Details:

Instrumentation:
Trio version: violin, cello, piano
Chamber orchestra version:

Duration: 30 minutes

Premiere: April 2021
Performed by Rebecca Keteltas, mezzo-soprano; Hannah Ulatowski, violin; Russell Scaife, cello; Christopher Vuong, piano
Tulane University
New Orleans, LA

Sections:

1. Prelude
2. New Love
3. Interlude A
4. Intertwining
5. Interlude B
6. We Grow Without Edges
7. Interlude C
8. Something is Wavering
9. Interlude D
10. You Are Two People
11. Interlude E
12. I’ve Come To Resent Me
13. Interlude F
14. Hell Over Numbness
15. Interlude G
16. If I Am To Be Celestial
17. Interlude H 18. At The Very Bottom
19. Chapped Lips

Composer’s note:

I always wanted to write a song cycle, and when I learned that my (now former) student Derby Belser was a poet, I asked her to collaborate with me on creating one, and I am very happy that she agreed. I was always fascinated with Robert Schumann’s Dichterliebe (“Poet’s Love”) and Frauenliebe und -leben (“Woman’s Love and Life”), each of which tells a story from the point of a protagonist, and I thought that using one of them as a model while expressing a modern point of view and modern outlook on life would be the way to go. After several months of work, Falling… was completed.

The general storyline of Falling…  loosely follows Frauenliebe und -leben, which started its existence as a cycle of poems by a German poet of French origin Adelbert von Chamisso. Besides Schumann, it was set to music by several more composers, but Schumann’s version reigns supreme. The Schumann/Chamisso cycle, while a masterpiece, presents a Romantic outlook on love—namely, if only the two lovers could be together, their life would be blissful, and the only obstacles to happiness are separation and, ultimately, death. In our work, while following the general arc of the Chamisso story (beginning of the affair, its blossoming, its end, all narrated from the point of view of the woman), we sought to update its sensibilities to the modern age, recognizing that, in reality, the obstacles to happiness in a relationship are as, if not more likely to be internal than external. Thus, Falling... became a story of an abusive relationship, told from the point of view of an abused woman.

At some point, I came across the short film by David Paul named Poetlove, which is a movie version of the other Schumann’s song cycle, Dichterliebe, and it occurred to me that Falling… would also naturally lend itself to being staged. I suggested the idea to my friend and colleague Amy Pfrimmer, the head of Tulane Opera Workshop and I was very happy when she took on the project. To make it more operatic, I then augmented the scoring of the piece to a piano trio (originally there was only piano accompaniment) and added interludes between the songs, thus creating a new version of a piece that is a proper monodrama.

Falling… was completed in the midst of the pandemic and hopes of a public performance were dim at the time. However, as the pandemic restrictions started being eased, this trio-accompanied version was premiered in April 2021, in the courtyard of the Dixon Hall, Tulane’s music building. It is interesting that that courtyard was designed with the idea that performances would take place there, but our production was the first thing staged there in the decades of its existence.

Two years later, I orchestrated the piece for a chamber orchestra and conducted its premiere at Marigny Opera House with Amy Pfrimmer now as a soloist as well as the director, and New Orleans Chamber Orchestra.

Text:

Falling…

by Derby Belser

I.    

I forgot that eyes could share so much 
I forgot that I’d ever be curious about another’s touch 
I have forgotten how love starts.    

If only everyone in this room knew
It was just me and you.    

I see you, and I think I see God. 
I see you, and I know that I’ve known you before—Regardless of our past lives’ lot, 
I see you, and I know
in this life, you will be mine.  

II.    

Intertwining proved easy,
every single line seemed to align 
just as soon as you became mine, 
and I, yours,    

I, yours,
and I am yours 
my mind is yours—filled with nothing but you, 
my body is yours—wanting nothing but you, 
and, intertwined,
love proves easy. 

III.    

We grow without edges, 
and suddenly I know what it means
to want to be one’s everything. 
Am I losing myself in you?    

Branches slightly unsteady, 
I bow down,
a newly submissive queen,
surrendering to hold your legacy.

Yet— 
My hesitation disappears
when I meet 
this new being
that is both you and me— 
she has your eyes, and I fall all over again.

IV.    

I inhale at the shock of rain:

A laugh a bit too dissonant 
A smile a bit too forced 
A hold a bit too tight  

And exhale, just the same 
Awaiting the rainbow's arrival.   

V.    

My love, something’s wavering 
and I fear I can no longer 
regain my balance.    

Something is no longer right, 
you bring shadows
only you can invite, 
out of both of us.    

What do you do when your love is a liar? 
promises coming undone, and your undoing 
is doing a number on me.       

VI.   

You are two people 
One knows kindness and softness
and the gentle turning of pages 
of a book I wish I still had.    

One knows silence— 
Mine, as he speaks in capital letters, 
crowding our space with everything about me 
that he hates. 

He wages riots when I forget to read his mind.
This one knows violence,
but he says he loves me: 
a lie perpetuated by both sides.    

Yet, when you sleep
pressed against me, 
both sides surrendering to fatigue, 
I dream that the man with whom I fell in love 
will be the one to wake up.

VII.    

I’ve come to resent me,
which is cause enough to despise you, 
I’ve come to resent me,
for not seeing all of you.

I live in fear of your body, 
wondering if I ever had your heart
and if I’ll ever have it back.    

They ask me why I stay,
as they see no walls, no chains, 
but those untouched by dark
don’t have the same night vision;    

and here, when the sun falls, 
there are walls and chains everywhere—    
one of them cries
and shares his name.    

VIII.    

Given grace and given teeth, 
I lean against the body I can feel 
Once again choosing touching hell over numbness.    

Every night you remind me of for whom I fall: 
you and gravity, 
as you keep stripping the floors from beneath my feet. 

I have become so familiar with the edge 
that I have made the arches of my feet
fulcrums finessing balance
between you and everything
I used to be.   

IX.    

If I am to be celestial, 
then I can no longer live within the gaze of a galaxy
bent on my implosion

For you are to make me lunar, 
circling a mass while you search the sky
for other cyclical victims.    

To love once 
a hand attached to a body attached to a spirit 
subject to gravity 
is to lose once 
a mind, a heart, and a self, 
once mine,
twice yours, 
now, no one’s.  

X.    

At the very bottom of the bathtub,
I hold counsel with myself 
unfolding my fingertips
and tracing mortality on my palms,

I say “this is not your fault” 
uncovering my eyes and seeing 
that I adopted blindness,

I say “it’s time” 
forcing myself to remember 
that the woman below the waterline 
and the woman still breathing 
are the same.  

They realign
as I break the surface, 
rise to my well-worn feet, 
secure my baby’s story, 
and finally choose me.  

XI.    

Chapped lips sapped soul 
I take inventory 
of the calluses and the shards,
trying to see 
which parts belong
and which parts 
were never mine.    

I’m reminded of the Universe
as I begin to recognize myself in every face I pass
I’m reminded of Gothic pillars
as I root where I’m planted,
not yet dancing,
but nevermore drowning.    

I’m reminded of Love
as I brush my own wrist
with fingers newly landscaped by nothing. 
And I’m reminded of Light
as I hold the face of my guardian angel,
who happens to have my smile.    

Chapped lips sapped soul 
I’m reminded by Love
of everything I was, 
and she comes home.