Slipping Silver Gears is more of a castle than a clock, but nevertheless is a machine whose stomach is filled with rhythmic ticking. In the opening, the piano, guitar, and double bass lead a rhythmic idea. As it develops, the flute and bass clarinet make an attempt at agency but can never quite break free from the texture. When they finally do manage to break free from the texture, we reach the second section and this castle’s first of two towers: a short burst of energetic music reminiscent of a video game. This quickly dissipates into the piece’s central section, a series of funky pseudo-canons over a prepared piano ostinato. Although initially the lines have an odd disconnect from each other, they’re all still part of this larger machine, and the strings try to take control, building to the castle’s second tower. Finally we end with a slow four-part counterpoint led by the winds, and the pulse finally threatens to slip.

Recorded by the NOW Ensemble

Slipping Silver Gears

A City Wakes stands as an overture to a piece that doesn’t actually exist, one that probably will never exist. A rise in density and unique streams pushes to a point of incomprehensibility, after which it suddenly dissolves back into the original, almost constantly sounding motif, a cadence in texture but nothing else. Now that the city (the orchestra?) has risen, what will it do next? Probably nothing good.

This recording is from a reading of the piece by a subset of Lamont's musicians, conducted by Blake Nawa'a.

A City Wakes

Performed by Artur Korotin, Alexandra Kagan, Valerie Reives, and Alma Engebretson.

This quartet is dedicated to friends lost.

   and in the beginning...
four friends whole
      begin to dance
one adds their voice
         a predicted loss
one now falls away
      the rest upset
three friends unsure
   but share one’s voice...

This work contains quotations from Henry Purcell.

String Quartet: VI. From Life (Ritornello)

String Quartet: V. Soliloquy

String Quartet: IV. The Life (Ritornello)

String Quartet: III. Dance

String Quartet: II. To Life (Ritornello)

String Quartet: I. Foundations

Stability for Wind Ensemble

I.
Traffic.
Stopped.
Walking by lines of cars at 9 PM.
If I break the silence someone might die. 

II.
To avoid back pain and/or injury when lifting things, make sure you lift with your legs. Bend at the knees and tighten the muscles in your stomach area. The rest of your body will become an iron rod, your knees an engine. Your bent legs are full of some indescribable, emergent power, a potential energy to be expressed through other objects, movement, violence, sound.

III.
Most nights I drift to sleep to the voice of a man rumbling in Spanish from the other side of the wall. Not sure if he’s on my floor or the floor above. Sometimes I think he’s below me, but there’s no floor beneath me so chances are that’s not the case. Sometimes he sounds like he’s crouching outside my window, lips pressed into the brick. Not sure who he’s talking to every night. I never hear a second voice and there’s rarely a break in the speech, just enough to breathe. Dunno what he’s saying, it’s too muffled, I just recognize certain sounds and maybe a single, exposed word every now and then. Just a chill, monotone drone. It’s disconcerting at times. Good night and an incomplete poem. Perhaps if I could step through whatever part of the building separates us, I could hear the rest.

Voice contains quotations from Haydn's second cello concerto.

Niederberger: Three Pleas for Solo Piano

Voice

Stability

Alone

There’s a trend in media (also reflected in the real world) of grief being a one-way pathway from childhood to maturity. I find this maturity often isn’t some sort of legitimate emotional growth, but instead a mask the person wears as a sort of protective and performative act. Triptych No. 3’s first movement, “Morning Play,” explores play and childish joy with exciting lines and chromatic exploration. “Funeral for a Doll” follows the process of grief and a sense of maturity, reflected by the change of instruments and the adoption of a more formal style. “Performative Maturity - Youthful, Unburdened” critiques that formal style, and suggests the joy and fun found in childhood does not need to be abandoned in order to fit into the adult world.

III. Performative Maturity - Youthful, Unburdened

II. Funeral For A Doll

I. Morning Play

Called “self-deprecating” and “snarky” yet “versatile” with music that’s considered “eclectic but still cohesive” and “able to go from funny or whimsical to serious without being compromised” by people whose opinions mean just as much as any legitimate critic, Alex Niederberger is a Denver and Kansas City based composer who attempts to blend artistic expression and exploration with elements of accessibility.
 
Alex loves being asked to write music, as it allows for a collaborative relationship between the performers and the composer, often leading to pieces that are gratifying both to play and to listen to. Plus it makes him feel cherished. Through projects like this, he’s had the opportunity of working with Some Assembly Required (Dance Suite for Wind Trio), string duo Sarah Wilkinson and Kelcey Howell (Triptych for Viola and Cello), and the Lamont Symphony Orchestra (Veractus, Approaching Unity) among others. Occasionally people realize how bomb his music is, notably a 2018 performance of Triptych in Nagoya, Japan and the same piece’s inclusion in the Playground Ensemble’s twelfth Colorado Composer’s Concert.
 
Outside of art music, Alex composes for fun and for his friends; writing music for video games, D&D adventures, podcasts, and films. In the future he hopes to eat regularly, whether that’s through composition, teaching, or the pity of strangers. Alex studies with William Hill, Leanna Kirchoff, and others at the Lamont School of Music.

niederbergermusic

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