn't need to put so much pressure on a project. If it was meant for other things, my God was capable of bringing that to fruition without me trying to do it all myself.

At the end of the semester, my college wind ensemble practiced and recorded my classmates' and my compositions. I was so proud of and impressed by my friends and classmates as I listened to their music be played by other friends and classmates. When it was my turn to hear my project, I was more nervous than anything. While I felt less cosmic pressure for the music to be "good," now I was worried the practicality of the music was inaccessible or that my computer program had lulled me into a false sense of security. While that first play-through was far from perfect, it was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Something that came from my brain was placed into the hands of musicians I cared about deeply and they brought it to life with so much care and skill. Once the final measure stopped ringing in the band room, I just felt grateful. I took the feedback and notes from the conductor and musicians to make some edits, and then I put the music files in an online folder marked "memories."

Senior year rolled around and I was given the opportunity to direct my college wind ensemble as a senior conductor at the last concert of my college career. I was asked what piece I wanted to conduct, and as a (albeit hopeful) joke I suggested "hope is not a language the dark voices understand." The college director told me to get him an edited score and he would consider it. I figured nothing would come of this, and researched other pieces I'd be interested in conducting, but to my surprise, the director said my piece was a "go!" I finished editing the parts and made them look nicer than the first version, and we began rehearsals on "hope." It was so much fun to collaborate with my friends and classmates in the ensemble to bring this music to life.

At the final concert of senior year, I had the opportunity to give a small "devotional" to the members of the band. I remember nothing of what I said, but I remember the happy tears and gratitude I tried to show to the people bringing this music to the world for the very first time. I was, and still am, incredibly blessed that I could trust them with a piece of me in the form of sheet music. Shortly after that concert and post-graduation. My college director reached out to me to say he had shared the "hope" score with a friend of his who's a music publisher. While I was shocked and wish I had known about it before it was sent, I was still grateful that he thought my music could be publish-able. I got in contact with the publisher and we started talking pricing and contracts and whatnot. I am so grateful for the friends that encouraged me to pursue this connection and the faculty members at college, including my composition professor and jazz professor who helped me see that my imposter syndrome wasn't correct in this instance. They saw something in my music that I doubted. They saw it could impact people for good, and that was all I ever wanted. Thus, "hope is not a language" became my first published piece and set me on my professional compositional journey.

Since then, life has changed so much. My composition process has changed. My style has even changed in some ways. But what has always been a constant, since the first note of "hope" to the most recent note of my current project, is that I still want this music to mean something. I want it to bring people together from all walks of life. I want it to illuminate the goodness in the world. I want it to acknowledge what is difficult and broken and beautiful about this thing we call life. I want it to be accessible to musicians of all ages and abilities. I want it to be about something.

"hope is not a language the dark voices understand" Program Notes

This piece is ultimately about hope. It's a proclamation in the face of darkness and hardship that goodness always wins, and that light always overcomes the dark. I began writing this piece as the final project in my college orchestration class. That semester, we were really starting to get back to some kind of "normal" after the COVID-19 pandemic, and when given this project, I started to reflect

on the past few years. I thought about how difficult that time had been, and that led me to consider other hardships I've endured personally. As a person of faith, this turned my thoughts to my relationship with Jesus and how my faith has given me the strength to push forward

with the hope that things will get better. I started writing this piece with these concepts in mind: hardship and hope. I struggled to write this piece at the start. I had so many ideas of what I could do and was overwhelmed by the options, but I knew I wanted this music to proclaim hope. When I think of hope, I think of my faith and of music, especially music that redirects my thinking

away from difficulty and towards goodness. Often, these are hymns, especially the hymn by Horatio Spafford "It Is Well." I wanted to incorporate this tune into this piece as it has been an anthem of hope and strength for me throughout my life. Though not always obvious,

the tune is woven into the harmony and counterpoint of the music and concludes the piece with a partial statement of the "It Is Well" melody. Once I had chosen this route and to use this tune, the music began to take its true shape. Though this piece began without a title, I knew I wanted it to be something that directed listeners' attention to the hope it's about. For me, that hope is hope in Jesus and the Gospel. For others, that hope looks differently. Yet, for everyone, I believe that hope is a powerful thing. Keeping one's focus on hope and the knowledge – the assurance – that light always comes in the morning and that goodness always wins out can sometimes be the only life raft to hang onto when facing an ocean of hardships. The title of this piece comes from a book foreword written by singer/song-writer/story-teller Andrew Peterson, whose words speak to this idea beautifully. There, he says, "The gospel gives me hope, and hope is not a language the dark voices understand." He wrote these words as an artist who often feels ashamed that he can't do his inspiration justice, but knows that the message’s power can surpass his own limitations. I resonate with his feelings, but what struck me most was the deep, yet simple truth of his words; where there is hope, there's light, and the darkness cannot survive the light. The "dark voices'' cannot understand the truth I believe in; they have no power when I focus on hope. My wish is that no matter what belief one holds when they hear this piece, they resonate with this message of hope, that they can, for even a moment, feel the power hope holds in a world filled with darkness. Music helps to remind me of this hope, and I hope it does for others as well.

I would like to dedicate the first public performance of this piece (May 26, 2023) to the members of the Gustavus Wind Orchestra, people who have seen me through some of the hardest of circumstances and inspired me to find the light when I felt lost in the dark. This

ensemble is no stranger to difficult circumstances, but I have seen these people push through with grace, perseverance, and kindness. GWO - your music-making, encouragement, and community mean the world to me and you have made me a better musician and person. For this, I am eternally grateful. This ensemble is special, and I hope you never let the "dark voices" overshadow the hope your music brings to the world.