Dan Welcher

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I. Everglades ("River of Grass")|II. Great Smoky Mountains|III. Acadia
Ever since the success of my series of wind ensemble works "Places in the West", I've been wanting to write a companion piecefor national parks on the other side of the north American continent. The earlier work, consisting of GLACIER, THEYELLOWSTONE FIRES, ARCHES, and ZION, spanned some twenty years of my composing life, and since the pieces calledfor differing groups of instruments, and were in slightly different styles from each other, I never considered them to be"connected" except in their subject matter. In their depiction of both the scenery and the human history within these wondrousplaces, they had a common goal: awaking the listener to the fragile beauty that is in them; and calling attention to the ever morecrucial need for preservation and protection of these wild places, unique in all the world.With this new work, commissioned by a consortium of college and conservatory wind ensembles led by the University ofGeorgia, I decided to build upon that same model---but to solidify the process. The result, consisting of three movements (eachnamed for a different national park in the eastern US), is a bona-fide symphony. While the three pieces could be performedseparately, they share a musical theme---and also a common style and instrumentation. It is a true symphony, in that the firstmovement is long and expository, the second is a rather tightly structured scherzo-with-trio, and the finale is a true culminationof the whole.The first movement, "Everglades", was the original inspiration for the entire symphony. Conceived over the course of two tripsto that astonishing place (which the native Americans called "River of Grass", the subtitle of this movement), this movement notonly conveys a sense of the humid, lush, and even frightening scenery there---but also an overview of the entire settling-of-Florida experience. It contains not one, but two native American chants, and also presents a view of the staggering influence ofmodern man on this fragile part of the world. Beginning with a slow unfolding marked "Heavy, humid", the music soon presentsa gentle, lyrical theme in the solo alto saxophone. This theme, which goes through three expansive phrases with breaks inbetween, will appear in all three movements of the symphony. After the mood has been established, the music opens up to arich, warm setting of a Cherokee "morning song", with the simple happiness that this part of Florida must have had prior to thenineteenth century. This music, enveloping and comforting, gradually gives way to a more frenetic, driven section representativeof the intrusion of the white man. Since Florida was populated and developed largely due to the introduction of a train system,there's a suggestion of the mechanized iron horse driving straight into the heartland. At that point, the native Americans becomeconsiderably less gentle, and a second chant seems to stand in the way of the intruder; a kind of "warning song". The second partof this movement shows us the great swampy center of the peninsula, with its wildlife both in and out of the water. A new themeappears, sad but noble, suggesting that this land is precious and must be protected by all the people who inhabit it. At length, the"morning song" reappears in all its splendor, until the sunset---with one last iteration of the "warning song" in the solo piccolo.Functioning as a scherzo, the second movement, "Great Smoky Mountains", describes not just that huge park itself, but onebrave soul's attempt to climb a mountain there. It begins with three iterations of the UR-theme (which began the first movementas well), but this time as up-tempo brass fanfares in octaves. Each time it begins again, the theme is a little slower and lessconfident than the previous time---almost as though the hiker were becoming aware of the daunting mountain before him. Butthen, a steady, quick-pulsed ostinato appears, in a constantly shifting meter system of 2/4- 3/4 in alteration, and the hike hasbegun. Over this, a slower new melody appears, as the trek up the mountain progresses. It's a big mountain, and the ascentseems to take quite awhile, with little breaks in the hiker's stride, until at length he simply must stop and rest. An oboe solo, overseveral free cadenza-like measures, allows us (and our friend the hiker) to catch our breath, and also to view in the distance therocky peak before us. The goal is somehow even more daunting than at first, being closer and thus more frighteningly steep.When we do push off again, it's at a slower pace, and with more careful attention to our footholds as we trek over broken rocks.Tantalizing little views of the valley at every switchback make our determination even stronger. Finally, we burst through astand of pines and----we're at the summit! The immensity of the view is overwhelming, and ultimately humbling. A brief coda,while we sit dazed on the rocks, ends the movement in a feeling of triumph.The final movement, "Acadia", is also about a trip. In the summer of 2014, I took a sailing trip with a dear friend from NorthHaven, Maine, to the southern coast of Mt. Desert Island in Acadia National Park. The experience left me both exuberant andexhausted, with an appreciation for the ocean that I hadn't had previously. The approach to Acadia National Park by water, too,was thrilling: like the difference between climbing a mountain on foot with riding up on a ski-lift, I felt I'd earned the right to bethere. The music for this movement is entirely based on the opening UR-theme. There's a sense of the water and the mysterious,quiet deep from the very beginning, with seagulls and bell buoys setting the scene. As we leave the harbor, the theme (in acanon between solo euphonium and tuba) almost seems as if large subaquatic animals are observing our departure. There arethree themes (call them A, B and C) in this seafaring journey---but they are all based on the UR theme, in its original form withoctaves displaced, in an upside-down form, and in a backwards version as well. (The ocean, while appearing to be unchanging, isalways changing.) We move out into the main channel (A), passing several islands (B), until we reach the long draw thatparallels the coastline called Eggemoggin Reach, and a sudden burst of new speed (C). Things suddenly stop, as if the wind haddied, and we have a vision: is that really Mt. Desert Island we can see off the port bow, vaguely in the distance? A chorale ofsaxophones seems to suggest that. We push off anew as the chorale ends, and go through all three themes again---but in differentinstrumentations, and different keys. At the final tack-turn, there it is, for real: Mt. Desert Island, big as life. We've made it. Aswe pull into the harbor, where we'll secure the boat for the night, there's a feeling of achievement. Our whale and dolphin friendsreturn, and we end our journey with gratitude and celebration.I am profoundly grateful to Jaclyn Hartenberger, Professor of Conducting at the University of Georgia, for leading theconsortium which provided the commissioning of this work.

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