This post was originally published in preparation for our May 2016 performance. We’re sharing it again in anticipation of the world premiere of Jason’s first two works for symphony orchestra! We hope you’ll join us Saturday, July 9, as Manitou Winds joins with the Benzie Area Symphony Orchestra to premiere Ransom Lake and Platte Plains!
I have always been hesitant to call myself a composer. Looking through scraps of manuscripts saved from my college years and my high school journals, it’s obvious I’ve always aspired to be one. Thankfully, it wasn’t some misguided pursuit of fame or fortune that drove me to compose. It was a spark of inspiration that often seemed to come out of nowhere — a brisk fall breeze, a bumpy bus ride home from school, being afraid of the dark — all of these things eventually transcribed themselves in my head as tunes needing to be written down.
As a kid, I composed tunes on my tiny Casio keyboard; I never wrote them down, I just kept them in my mental repertory. In early high school, I began creating my own staff paper — one line at a time — using a ruler, a pencil, and some typing paper. It would be an embarrassingly long time before I discovered or had opportunity to buy manuscript books (where the staves are already printed for you!). Between my slow, uneducated process and my unending obsession with perfectly parallel lines, it’s a wonder I ever committed anything to paper at all!
All of this scribbling eventually led to an event that forever changed my life. On October 23rd, 1996, one of my compositions was performed by a local university’s wind ensemble. My high school band director, who loaned me his old orchestration books (most of which flew right over my head at the time), urged me to enter a national composition contest and arranged for my piece to be recorded.
To properly set the scene, I should also mention I’d set aside my saxophone a few months earlier to start playing oboe (poorly). Nonetheless, I had great affection for the oboe and featured it rather prominently in my composition. Just days before the recording session, the conductor called my band director to inform us the university’s oboist would not be able to perform for the recording. He was wondering if I would perform with the group. Suddenly, writing that big oboe solo in the opening few measures of the piece seemed less than inspired. Did I want to perform oboe on the recording? I wasn’t sure I wanted to play oboe ever again! But, it was my oboe or no oboe, so I agreed.
The big day came and I was onstage in the massive recital hall with all of these college people. It was my music sitting on their stands (all the lines were perfectly parallel). I had my cheap oboe reed and my school’s janky student-model oboe in my lap. I was trying to keep my cool while the musicians were warming up. I could hear random bits and pieces of my composition flying all over the place.
The pianist came over to me and very politely mentioned that — for my next piece — I should be sure all the beats line up together in both staves for the piano part. I was wide-eyed and nodded in agreement… in time, I would also learn that dots always go to the right of the note-head and flags always fly to the right regardless of which direction the stem is pointing (or which way the wind is blowing).
Finally the conductor gave that first downbeat…
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the feeling. It was as though the room was spinning while sound was coming from all around me — not just any sound, but a “living sound”. It was more than sound, it was colorful and vibrant — almost tangible, as if every particle in the air was vibrating, coming to life, glowing. The sound was more alive than anything I’d been able to imagine while making all those scribblings on my homemade staff paper.
When the time came, I played the oboe solo to the best of my ability… my warbly, reedy, sharp, unrefined ability. As much as I should have been afraid, there was an energy inside that swirling sound that buoyed my sunken confidence, overshadowing my worries about how unqualified and unworthy I was. Music really is a miraculous thing.
I didn’t win the competition, of course. I didn’t even land an honorable mention. It was a national competition. I was from a very small public high school (fewer than 300 students). I’d never had an opportunity to write a large-scale piece before; my entire high school band was never more than about 25 students. I’d never had a music theory class or used music software. I had so much to learn! Rather than being disappointed, however, I was hooked: the spark from that first downbeat forever branded me a composer.
I listened to the recording every day for a long time. I kept wanting that feeling of the initial downbeat to come rushing over me again. I quickly learned it is a very elusive feeling, one a recording cannot capture. When I listen to that cassette recording, now — more than 20 years later — that piece, that day, that oboist, all seem so distant, unreal. I also understand the biting, cringing feeling of regret and remorse that drives some composers to destroy their early compositions!
Fortunately, among the musicians of Manitou Winds, I have found an opportunity any composer would envy: living, breathing musicians who willingly play any scribblings I place in front of them. I have the honor of learning from their experience while getting to enjoy that elusive “living sound” far more often than I would have ever imagined.
And now I’m delighted to share my work with the entire Benzie Area Symphony Orchestra and Maestro Tom Riccobono. I’m excited to see where the music will take us, how much more I can learn, how far the collective energy of that many musicians can go (rocket fuel!!)… and it all starts at the first rehearsal and that downbeat!
Ah, yes again, the mellow sun is cooler.
Days are short and nights are longer
by the fire of family love.
The evening speaks of hearts together now;
the harvest done, and gone to rest
for winter’s coming home.
– G. Norbett
I’m sure I’m not the only one who spent most of 2021 in prolonged anticipation. We were free from strict lockdowns, but so many beloved things were still verboten. As time passed and we all came to recognize the uneasy ache in our hearts was grief rather than uncertainty, perhaps we began to recognize what we were grieving most: togetherness.
Winter may be the singular natural force that causes us to instinctively gather. As temperatures drop and night falls earlier with each passing day, the world outside becomes less hospitable, and we’re drawn to one another for warmth and comfort. The holiday season provides us with even more reasons to come together – maybe showing we care with elaborate gifts and celebrations. But the only gifts we really need this year are love and kindness.
I don’t have to tell you we’re not out of the woods, yet. Case numbers rise, surges build, headlines rage on, divisions grow… but let’s keep on healing where we can. Let’s get together!
Whether you join us in person, online via livestream, or in your easy chair next to the radio, we hope you’ll let us give this gift to you: the gift of togetherness, presented straight from our heart to yours.
From all of us at Manitou Winds,
J.T. McKinney
UPDATE: Here are a few snaps from our December 4th performance at Grace Episcopal Church, Traverse City. It was a wonderful evening spent with a wonderful audience! Many thanks to those who came out in person and those who watched us via livestream. Still to come, listen for us on Interlochen Public Radio at 1pm (EST) on Christmas Eve when IPR will broadcast the entire concert!
We have to make Christmas happen. I remember when that staggering thought occurred to me. I was 25, and it was my first Christmas in Chicago. Cold wind and nothing but darkness outside my window save for the unfeeling light of streetlamps. Sidewalks full of people, but all of us strangers.
I’d been in the city only for a few months. My life was in such disarray. I came home exhausted most days — mentally, physically, and spiritually. I was homesick, broke, and yet I was in the midst of my annual wrestling match with an old artificial Christmas tree, dredging it up from its cardboard hiding place once again.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I asked. “Why are you putting up a tree? Pulling out all this gaudy stuff?” I kept decorating, but I kept puzzling, too.
I thought back to my childhood Christmases. Back then, Christmas always seemed to happen on its own, as inevitable as sunrise. But, that night, as a grown man hanging ornaments on my sad little tree, it finally occurred to me that my parents had made Christmas happen for me. All those years, I’d thought the “gifts” were in boxes under the tree, but the real gifts were the experiences and memories made possible through my parents’ care and sacrifice.
It really wasn’t about money. They watched the TV specials with us even though they already knew them by heart. They acted surprised each time the tree lit up with all the colored lights. They put aside their weariness and sang along. They made special meals even though it took a lot of effort and time. They helped me believe in joy by leading me through it.
My parents weren’t setting me up for some big let-down. Everyone knows life isn’t always going to be easy. But, if we can dig down deep and find even the smallest bit of ourselves to share, sometimes the joy we’re missing actually turns up, even if for just a few moments. That’s what my parents were doing: finding their own joy by sharing it with their children.
So, I decorated that year even though it probably would have seemed silly to anyone else. And you know what? That Christmas was not great at all. Things got a little worse, in fact. But, I made it through that dreadful season thanks to a very small handful of friends. And seeing the tree lit up reminded me of my family, connected me to happier times. When I let myself bob along to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, I accidentally felt a little happy in spite of myself. When the little boy turned around and hugged The Snowman before going inside, I cried my eyes out. And when “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” came on, I finally understood lyrics I’d only half-listened to before.
I guess there are some lessons we have to learn over and over. Maybe this is one of them: After all the gifts have been unwrapped, the tree put away, the calendar turned over — years after the presents have all been forgotten — it’s only the love and kindness we share that remains. It really is true: we have to make Christmas happen.
I created today’s recipe inspired by the idea of a homemade Christmas and the notion of sharing joy with family, friends, and beyond. When it comes to homemade gifts, in my opinion, bread is about as heart-felt as it gets. So long as you’re firing up the oven, remember it’s just as easy to make two loaves of bread as it is to make one. Consider passing along a little homemade Christmas to someone who may need it this year.
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Father Christmas Bread
Yields 1 loaf, 12-14 slices
DOUGH:
1 1/2 cups chopped mixed dried fruit (apricots, candied orange peel, currants, cherries, raisins, etc.)
1 cup boiling water
1/2 cup whole milk
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)
2 tablespoons ground anise
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground mace
zest of two lemons
1/3 cup brown sugar (light or dark)
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt
3 1/2 cups (16.25 oz) all-purpose flour, divided
FILLING:
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 teaspoons ground cinnamon
a pinch of sea salt
milk for brushing
TO MAKE THE DOUGH: Combine the mixed dried fruits and the boiling water in a large measuring cup or medium bowl; soak 20 minutes. Strain the fruits, reserving soaking water to equal 1/2 cup (you may need to add additional water).
Combine the 1/2 cup of reserved soaking water with 1/2 cup milk; microwave until just warmed (about 110 degrees). Pour warm milk mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Add next 9 ingredients (yeast through eggs); mix at low speed to blend. Add the salt and 2 cups of the flour; mix at medium speed until thoroughly blended. Switch to the dough hook attachment. Add the soaked fruits and all but 1/2 cup of the remaining flour; knead at medium speed 8-10 minutes, adding flour sparingly as necessary to keep dough from sticking to sides of the bowl.
Turn dough out onto a floured work surface. If still a bit sticky/tacky, knead in up to an additional 1/2 cup of flour until dough is smooth and elastic. Transfer to a lightly oiled large bowl; cover and let rise until doubled in size. (If you’d rather bake bread the next day: you can skip the first rise by placing the dough in a lightly oiled plastic zipper bag, removing the air, sealing it, and refrigerating it for up to 18 hours. The next day, you’ll need to allow the dough to come to room temperature before proceeding before rolling, filling, and shaping.)
FILLING & SHAPING: Combine the sugar, cinnamon, and salt in a small bowl. Grease the bottom and sides of a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan. You may also line the loaf pan with parchment for greater ease in removing the bread once baked (especially nice if some of the filling seeps out of the bread during baking!).
On a lightly-floured work surface, press the dough into an 8 x 6-inch rectangle. With a short side of the dough facing you, roll with a rolling pin into an 18 x 8-inch rectangle (lifting the dough, occasionally, to lightly spread flour underneath if necessary). Brush the dough liberally with milk. Sprinkle the sugar mixture evenly, leaving a half-inch border on the short side farthest from you. Starting at the side closest to you, roll up the dough, pinching gently as you go to make sure it is tightly sealed. To keep the dough from stretching beyond the dimensions of the pan, push the ends inward occasionally as you are rolling it up. Once it has been rolled to the opposite edge, pinch the lengthwise seam tightly to secure it. With that seam facing down, firmly pinch the dough at both ends while tucking under to seal the sides.
Place the loaf seam-side down into the prepared pan; press lightly to flatten and even as needed. Cover top of pan loosely with plastic wrap; set aside to rise. Allow loaf to rise until it crests a full inch above the top of the loaf pan (about 90 minutes or longer if dough has been refrigerated). Meanwhile, heat oven to 350-degrees.
Bake the risen loaf at 350-degrees for 35-50 minutes, until golden brown. The baking time can vary depending on tons of factors. You’ll know it’s done for sure when an instant-read thermometer inserted at an angle from one of the ends reads 190 degrees. If the top of the loaf starts to brown more than you’d like, shield it with a sheet of foil lightly crimped to the pan. Cool in pan for 5 minutes then remove to a wire rack to cool completely before slicing.
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The bread can be wrapped (whole or sliced) and frozen for several months. An advantage to freezing it sliced is the ability to sneak into the freezer and steal slices whenever you like without having to use up the whole loaf in a hurry. Those stolen slices make excellent toast whether simply buttered or spread with marmalade or jam. Slices also make legendary PB&J sandwiches chock full of holiday sparkle. The absolute best way to enjoy this bread, in my opinion, is to dip it in your favorite french toast batter, fry it up, and serve with powdered sugar, fresh cranberry sauce, and a hefty dollop of real whipped cream… a Christmas Morning brunch you won’t soon forget.
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This post is dedicated in memory of my dear friend Nicole Gonzalez (1978-2019).
She was a best friend and also my kitchen buddy — patiently teaching me, challenging me, and reliably cracking me up. Seeing her smile whenever she tasted one of my recipes was better than any blue ribbon. While I have more memories of our time together than photos, for as long as I live, whenever I cook, it’ll always feel like visiting with my friend. I’m so grateful to have known her.
Manitou Winds’ 2019 Winter Songs & Carols program celebrates home, holidays, and hygge. To prepare for this year’s concert, we’re excited to bring you Comfort & Joy: a new series of musically and seasonally-inspired recipes from the Woodwind Gourmet.
My most cherished holiday memories tend to originate somewhere around the kitchen — the warmest place in the home for so many reasons! Maybe it’s because holiday baking brings the whole family together to revel in the season, telling stories, making memories, and eating all the best things. Over the next few weeks, I’ll share special recipes I hope will inspire you to rekindle old memories with loved ones or to start brand new traditions with your family.
Nollaig, is the Irish word for the month of December and also the Irish festival of Christmas. In the United States, we tend to think of Christmas as a one-day affair: a single day preceded by weeks of hurried shopping and incessant warbling on local radio stations beginning roughly the moment Thanksgiving dishes are done. Meanwhile, in Ireland, Christmas Day means the celebration has only just begun with tons of traditions and parties ahead. Nollaig begins December 24th and lasts through January 6th.
One happy Nollaig tradition is the long-awaited slicing of the Christmas Cake (Cáca Nollag) — a very special dessert whose preparations begin weeks in advance. Unique family recipes, special decorative touches, and anticipation are hallmarks of the classic Christmas Cake. With just a touch of planning, you can make this festive cake the center of your holiday celebration.
Recipes vary from family to family, but the traditional Cáca Nollag is a hearty, fruit-filled, whiskey-steeped cake topped with a layer of marzipan and covered with a sparkling white royal icing.
You’ll quickly notice none of the ingredients are exotic or hard to find. Instead, what makes this cake a marvel is its “maturing” period: after baking, it’s drenched with whiskey, wrapped, then aged for several weeks before finally being frosted, decorated, and eaten. A special sort of magic happens during the maturing period that elevates this from fruitcake (an unfortunate concoction sure to send most people fleeing from well-meaning relatives) to sublime. Maturing also preserves the cake so it can last throughout the festival — a good thing since a small slice of it goes a long way!
Click here for the full recipe!
In the summer of 2018, we performed a concert at Frankfort’s Oliver Art Center featuring traditional and original music from Ireland, Scotland, Nova Scotia, & the United States.
That August 2018 concert was such a resounding success and received such a positive response from the community, we knew we’d want to revisit the program and explore it a bit deeper sometime soon. And so, when the opportunity to give a premiere performance in Downtown Frankfort’s historic Garden Theater presented itself, it seemed the perfect time!
Saturday, September 21, 2019
7:30pm
The Garden Theater
301 Main Street
Frankfort, MI
You’re invited to join us in another journey across the Celtic realm as we explore even more music, poetry, and legends from the many Celtic nations. We’ll be joined once again by special guest Emily Curtin Culler, soprano, plus our colorful palette of instrumental colors including harp, guitar, flute, oboe, english horn, clarinet, saxophone, bassoon, and horn!
The Garden Theater is a beautiful performance space right in the heart of Downtown Frankfort with comfy, plush seating for over 300! We’re proud to present this concert with FREE ADMISSION; no reservations or tickets required. You will have the opportunity to support our ensemble with a freewill offering during intermission. Your donations make all of our free concerts possible and enable us to provide fundraising concerts and events to local charities and causes. THANK YOU!
If you weren’t able to join us for the 2018 performance, here’s a sneak peek into some of the music we’ll be sharing from that program:
Trí Amhráin as Éirinn
Jason re-imagined three traditional Irish folk tunes creating a beautiful song cycle for soprano and wind quintet. Emily Curtin Culler joined us for the premiere performance in 2018. This article delves into the interesting stories behind each folk tune and tells you more about our special guest!
Down by the Salley Gardens
Some folk songs endure a strange and metamorphic journey in order to stand the test of time. This article explains what we know about Down by the Salley Gardens, plus Jason discusses his arrangement for soprano, flute, and lever harp.
O’Carolan’s Symphony
In this article, we explore music written by a blind man who traveled back and forth across Ireland for nearly 50 years! What do we know about Turlough O’Carolan, and why is his music still fascinating hundreds of years after his death? Jason explains how he borrowed four of O’Carolan’s beloved tunes to create a symphony honoring Ireland’s last bard.
In addition to a few other favorites, we’ll present a handful of brand-new compositions and arrangements by our musicians Laura Hood and Jason McKinney, so stay tuned for an upcoming short series of articles telling you all about them!
This post was written in preparation for our May 2019 concert, Found Objects.
“Music takes a long time to speak—much longer than words by themselves”
—Ralph Vaughan Williams
Poetry and song have been natural companions since time immemorial, but in Western Classical music, it wasn’t until the Romantic Era (c. 1780-1910) that composers had the novel notion of marrying poetry and music in a way that made them equal partners. Romantic composers felt that when a poet expresses joy, angst or longing, the music should respond sympathetically.
Free to venture beyond the sometimes limiting boundaries of tonal harmony, composers granted themselves more and more freedom to bend music to the needs of poetic expression. Though time and style have marched on, this idealistic notion of harmonic and poetic symbiosis remained deeply embedded in the realm of art song. In fact, with the coming of the 20th century and more daring, chromatic writing, it could be asserted that this relationship between text and music has only become stronger.
And so it was late in December of 1957 that Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958) spent his Christmas break poring over the expansive literary universe of William Blake (1757-1827). Vaughan Williams had been asked to compose music for a documentary about the life and works of the poet, and became so engrossed in his work that he completed Ten Blake Songs over his vacation.
Vaughan Williams selected most of the poetry for his song cycle from Blake’s Songs of Innocence and of Experience. The volume, representing Blake’s most well-known works, explores the contrasts between happy, fearless vulnerability (Innocence) and negative, societal and religious norms (Experience). The tenth poem was excerpted from Blake’s notebook.
“Infant Joy” (Innocence)
“A Poison Tree” (Experience)
“The Piper” (Innocence, originally entitled “Introduction“)
“London” (Experience)
“The Lamb” (Innocence)
“The Shepherd” (Innocence)
“Ah! Sun-flower” (Experience)
“Cruelty Has a Human Heart” (Experience, originally entitled “A Divine Image“)
“The Divine Image” (Innocence)
“Eternity” (originally entitled “Several Questions Answered“, excerpted)
Writing music to support and convey the poetry of William Blake is no small task. To say Blake was unappreciated during his lifetime is a bit of an understatement: many of his contemporaries labeled him as mad! Both a visual artist and a poet, Blake’s works often revealed his controversial views on religion, the equality of women and minorities, democracy, and sexuality. Thus, many of his works were unpopular in his time while others remained unpublished for fear of prosecution.
Since Vaughan Williams had long proven his prowess in orchestrating massive works, his decision to score Ten Blake Songs for tenor or soprano voice and oboe reveals his personal understanding of Blake’s work. In fact, his selection of poems oscillates seamlessly between Innocence and Experience, providing the continuity of contrast intended by the poetry.
Vaughan Williams’ minimal scoring provides a juxtaposition of folk-like melodies against restless chromaticism and blatant dissonance, mirroring Blake’s poetic exploration into the contrasts of Innocence and Experience. Though deceptively simple in construction, these songs present very real musical challenges for both vocalist and oboist.
Guest soprano Emily Curtin Culler and Jason have joyfully explored these songs for our spring performance. For Emily, the delight has been mastering the chromatic musical twists, using them to elevate the texts and deepen their meaning. “I love the colors and shading of the harmonies that were clearly meant for certain words and moments in the poems,” says Emily.
Though Emily will be the only one articulating Blake’s words, both vocalist and oboist must keep a watchful eye on the poetry. For Jason, it’s been challenging and rewarding to embody the shape-shifting roles Vaughan Williams wrote into the oboe lines. “One minute you’re fairly drone-like accompaniment, then a syllable later, you’re off and running in conversation with the vocalist!” Jason says.
Manitou Winds is proud to present this classic work combining music and poetry. We hope you’ll join us Saturday, May 11th, 2019, for Found Objects: a concert about finding beauty and meaning amid the seemingly serendipitous.