Jonathan Bailey Holland is a composer originally from Flint, MI who is currently the Dead of the Bienen School of Music at Northwester University. According to his bio, he has had music performed by ensembles all over the world, and he has taught at a number of universities as well as at many music festivals and arts schools. And like many of the other composers in this ongoing mini-series of mine, I never heard of him until now. I have thus far only heard the work presented below, so I can’t discuss Dr. Holland’s general approach, but this work is minimalistic and haunting in its evocative use of a very small ensemble (flute, clarinet, violin, cello, piano, percussion) and its use of moody dissonances throughout. The work is chillingly meditative, befitting its title: The Clarity of Cold Air. This work does seem to me to fit the mood of the streetscape photo I posted the other day….

I couldn’t decide which of three pieces to feature today, so I said to myself, “Why limit myself to one?” That’s right, you get all three.

Composer and flautist Valerie Coleman has had a deeply impressive career already. A native of Louisville, KY, Coleman was steeped in music from an early age, and her trajectory seems to have mainly pointed in one direction her entire life, as far as I can tell: up. She has been an accomplished performing flautist as well as a highly-regarded composer; her work Umoja–which began as a work for woodwind quintet but then was re-arranged by the composer for many varying ensembles–eventually became the first work performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra by a living Black woman composer. Honestly, I’m not even going to try to sum up Coleman’s life; for more on her, I highly encourage visiting her official website. I’m just going to feature some music.

First, we have a work for an ensemble I’ve never encountered before: the flute choir. The piece is called Juba, and according to Coleman’s site, “JUBA for flute choir gives homage to its namesake: a rhythmic dance found in the origins of both African-American and West African cultures.” It is certainly rhythmic and dancelike…and the melding of various tonal colors of different kinds of flutes creates a unique kind of magic here.

Next is a work that is obviously inspired, at least in part, by the example set by Aaron Copland. Coleman provides a fanfare for brass and percussion, called Fanfare for Uncommon Times. That certainly captures the era in which we live, doesn’t it? Also from her site:

It begins not with a typical fanfare salute, but a quizzical, searching line for solo trombone that soon is cushioned by pungent, soft-spoken brass chords. Unrest amid determination stirs as the music shifts into agitated episodes for percussion. The mood seems at once reflective and restless, uplifting and ominous. The elements of the Black experience during a challenging time that Coleman described come through during a passage alive with riffs for mallet percussion instruments, hints of dance and bursts of anxious frenzy. By the end, with spurts of four-note brass motifs, echoes of Coplandesque affirmation arise, but also a breathless flurry that feels bracing yet challenging.

Finally, what is likely Coleman’s most well-known and performed work to date, the afore-mentioned Umoja. Subtitled “Anthem of Unity”, I found this work challenging and contemplative and moving as I listened to it several times in the last few days alone. The notes on Coleman’s site are well-worth reading:

In its original form, Umoja, the Swahili word for Unity and the first principle of the African Dispora holiday Kwanzaa, was compose a simple song for women’s choir. It embodied a sense of ‘tribal unity’, through the feel of a drum circle, the sharing of history through traditional “call and response” form and the repetition of a memorable sing-song melody. It was rearranged into woodwind quintet form during the genesis of Coleman’s chamber music ensemble, Imani Winds, with the intent of providing an anthem that celebrated the diverse heritages of the ensemble itself.

Almost two decades later from the original, the orchestral version brings an expansion and sophistication to the short and sweet melody, beginning with sustained ethereal passages that float and shift from a bowed vibraphone, supporting the introduction of the melody by solo violin.

There’s more there, go read it…but listen to Umoja. This is music as balm for the soul.