On August 1, 2018, The New York Times Magazine published Losing Earth: The Decade We Almost Stopped Climate Change. After reading this haunting article, I could feel myself becoming fearful of our future. Of what was to come. We’ve been aware of global warming for quite some time, but I was suddenly beginning to wonder how this would ultimately affect my children. Would they survive? Would the earth survive?
When I was first commissioned by the San Francisco Symphony to write this piece, I began to think about the history of percussion and how it can be traced back to the beginning of time. It is the most earthy and grounded of instruments, and in many cultures is considered to be the heartbeat of music. With the ability to make rhythm, keep time, and create melody, drums were a way for our ancestors to communicate love and joy, danger and survival. They have also traditionally been at the center of oral history, with percussionists being the storytellers. Second only to the human voice, this instrument has watched the earth endure all of its phases, including the devastation that is now beginning to emerge because of global warming. Losing Earth pays homage to this history.
The piece begins with a march that is meant to represent the mundane existence of our day to day. The experiences that we inevitably take for granted, as we become absorbed in our daily lives. But as the march progresses, disruptions begin to occur. These rhythmic breaks represent the natural occurrences and/or disasters that are affecting our cities and towns on a daily basis. Living in Southern California, we experience about 10,000 earthquakes every year, most of which go completely unnoticed until they reach a certain magnitude. Our endless sunny days seem to now idle somewhere between extreme heat/drought and torrential downpours. And in the past few years we have been plagued by countless brushfires that have devastated many of our coastal communities beyond repair. These natural disturbances seem to be increasing in frequency and intensity as a result of climate change. Only when nature begins alerting us to the problem, are we suddenly forced to stop and finally pay attention.
After the march-like section comes to a screeching halt, we enter the second section of the piece, which represents the inevitable loss of our beloved coastline. With our sea levels quickly rising, will the majority of this land be under water in a couple of decades? Will the cliffs of Santa Monica suddenly become beachfront property? Although it may be a grim and bleak reality that we are facing, I wanted to create a movement that captured what it would be like if Mother Nature reclaimed our beaches, and we all simply faded into the ocean. The vibraphone sets up a slow, oscillating world that is meant to reflect a sense of being underwater. This is a very atmospheric and dreamy section, featuring multiple string divisi and gentle winds and brass.
As the second section comes to an end, a dark texture slowly emerges and helps transition us to the third and final section of the concerto. This represents the imminent call to action that is needed in order to try and save what is left of our world. We’ve already lost so much time, and we don’t know how much more we have left, or if anything can even be done to reverse the damage we have caused. But if we have any hope of surviving, and repairing what exists, then we must take immediate action. Section three is the “Scherzo” of the concerto, and is super fast, featuring highly virtuosic mallet writing with simultaneous kick drum, temple blocks, granite blocks, and other wood and metal. The music is both relentless and aggressive. But like all of my music, I strive to create a sense of hope and optimism towards the end. A somewhat pop-oriented chord progression and groove emerges, and a number of intertwining melodies enter soon after. The sense of promise then slowly fades away, and we momentarily return to the opening of the piece. Creating a cyclical timeline that mimics the different stages of our lives and that of our earth.
Losing Earth is written for and dedicated to Jake Nissly. A dear friend, fellow father, and one of the greatest living percussionists in the world.