Rick Sowash, composer,
one time administrator (he claims to
be "the only American composer
of concert music ever elected to public
office"), broadcaster, theatre
manager, innkeeper (they still have
them in Ohio apparently; where I am
the King’s Arms has turned into the
Dog and Firkin, has a juke box and sells
wine) and is also a professional speaker
and humorist. I’ve reviewed music by
him before and was keen to renew acquaintance.
Anecdotes and Reflections
for violin, clarinet, cello and piano
was written to celebrate the life of
a founding member of Chamber Music in
Yellow Springs, Inc – it’s a memorial
piece or better and more accurately,
a commemorative piece and the way in
which Sowash describes Louise Betcher
might equally apply to him – "a
lively sense of humor and a broad range
of interests." It’s a Concertino
in six movements, variously fast and
slow, lasting some forty minutes. What
does one hear? Klezmer mixed with a
1960s pop song on the clarinet, delightful
interplay between violin and cello,
a snatch of Loch Lomond in Klezmer style
and chordal swing – all in the first
movement. There’s mildly bluesy vamping
in the second, suffused with Gershwinesque
melody, the violin growing increasing
blue as the movement develops and in
the fast third movement there’s plenty
of syncopation and mercurial drive,
studded with delightful little moments
of lyricism, pockets of refraction.
The Larghetto is sweet but not sentimental
– reflective but certainly not sombre.
The Lento is a sort of Pavane (he has
shown his affinities with older forms
elsewhere in his compositions). For
a moment it opens out into a fluorescent
pop tune, enjoys the fun, and withdraws
once again. And then there’s the mocking
March – sort of Walton meets Weill or
Johann Strauss meets a mellow Sousa.
Street Suite (not a
title to be abjured by a wordsmith humorist
like Sowash) celebrates ten streets
in the town where he grew up. Short
and pithy these are urban character
studies from the bustle of Park Avenue
West to the Haydnesque delicacy and
rococo charm of Davis Road to the Renaissance
sonorities of West Second Street. Finally
there is Daweswood where Sowash was
once artist-in-residence. Here, unfettered,
he gives rein to his lyrical gift (the
second movement The Blossom is a particularly
fine example). He also explores the
warm spring of The Bud and the sparky
tang of The Berry in the third and final
movement with its hymnal quality preserved.
Splendid performances
from the Mirecourt Trio and Craig Olzenak
cap another delightful example of Sowash’s
art. He has a happy knack of bringing
energy and life to his music-making,
of infusing it with delight and seemingly
bringing to it his own enthusiasms and
generosity. As if this wasn’t enough
he seems to have passed on his humorous
genes to his daughter, Shenandoah, aged
nine, whose delicious drawing you can
see on the cover.
Jonathan Woolf