From Rivers

Music and Text by Caroline Shaw

From Emily: Caroline Shaw’s From Rivers flows with the organic motion of water itself—fluid, unpredictable, and deeply resonant. Through shifting meters, rich harmonies, and intricately woven vocal lines, Shaw evokes the constant movement of a river as it carves its path through time and landscape. The addition of cello deepens this texture, alternating between a grounding drone and lyrical passages that echo and converse with the singers. The piece features soaring solos and evolving textures that mirror themes of renewal, unity, and the cyclical nature of existence. As voices and cello rise and merge like converging currents, listeners are invited to reflect on the ways we are shaped by what we pass through—and how, like a river meeting the sky, music offers both a sense of grounding and a moment of transcendence.

To the sky from rivers
To the sky from rivers

We are beginning will be again.
We are beginning round and around.

We are beginning will be again.
We come together around you.

My feet in the river,
My face to the sky.

Shenandoah

Traditional, arranged by Kevin A. Memley

This maximalist yet effective setting of the classic folk song “Shenandoah” is well-paced, starting and ending with lush harmonies, which then give way to a virtuosic piano part that depicts the ebbing and flowing of the river. The first verse is in unison, and Memley continues to expand the complexity of the vocal lines in the second and third verses.

O Shenando’
O Shenando’
O Shenando’
‘Cross the wide Missouri. 

O Shenando’. I long to hear you,
Away you rolling river. 
O Shenando’, I long to hear you, 
Away we’re bound away across the wide Missouri. 

O Shenando’. I long to hear you,
Away you rolling river. 
O Shenando’, I long to hear you, 
Away we’re bound away across the wide Missouri. 

‘Tis sev’n long years since last I’ve seen you
O Shenando’, I long to hear you,
O Shenando’, I long to see you, 
O Shenando’, ‘cross the wide Missouri.

My Spirit Sings

Music & Text by Jadie Douglass Reeves

When Jadie came to me with the idea of creating a choral survey of the queer history of much of the East Coast, using nautical imagery to evoke feelings of disorientation and distance, I was both excited and curious as to how she’d bring something so ambitious to life within the time limit we set for Competition pieces. When she turned in the first draft a month or so later, I recognized her gift for translating nuance into music. The text she’s created is a collection of original text and direct quotes from queer artists and activists from the East Coast. The result is a piece that beautifully captures both the ambiguity of the sea, as well as the longing lack of belonging that queer folks can feel as they seek to claim their place in the world and their own right to be themselves.

In a school paper that Jadie wrote documenting the genesis of the piece, she states: “Beyond its musical and historical ambitions, this composition is an act of personal reclamation. It is a way to engage with the queer histories that have shaped me and to foster my mission of giving voice to experiences that have been largely absent from classical spaces. Creating this work, I have discovered a deeper sense of belonging and connection to the LGBTQ+ community through my ancestors. When the YNYC Treble Ensemble premieres “My Spirit Sings” in 2025, I hope that it will build bridges between historical narratives and present-day experiences, between aesthetics of classical and contemporary music, and between listeners of all identities. Ultimately, I hope it will inspire the audience to explore their own histories and identities, and to contribute to the ongoing conversation about the intersections of music, culture, and liberation for all.”

A monster in human shape,
moving from son, to child, to daughter,
longing for liberation.
Find her, hold her, keep her close
Creature, carry to the coast.
Sing of life, of, love, of peace.

And that night I heard the waters
roll slowly up the shores,
the hissing rustle of liquid and sands–
and that night I was happy.

Oh Coast, my ghost is called to you.
My spirit sings of sea, of salt, of sun rippling on water,
on waves, on waves, rippling on water.

Monster in my shape,
Longing for life, for love, for liberty.
Find her, hold her, keep her close.
Creature, carry to the coast.
Sing of life, of, love, of peace.

Tis true that I love you too much,
the Beloved of my heart.
Angel of the Waters,
call to me.

And that night I heard the waters
roll slowly up the shores,
the hissing rustle of liquid and sands–
and that night I was happy.

Oh Coast, my ghost is called to you.
My spirit sings of sea, of salt, of sun rippling on water,
on waves, on waves, rippling on water.

[Monsters] are not the enemies of the people.
We are all here;
We are everywhere!

And that night I heard the waters
roll slowly up the shores,
the hissing rustle of liquid and sands
and that night I was happy.

Oh Coast, my ghost is called to you.
My spirit sings of sea, of salt, of sun rippling on water,
of sea, of salt, of sun, of sky, of life, of love, of peace.

Earth Song

Music & Text by Frank Ticheli

“Earth Song” has become a staple in modern choral repertoire, and as such I’ve continued an off-and-on tradition of programming the same piece in different voices for both the Mixed and Treble Ensembles; the Mixed Ensemble just performed this piece last weekend.

The SSAA setting contains much of the same material as the SATB version, though there is a sense of weightlessness to it when compared to the rather “earthy” quality that the mixed version contains. The soprano 1s are the stars of the show with soaring lines, which requires the other voice parts to adjust their own balance to be heard. My favorite moment in the piece is one of the few changes Ticheli makes for the treble arrangement — a single G natural held over three bars at the very end, creating a bridge of sound between two G major chords that give the piece a great sense of finality.

Sing, Be, Live, See…

This dark stormy hour,
The wind, it stirs.
The scorched earth
cries out in vain:

O war and power,
You blind and blur,
The torn heart
cries out in pain.

But music and singing
Have been my refuge,
And music and singing
Shall be my light.

A light of song
Shining strong: Allelulia!
Through darkness, pain, and strife, I’ll
Sing, Be, Live, See…

Peace.

Where Do The Roads Go?

Music by Sally Lamb McCune
Text by Louise McNeill

From Sally: When reading "Where Do the Roads Go?" alongside this striking quote by McNeill, I could readily imagine the deep sense of longing and wonder that must have come from a girl of sixteen living an isolated life in the hills. The thought of roads "coming" sounded so extreme to someone like me, born and raised in "Motor City" in the 1960s. I fell in love with the poem immediately and the music seemed to write itself.

Where do the roads go, 
The ruined country roads flow, 
fern-clogged and weed-bogged, 
wandering the hills, 
nowhere, nowhere that I know, 
by shad-blow and fence-row,
by the woods where lilacs grow,
by rotted sills. 

What can a road feel? 
How can the sorrow heal? 
Sole mark and wagon wheel 
passing through the day,
grain load and apple load 
creaking down the hilly road, 
all of the life that flowed 
now gone away. 

Where do the roads wind? 
What did they go to find, 
crossing on the mountain tops and meeting by the shores, 
swamp-locked and briar blocked, 
searching for the rib-rocked men of mountain stock, 
by their empty doors, 
frost-pocked and bur-docked. 

Winding through the passes, 
where the dying chestnut trees 
reach their shriveled arms,
thorn crossed and time lost, 
through the tangled grasses, 
all the little country roads, 
searching for the farms. 
Where do the roads go? 

Under the city

Music & Text by Courage Barda

From Courage: “Under the city” was composed for the Young New Yorkers’ Chorus in the winter of 2024-25 for the final round of their annual Competition for Young Composers. Inspired by a recent visit to New York City, I wrote and set a text about the city ’s subway—a place which I find especially charming since I’ve never lived in a city with one. The subway offers a unique sonic experience, one that’s both invigorating and soothing. Musically, my goal was to extract the essence of the subway ’s sounds, rather than fully imitate them. Though, I borrow the familiar C-sharp to A “ding dong” of the closing doors and imitate the clicking of the tracks with the singers’ tapping of their sides. The chorus sings “ooh”s and “ah”s, providing the subway ’s ambient noise, while a soprano soloist continues the poem’s text. I’ve used quartal harmonies and modal mixture to build anticipation of the piece’s climax, which helps reframe the opening piano motif as the piece ends. I was inspired by William Carlos Williams’ poem “To a poor old woman.” The woman in “Under the city,” like the woman in Williams' poem, finds meaning in the smallness of everyday life. Her experience of riding the subway “feels good to her,” as it did when she was a young girl.

Under the city,
an old woman sits
in a crowded subway car.

The doors shut,
the train leaves, and
she closes her eyes
to remember
the little girl
who sat there years ago
on her way to school.

Suddenly, she is six.
She’s there, on the subway, for
the very first time—
her tennis shoes
swinging and kicking
a foot above the floor,
her freckled face
watching and smiling at
the men in hats and suits.

Then, the doors shut,
the train left,
and her body was
cradled by the rhythms
of the metro sound.

The train whirred,
and whistled. It
clicked and clanged
and rattled and rang; it
screamed and sang; it
nagged and neighed —
it roared!

The woman smiles.
A steady hum surrounds her.
Her grocery bag
sways between her knees.

Under the city,
an old woman sits
in a crowded subway car.

And it feels good to her,
it felt good.

The Answer

Music by Matthew Lyon Hazzard
Text by Sara Teasdale

Matt is a dear personal friend and a great friend of YNYC; he was our 2021-2022 Competition winner, and since then we’ve performed many of his works. His one-sentence note about “The Answer” states that “the deepest sorrow opens us to the greatest joy.” This point in the program marks the most sobering of parts of our story — we will all return to the Earth one day. Instead of fearing and avoiding the inevitable, we can make the choice to turn towards the gift of living, “[finding] more sorrow than [we can] find in joy.”

When I go back to earth
And all my joyous body
Puts off the red and white
That once had been so proud,
If men should pass above
With false and feeble pity,
My dust will find a voice
To answer them aloud:

“Be still, I am content,
Take back your poor compassion—
Joy was a flame in me
Too steady to destroy.
Lithe as a bending reed
Loving the storm that sways her—
I found more joy in sorrow
Than you could find in joy.”

The Painter on Silk

Music by Sam Wu
Text by Amy Lowell

In November, Sam and I met in a Blue Bottle Coffee in Williamsburg to talk through ideas for his piece. He offered a few solid starting points, and I was excited to see what he came up with. A few weeks later, he shared this Amy Lowell text with me, and I was immediately drawn to how devastating it was. Lowell, a queer poet who lived in Boston at the turn of the 20th century, tells a story of the futility and ignorance of man in the face of conflict that will, inevitably, affect us all, whether we like it or not. Sam’s setting balances the beauty and joy of creating art with the foreboding nature of war, gradually introducing disruptive phrasing and extended techniques that give way to new, pointed material. The piece ends with music that depicts a thread of silk, broken and broken over and over again, as the now old man lay dying.

There was a man
Who made his living
By painting roses
Upon silk.

He sat in an upper chamber
And painted,
And the noises of the street
Meant nothing to him.

When he heard bugles, and fifes, and drums,
He thought of red, and yellow, and white roses
Bursting in the sunshine,
And smiled as he worked.

When he could get no more silk,
He stopped painting
And only thought of roses.

The day the conquerors
Entered the city
The old man
Lay dying.
And wished he could paint the roses
Bursting into sound.

Spring Shall Bloom

Music by Susan LaBarr
Text by Christina Rossetti

From Emily: Spring Shall Bloom, composed by Susan LaBarr with text by Christina Rossetti, was commissioned by the 2014 ACDA Women’s Choir Commission Consortium and written in honor of the composer’s mother. Rossetti’s poetry speaks to the cyclical nature of life—of sorrow giving way to renewal, and of hope quietly emerging through hardship. LaBarr’s sensitive setting invites listeners into a space of reflection, offering comfort and reassurance that, even in the midst of grief or struggle, beauty and growth remain possible. This piece encourages us to consider the seasons of our own lives and to trust in the promise that spring will indeed return.

It is over. 
What is over? 
It is over. 
What is over? 
Nay, how much is over truly 
Harvest days we toiled to sow for; 
now the sheaves are gathered newly 
now the wheat is gathered duly
It is over. 
It is over. 

It is finished. 
What is finished? 
Much is finished known or unknown: 
Lives are finished; 
Time diminished; 
Was the fallow field left unsown?
Will these buds be always unblown? 
It is over. 
It is over. 

It suffices. 
What suffices? 
All suffices reckoned rightly: 
Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, 
Roses make the bramble slightly, 
And the quickening sunshine brightly, 
And the latter wind blow lightly,
And my garden teem with spices. 

Light of a Clear Blue Morning

Words and Music by Dolly Parton
Arranged by Craig Hella Johnson and Richard Gabrillo

The score’s program note states that “Craig Hella Johnson's a cappella setting of Dolly Parton's Light of a Clear Blue Morning is infused with light and hopefulness as it opens with a solo soprano and gradually builds to a joyful overflowing of sound and vocal texture, then gently relaxes into a reflective conclusion.”

The piece actually has a rather complicated background. Dolly Parton wrote it after separating from her longtime musical partner and manager, and the next few years were full of drama and legal action. She’s described it as her "song of deliverance” as she gained more clarity around her life and career.

It’s been a long dark night,
and I’ve been waiting for the morning.
It’s been a long hard fight,
but I see a brand new day adawning.

I’ve been looking for the sunshine
cause I ain’t seen it in so long.
Ev’rything‘s gonna work out fine.
Ev’rything‘s gonna be all right,
it’s gonna be okay.

I can see the light of a clear blue morning.
I can see the light of a brand new day.
I can see the light of a clear blue morning.
Ev’rything’s gonna be all right, it’s gonna be okay. 

To the flowers that spring

Music by Rachel DeVore Fogarty
Text by Babette Deutsch, from “Gardens”

This piece was one of the first that I commissioned during my time with YNYC, and was a gift from Rachel to the Treble Ensemble. Rachel is a master at composing for treble choir, and this piece in particular shows off her ability to create a wide sonic tapestry using mostly the tessitura, or “comfort zone”, of treble voices, only occasionally tapping into the extremes of ranges. Rachel is able to capture the beauty of flowers and contrast it with the “passionless” nature of humanity, as we “[crush] the young grass.” While the poem ends highlighting our nature to turn towards the flowers, Rachel ends with the text “Imperishably bright”, which changes how one could read the program entirely.

Into the dropping sun as into a warm flower
The strong sun breaks.
Petals on glowing petals shower
In gorgeous rain,
Crimsoning windows, dyeing the passionless city
With wild pomegranate stain.
The tropic hour
Fades slowly,
Slowly the evening flower
Puts forth its luminous blues and lucent jades,
Opening only to withdraw and close
Before the unfolding of night’s velvet rose,
Trembling with starry dews.
Gold is the scentless garden of the sky,
Imperishably bright.
Yet we who lie under its glory, crushing the young grass,
Turn from it, as from beauty in a glass,
To the flowers that spring near us, that will die.