During the three years I lived with my dear friend and colleague Andrew Davidson, I lost count of the number of times he asked me to write a brass quintet. Composing for brass has never been particularly easy or natural for me (see my utter disaster/postmodern masterpiece for tuba and fixed media entitled Inland Empire), but I’ve always appreciated the warmth of an extended chord spread among the trumpets, a soaring horn line, the stately grandeur of low brass. While I had no immediate plans to write a work for brass, I knew when I inevitably did, the piece would take the shape of a chorale or a processional. Mysterium Aeternum (Or, The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All) is both, as well as a sort of liturgy.

I am generally reserved about my spiritual and cosmological beliefs, largely because I don’t believe they can be effectively communicated through language. Mysterium Aeternum is my statement on the divine and the supernatural. While I can’t express everything it represents here, I’ll give what context I can: Mysterium Aeternum translates to “Eternal Mystery.” There is an ever-present sense of almost, exemplified by the rising Db lydian scales in the bass that always fall back to the low Db from the leading tone. A mystery we all yearn to solve, but never will in this life. The subtitle is a reference to Laird Barron’s 2013 horror collection The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All. The only path to solving the mystery is death, and that is frightening. But I believe the answer is, indeed, a beautiful thing that awaits us all.

The general tone and temperature of the piece took shape in my mind in 2024, during a period of time where I became quite entrenched in two particular string works: Elgar’s “Nimrod” from the Enigma Variations, and Thomas Adés’ “O Albion” from Arcadiana. Both works are essentially a barrage of some of the most beautiful melodic and harmonic writing ever written, and I found myself compelled to write something similar in tone, but unmistakably me. I began writing the work for brass quintet - pretty chords and lots of suspensions, it was a no-brainer. But as it took shape, it also became a no-brainer to do a version for strings… and then a version for organ… and then for clarinet choir. A vocal arrangement is inevitable as well, once I find the right text setting. I embraced the flexible instrumentation, and decided to put each version out alongside one another, none “truer” than any other.

Note: Each version has a different dedication, but the work overall is dedicated to Julia Martinez, one of the kindest, brightest, most generous people I have ever had the joy to know. I feel your light in the cosmos, dear Julia, and I am just one of countless people whose lives you touched in your time on Earth.