This recital is o ered to all who made it possible.

To all of you.


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 WELCOME
What’s your story? Mine is complicated. I bet
yours is too. If you’re reading this, our stories
intersect—probably multiple times. I’m glad to
have you with me, and I’m glad to be with you.
Stories are important. Research shows that
people who read more ction are more
empathetic and might even have better social
skills. When you read a great book or hear a
great story, you not only picture the characters
making important decisions about their
lifestyle and morals, you rehearse your own.
Ever gotten lost in a book, TV show, or movie?
It’s amazing what a good story can do.
But what about a symphony or concerto? A
great album? That one hit song from 2002?
I could listen to a LANY album or a
Mahler symphony on repeat. Sometimes I’m
focused. Sometimes the music is an invisible
wind, pushing my thoughts. You shouldn’t feel
bad if your mind wanders when you listen—
especially not here. That’s what this is all
about: the raw phenomenon of this moment.
In fact, in this recital, the music probably led
you to wander. I hope it did. If not the music,
something did. It’s all connected.
The art, at its best, is carrying not just your
story but everyone else’s too.
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Music is a canvas painted in the abstract.
What you see and what I see are di erent. Is
that a C Major arpeggio? Right now, try not to
care. There won’t be any music theory exams
here. It makes me feel happy; that’s all I need
to know. It makes me think of the rst time I
conducted a band. Wow, was I nervous. But
the exuberance! The wild, out-of-tune, middle-
school-band beauty of it. Fire. The purifying
kind, not the hellish kind.
See? Even re can hold two meanings at
once. So can you, and so can this music.
These works are stories. I don’t need to tell
you which ones. You know them. You carry
them.
For me, this program is a celebration of
nearly 16 years of joy from horn playing. Some
of them bring up more speci c memories. The
Nocturno, for example. When my best friend
hears it, she’ll know it’s for her. Our millions
of memories. How could I wrap up my Nth
year at Texas State without her?
Others are less distinct. A tinge of a feeling
someone shared. A harmony that makes me
thing of ferris wheels. There’s no wrong
answer. Wonderfully, there’s you—beautifully,
purely, authentically you.

 PROGRAM
Ars Moriendi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jack Wilds

Spiritual Fantasy No. 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frederick C. Tillis

with William McNally, piano

Sonata for Horn and Piano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jean-Michel Damase

I. Allegro

Nocturno, Op. 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Franz Strauss

INTERMISSION

Sonata for Horn and Piano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sy Brandon

Harambee for Five Horns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paul Basler

with Taylor Lovato-Cruz, Dane González, Hannah González, and Ayden González

Considering Matthew Shepard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Craig Hella Johnson

“We Tell Each Other Stories / I Am Open”

SOPRANO TENOR
Victoria Becker* Christian Cruz
Jayda Ennis Kevin Arratia Diaz
Mikaela Nichols Gavin Magee
Anna Schulte* Tremain Perkin

ALTO BASS
Katherine Christie Evan Blaché
Chloe Lewis Thomas Buley
Devin Stone Will Bohuslav
Jenna Stone Nicholas Dettmer

 STORYTELLER
My junior recital, The Death of Phoebus, explored
a falling from grace, wandering, and struggling
to nd oneself. This recital, Storyteller, picks up
where that left o .
Still a little unsure but con dent in the
transformative power of love, it begins. We
gather. Ars Moriendi—the art of dying. It’s an
irony. I moriendi-ed my old faith in favor of
something new: an Ars Vivendi. Every day is
all I have. Art is living; living is art.
It’s time to move together. Love brought us
here, right? Let’s see where it can take us.
It doesn’t abide by conventions, but
sometimes convention can be beautiful. Let’s
know our conventions and decide when to
buck them. The Tillis and the Damase light
the path.
You already know why I programmed the
Nocturno. But I’m going to lay it on thick. I’m
an “I love you” drunk—no alcohol necessary.
You’ll hear some beautiful music if I can do it
justice. Give me a hand.
What do these pieces make you think of?
Take a break. You’ve been holding it for a
while. Get that cough out.
Now I think we’re ready to share it all. The
Brandon Sonata is a triumphant entry into this
new space we share. Let’s tell each other
stories.
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I’m here, with you. There’s no judgment.
(You can tell me about that fracked note some
other time.) There’s only all of us. Isn’t that
enough?
Then you’ll see something that brings me a
whole lot of joy. Ever seen four horn players
with the same last name? Tonight’s the night.
Remember our parents in your prayers.
They’ve spent a lot of hours with horn in the
background of their conference calls and TV
shows.
“Harambee" is the Kiswahili word meaning
“all pull together.” That’s the perfect way to
wrap up. Together. With my brothers and my
sister. With my teachers and mentors. With my
family. With my friends. With all of you. I
hope we can leave here with a greater love for
togetherness.
I’ll leave you with this: There Will Be Rest.
It’s late, and we’ve done good work together.
I’ll carry you with me.
Tell the world your stories.

 THE MUSIC
Ars Moriendi: You may recognize the name of
this work from the title of two 15th Century
texts on the art of dying in accordance with
Christian precepts. These were composed in
the wake of the Black Death as guidance to the
faithful as the end of life approaches and serve
as thematic inspiration for this work for horn.
The text inspiration is evident throughout
the piece, where unusual melodies, timbres,
and other e ects unsettle the performer and
listener alike. Phrases leap into being only to
fade into nonexistence, bending downward in
pitch and softly into silence. Others are boldly
proclaimed, interrupted only by brief pauses.
These are not the nal word, though, as the
work melds sound and silence in its nal
moments.
This unaccompanied work was composed
by Jack Wilds, who serves on the faculty in the
School of Music at Texas State University and
taught my introductory aural skills courses.
...
Spiritual Fantasy No. 5: Frederick C. Tillis was a
Texas-born composer and member of the
faculty at the University of Massachusetts
Amherst. This piece is one in a series of
fantasies he composed that draw on spirituals,
a genre of Christian song developed by African
Americans. These songs were a mixture of
African and European musical traditions,
re ecting the tragic circumstance of persons
bound in slavery while they maintain a faith in
the possibility of a better life ahead—perhaps
beyond worldly life. Spirituals would later
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serve as the basis of (perhaps) more commonly
known genres like gospel music. Their
prominence is a testament to the perseverance
and struggles of those who were systemically
oppressed.
Here, this fantasy on a spiritual is an
o ering in the form of a monumental musical
act, but it is also a call to re ect on our
inaction in the face of injustice. How can we
continue to allow the creative powers we hear
in this piece—formed from the creative soul we
all share simply by existing together—su er
because we lack the will to demand change?
While the composer left behind no notes
on the piece and scholarship on his
compositions is lacking, the con uence of
spirituals, jazz, and other in uences is evident
throughout. This recital is the rst time this
piece has been performed on the Texas State
University campus.
...
Sonata for Horn and Piano (Damase): While the
title of this piece, composed in 1996, might
have all the trappings of Western classical
music, the aural concepts it explores are
anything but. It is at once traditional in its
formal conception, but its tonality is loose and
wandering. The movement’s themes are
continually developed, contracting at rst but
eventually expanding into a soaring but
slightly unsettled ending.
While a “sonata for horn and piano”
might often be read as a “sonata for horn with
piano accompaniment,” that is certainly not

 the case here. No doubt, this re ects the
composer’s personal life as a professional,
award-winning pianist. It is impossible to
perform this piece in its fullness without
viewing horn and piano as two equals, co-
creators on a common musical journey.
Like Tillis, Damase provided no written
notes about this piece and no scholarly sources
are available. My performance tries to honor
the composer broadly and the music as written
while also taking full advantage of the freedom
left in the absence of restrictive notes or
performance practices.
...
Nocturno, Op. 7: Franz Strauss was an
accomplished horn player and composer. In
his performance practice, he was concerned
for tone quality above all else, which is
re ected well in this piece. This piece is a
celebration of the horn’s tone in multiple
registers and styles above any other playing
concept.
Franz Strauss’s fame on the horn would
eventually be overshadowed by the works of
his son, Richard Strauss, who was quietly
critical of his father’s personal style but
indebted to his musical mentorship. The two
Strausses have written a signi cant portion of
the horn’s repertoire, and I celebrate their
work in developing the horn’s literature by
situating it as an example of traditional
excellence in a program of mostly new works.
Nocturno was originally published in 1864,
though Franz Strauss released new editions as
late as 1891, just before his retirement in
1896. It is organized in a simple, ternary
(ABA) structure, with little movement beyond
its A- at tonality. While this might seem
musically uninteresting, it is employed here for
its deep personal connection, as a point of
communion for all horn players, and for its
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showcasing of timbres, which I use to expand
our concerns beyond Western tonal harmony.
...
Sonata for Horn and Piano (Brandon): Sy
Brandon is an award-winning American
composer and professor. His works draw on
jazz, folk, and more abstract musical styles.
James Boldin, a writer on horn happenings in
general, called Brandon’s music “fun for the
performers and accessible for audiences.” This
is immediately evident with the opening
fanfare of the Sonata. It is bright, taking
advantage of the instrument’s harmonic series,
and brisk. It at once sounds new, driven by its
syncopated rhythmic ideas, and traditional in
its harmonic and formal organizations.
The opening movement is in modi ed
sonata form, but it features unusual meters
and surprising contrasts that add to a sense of
lightheartedness. It is situated rmly at the
nexus of old and new, traditional and
innovative. This serves my programmatic
objective: to blur boundaries, problematize
binaries, and opt for life in the grey areas.
Ironically, given the levity of the piece, it
was composed in memoriam of David Baptist,
a reputable horn player. Baptist found success
in music on a variety of instruments from an
early age, adding extra meaning to Brandon’s
attempts to create a solo horn work in his
memory that was both musically interesting
and accessible.
...
Harambee for Five Horns: While most people
will recognize the name “Harambee”, this
piece was not composed in memory of the
gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo—may he rest in
peace. In fact, this piece predates the death of
Harambe (note: only one E) by three years.

 The two are connected, though, in their
African-language origins. In fact, “Harambee”
is a Kiswahili word meaning “all put together”
or “synergy.”
The composer, Paul Basler, is a professor at
the University of Florida, but his African
in uences come from his interest in African
musics and his time as Fulbright Senior
Lecturer in Music at Kenyatta University in
Nairobi, Kenya. In discussing his time in
Kenya, Basler explained that he learned “that
relationships are more important than success”
while living there, an important thematic
contribution to this recital.
Harambee groups the performers in a set
of two leaders and a three-part response
pseudo-chorus. These emulate Kenyan call-
and-response style, though this is usually done
on voices more than instruments. (While
writing this, I realize that singing, and the
metaphor of singing on an instrument, is an
unintentional but worthy thread common to
this entire recital.) Its tonal organization is
loose and occasionally meandering, though
always resolving back to a place of comfort.
At this point in the program, it is the
largest collection of musicians on stage.
Visually, musically, and spiritually this is an
obvious turn into my positive vision of
connection and creative joy.
...
Considering Matthew Shepard: I would be hard-
pressed to name a musician whom I admire
more than Craig Hella Johnson. From the rst
time I met him, he has always been a
supporter of my creative life and someone who
pushes my creative limits. Likewise, I push my
limits in performing his work.
For starters, there is no horn part. Instead,
I will play the piano and conduct when the
choir enters. It’s certainly out of my comfort
zone, but the reward for this venture is
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immense. This is a powerful ending to a joyful
program.
Dr. Johnson is on faculty at Texas State
University, but is also a GRAMMY-winning
conductor of Conspirare, the Austin-based
vocal ensemble he founded. He describes
music as “a spiritual language of the freest
kind.” Is there anything more appropriate to
this recital than the work of a composer with
this position? I chose his work because of its
aural impact, but that aurality is even richer as
a re ection of his deep personal convictions
about life and music’s role therein.
This piece is a single movement out of his
concert-length work, Considering Matthew
Shepard, which was composed for the 20th
anniversary of the killing of Matthew Shepard
in 2018. Shepard was a young, gay man in
Wyoming who was brutally attacked and left
to die on a fence post for being gay.
Johnson, a gay man and creative master,
was the perfect person to write in Shepard’s
memory. He frames the work as a passion,
establishing Shepard as a Christ gure—
perhaps an ironic but important juxtaposition
in an era where queer rights are in uctuation.
Music critic Patrick Rucker said the impact
of the piece in its whole “is immediate,
profound and, at times, overwhelming.” The
piece draws on texts by Hildegard of Bingen,
Lesléa Newman, Michael Dennis Browne, and
Rumi. These are supplemented by moving
excerpts from Matthew Shepard’s personal
journal, statements from Shepard’s parents,
newspaper reports, and additional, original
writings from Johnson himself.
This moment is the culmination of all the
recital has to o er. Through these nal
moments of the recital, I hope the emotional,
spiritual, and intellectual movement of my life
to this point is made clear. And, importantly, I
hope that my audience is invited to walk with
me as my partners in love, growth, and dignity.