Ascenders - Main Theme

🍏 The Smell Of Apple Pie
A canon in the spirit of Bach — yet deeply personal.

The piano begins quietly, a melody like the first sunlight on dusty windowpanes, a thought born from the morning's dream. Gradually, cello, clarinet, and oboe join in — as if memories themselves were making music from old diaries. Their voices float, circle, intertwine like wind through grain fields, like light dancing on water, finely woven, like autumn threads in a web spun by time.

The music doesn't grow louder — it grows deeper, like a tree rising from the soil of remembrance. Each note breathes — a whisper of childhood, a longing wrapped in golden sound. The choir rises, clear and luminous, like voices drawn from the heart’s core. It carries the listener through time and space until the orchestra shapes the finale — not a fanfare, but a homecoming: chords like open arms, a sound that embraces rather than calls, like the moment a familiar door swings open and the scent of apple pie says: “Welcome home.”

A musical memory — of warmth, of light, of the quiet glow of days long past.

The Smell Of Apple Pie

"The House at the End of the Street" - A place that waits — not loudly, but with shadows.

You turn the final corner, and there it stands: The house that once held everything. But now it feels different — larger, quieter, unfamiliar.

The windows no longer greet like old friends — they watch. The door still knows your footsteps, but it doesn’t ask if you’ve come to stay.

The music speaks of childhood, but also of what has changed. Of voices that have fallen silent, of rooms that carry memories — not only bright ones, but those long left untouched.

This piece isn’t a homecoming, but a return to what was left unsaid. A sound that wanders between light and darkness. A house that remains — even after you’ve long gone.

The House At The End Of The Street

“Along the Old Railway Line”
A quiet path that holds more than footsteps – it keeps the echo of a first love.

The tracks lie still, yet deep within, something moves. Where once two shadows walked in harmony, a trace remains – barely visible, yet deeply felt.

The laughter of those days still drifts through the trees. And even when silence took its place, a soft hope remained:
That one day, those familiar footsteps might return.
Perhaps hesitant, perhaps smiling.

This music doesn’t speak of endings, but of waiting with the heart.
Of walking not from habit – but in faith that love sometimes finds its way back.

Along The Old Railway Line

"Rooms in the Light of the Setting Sun" - A house that speaks in silence — each room holding its own story.

You walk through slowly, room by room. The sun is sinking, and its final rays pour in, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Dust dances in the light, shadows stretch gently across the floor. Time seems to pause — not out of weariness, but in quiet awe.

The piano offers its first notes, the oboe breathes a final thought, violin and cello carry the light from space to space — like whispers moving through walls.

And then, at the end: The choir rises. Not in triumph, but like the last beam of sunlight binding everything together. A sound that lingers, long after the light has faded.

Rooms In The Light Of The Setting Sun

"Voices Echo Softly"

It is time to leave. The long corridor stretches before you — silent, patient, filled with echoes. The air is warm from the day, but the shadows are cool and familiar.

Rooms line the path, like chapters in a book you’ve read long ago, but never fully understood. Each holds its own whisper, its own light, its own silence.

The voices of the past are not loud, but they are present. They rise from the walls, from the floor, from the light slipping through the cracks. They walk with you, like shadows made of light, like thoughts that refuse to fade.

You move slowly, not from weariness, but from respect. Each step touches a memory, and every wall holds a piece of your story. Sometimes you pause — not to linger, but to listen.

At the end of the corridor, the echo fades. It grows quiet, like a song forgetting itself. But it remains — not in the walls, but within you. And you walk on, with voices that have become part of your silence.

Voices Echo Softly

"Aunt Eleanor’s Room" - A space that answers softly — to a story once thought to be without a home.

The door opens slowly. Dust dances in the light filtering through old curtains. Every object seems to speak — of days long gone, of voices that once laughed, of dreams that never fully disappeared.

This music doesn’t speak loudly — it whispers. It brushes past porcelain, books, and faded photographs. It remembers a time that stands still — not out of neglect, but out of love.

This piece is a quiet reply. Not a contrast, but a continuation. A sound that says: Even those who seemed forgotten left traces. And sometimes, a single room is enough to know someone truly lived.

Aunt Eleanor's Room

"Back Home" - A path not new — yet it feels different.

With every step, something returns: A scent, a sound, a glimpse of days long past. The landscape drifts by, but it’s the memories that move. Joy is present — yet tinged with the colors of yesterday.

Voices once familiar echo softly. Places seem smaller, but larger in the heart. The music follows this inner film — not loud, but with the tenderness only memory knows.

This homecoming isn’t just a destination. It’s a reunion with what was, with what remained, and with the part of us that never truly left.

Back Home

"Fading Memories" - They no longer arrive in color, but in light and shadow. Not loud, not clear — just a breath that settles on the soul.

You look back and feel the images dissolve. Faces blur, voices lose their edges. Yet the heart still knows them.

There is no pain anymore, only a gentle pull, like wind brushing through old doors. And within that pull lies peace. Not because you’ve forgotten, but because you’ve learned to let go.

Fading Memories

As Wolf Hagen, I compose music for the silence between the notes. Drawing from the tradition of great masters like Bach and Pachelbel, I find inspiration to weave baroque clarity with the emotional complexity of our time.
The interplay of piano and cello stands at the heart of my work – two voices that complement, challenge, and exist in harmonic tension with each other. I add orchestral elements with care, never to dominate, but to open spaces: for reflection, for stillness, for those precious moments of pause.
My compositions are not statements, but invitations – to discover hidden emotions, to find quiet in a noisy world.

New tracks tagged #Programmatic Music