Wind Orchestra Program

September 26, 2026

Southwestern College Concert Band
Dr. Bruce Mansfield, director

James Newton Howard
(b. 1951)

John Philip Sousa
(1854-1932)

Randall Standridge
(b. 1976)

Grand Canyon Fanfare

Black Horse Troop

Choose Joy

Finest City Wind Orchestra
Dr. Jeff Malecki, director

Duende

  1. Allegro giusto

  2. Animato

  3. Cadenza a piacere, molto sentito - lento evocativo

  4. Tempo di bulería

Soulström

Jodie Blackshaw
(b. 1971)

Luis Serrano Alarcón
(b. 1972)

Ralph Vaughan Williams
(1872-1958)

Michel Legrand
(1932-2019)
arr. Øivind Westbye

Toccata Marziale

Suite from Umbrellas of Cherbourg

Viet Cuong
(b. 1990)

John and Jim

If you received a paper program to our event, you saw that we didn’t list the above information, including the repertoire, in the program itself. Instead, we listed poems or storied inspired by the music, with the hope audiences would disengage a bit with the technical side of the music and think of the story arcs — flirtations, heartbreak, passions, joy — that the music presented in a general sense. A big thank you to our talented authors, Jonathan Singer and Martin Stout, for their creative and heartfelt contributions. The stories are presented below, we hope you enjoy!

Ralph Vaughan Williams was one of the most notable composers to come out of England, along with his good friend and contemporary Gustav Holst. Both composers wrote extensively for symphony orchestra in the late 19th and early 20th century, but also made their mark writing some of the first major original works for military band, now known more as concert band. Vaughan Williams wrote his most famous piece for band, his English Folk Song Suite, in 1923, a relatively simple and lovely setting of several folk songs over three movements. His Toccata Marziale was written the next year in 1924, but was quite the opposite in style. We start with the title itself: “Toccata” comes from the word “touched,” as in touching a keyboard in particular. It references a free, often virtuosic form common in solo organ or harpsichord repertoire from as early as the Baroque period. “Marziale,” however, references a march style, referencing a more stringent and disciplined approach to rhythm in particular. So which is it??

Vaughan Williams tends to trick us a bit here! While the second theme gives way to a lovely folk-like melody evocative of something we’d hear in the Folk Song Suite, a significant majority of the phrases of the piece jump and shift between simple and compound meters, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7s, sometimes juxtaposed on top of each other not quite lined up. Try listening and tapping your foot, here or at home to a fine studio recording like this one by the U.S. Marine Band, “The President’s Own,” and you’ll find it’s tricky to anticipate quite where the beat is coming or going. But then, try watching a conductor, like on stage today or this one on mute with Dr. Michael Haithcock and the Michigan band. You’ll notice the conductor’s job is painfully easy – Vaughan Williams keeps the piece in ¾ time throughout, despite the feel of complex rhythmic shifts. This is due at least in part to Lieutenant H.E. Adkins, who conducted the massed band premiere at an outdoor soccer tournament and preferred a large “floor-wall-ceiling style of music in 3,” common for the time.

Umbrellas of Cherbourg was released in 1964, originally in France and later that year in the United States. It tells the story of Genevieve and Guy, two young lovers whose relationship is disrupted when Guy is drafted into the Algerian War. Regardless of their turmoil, dialogue is completely sung throughout the film to a brilliant score by the composer Michel Legrand. Most of the flirtatious melodies in our medley includes lively swing and bossa nova. “I Will Wait For You,” the film’s signature melancholy ballad, has become a standard in the American songbook, and has been recorded by Louis Armstrong, Frank Sinatra, Gil Evans, Lena Horne, Liza Minnelli, and Jessye Norman.

Director Jacques Demy famously used a visual aesthetic inspired by the French painter Henri Matisse, known for his brilliant and bold use of color. In some of the opening scenes inside the umbrella shop, notice striking pink walls and colorful umbrellas which arguably overtake the characters despite their bright red tops. In Matisse’s painting The Red Studio, the bright Venetian red also overtakes the painting, with the objects seeming almost secondary and scattered, the table and chair even becoming transparent.

Demy also appreciated Matisse’s use of contrasting and even clashing patterns. The variations of pink in the striped wallpaper from the umbrella shop above may be one example, but for an even better example we see a distraught Genevieve in front of an already-busier pink/pink orange wallpaper, next to a contrasted textured purple door and wearing her differently textured red sweater. Compared to Matisse’s painting Interior with an Egyptian Curtain, we can see more of the contrasts in action!

Finally, Demy takes some inspiration from Matisse and uses it to accentuate his own nuances in the story. Matisse’s The Blue Window uses a primarily monotone blue palette, with gold as a secondary color. Demy uses the same monotone technique to evoke the painting; blues for both the interior and exterior, with Genevieve’s blond hair referencing the gold. While Matisse was inspired by a neutral, loving morning with his wife, Demy changes the meaning and leans into blue as a signal for sadness, as Genevieve reads a letter hopeful for good news from her war hero-lover Guy (regretfully, I think this one is just the electric bill).

Jodie Blackshaw grew up in rural Australia and formed a very personal relationship with music early in life through the creative application of her imagination to musical colors and movement. Today, she continues to seek creative experiences through her teaching and composing so students and musicians may enjoy the personal relationship she discovered in her formative years.

These unique colors are apparent from the first sounds of Soulström. Our nailenspiel, over 40 nails suspended by dental floss scattered through the ensemble, layer together to form an alien twinkling for the opening bass clarinet solo, soon to be joined by a free flute solo and muted trumpet trio. These colors all lead up to the first Horn solo, the main melodic material of the piece, beginning with three notes from a descending minor scale and a yearning upward leap, a theme that will continue to weave throughout the exploration colors throughout.

The title of the piece may reference the Swedish “stream,” or a similar German word for “storm,” along with the English “soul.” While it was originally conceived as a piece featuring a narrator who told a dramatic story of an individual adrift in the middle of a storm, searching for their lost love. As the piece was being composed, Blackshaw morphed this idea, abandoning the narrator, and internalizing the protagonist’s loss to the feelings of grief dealing with the loss of her own father.

Most of us associate Flamenco music with Spain, which is true. However, Flamenco isn’t just music, but an art form that bakes together rhythmic patterns, melodic ornamentations, athletic dance, and brilliant dress. Its roots in Southern Spain also make it unique, with significant influence from Muslim North Africans and Sephardic Jews arguably outweighing other European influences. When a Flamenco performer has a rare, transcendent moment, a special spark, almost magical, the Spanish use the term Duende to define the moment. This is the inspiration for Luis Serrano Alarcón’s 4-movement piece.

While the most familiar timbres of Flamenco may be cajón – a box drum usually played from a seated position – and guitar, the first movement is a wild exploration of wind band colors, beginning with double-tongued muted trumpet layered with soft clarinet and low flute. As the tempo quickens, grooves are also explored, largely based on a 3+2 pattern with a few irregular shifts sprinkled throughout. Movement two is quicker and more raucous, almost flirting with rock, jazz, and funk influences, complete with a screaming soprano saxophone solo. The third movement takes a moment to breathe, featuring many solo players in the style of Classical Spanish composers Isaac Albéniz or Joaquín Rodrigo. We’ve chosen to substitute guitar for harp in this movement, giving the piece a special sparkle.

Movement four is tied most closely to Flamenco, specifically the bulería style. The word comes from the Spanish word burlar, meaning “to mock,” also referencing shouting or jest. This references the music’s always-fast, driving rhythm. When starting to do more of a “deep dive” into a style such as this, stop reading this! Go watch and listen to some amazing examples of the real thing. Belén Maya is one of the best female dancers you can find. Look at just these few images and how her body is beautifully almost-contorted, nearly floating at times. Look at the importance of the wrists. Look at not only the bright colors of her dresses, but how the skirts become part of her body in a swift frozen movement. Also note the shoes, with a thick, substantial heel, capable of a strong concrete stomp. Of course, also watch her in action in the video here, along with male dancer Joaquin Grilo, and amazing singers and musicians!

Johann Pachabel was born in 1653 in Germany, the oldest composer on our program by far (hmm…). His Canon in D transcends the Baroque period and became synonymous with the modern wedding for over a generation, becoming popular after the 1981 wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana.

As a young piano student in the 1990s, Viet Cuong knew Pachabel’s famous piece. He would play the famous 8-note bass line, incredibly simple and playable. He would learn the many variations in the right hand, and later improvise additional variations. Later, he would also learn the piece was associated with weddings, which he, a gay boy, would never experience.

In 2015, 36 states allowed same-sex marriage; 14 states did not. John and Jim lived in one of those 14, Ohio, and when John was diagnosed with a fatal ALS diagnosis, the couple decided to travel to a different state to marry – John, on the tarmac, unable to leave his medical bed. He died three months later. Ohio refused to recognize the marriage, but Jim appealed up to the Supreme Court, and in Obergefell v. Hodges, the Court ruled 5-4 that same-sex couples have the constitutional right to marriage across all of the United States.

Viet Cuong wrote John and Jim for the Gay Freedom Bands of Columbus and Cincinnati (John and Jim’s home state) in 2024. The piece starts with wandering, and a degree of independence or isolation. As percussion enters, so does light, sometimes blinding or distracting, but often hopeful. Hints of those eight notes from Pachabel start to seep into the texture. As the texture thickens, trumpets triumphantly forecast joy, and horns in the next phrase reinforce with the unabashed statement of the Canon, the victory of love.

Flirtation-

Your hand lingered, your eyes stayed on mine, your smile burned through me.

We sat close together, when your hand rested on my arm; for a second the world came into focus.

A slow smile became my new face, the sparkle of your eyes on mine shot sparks through my body.

The possibilities were endless, the promise of the next moment with you became my every thought.

I would see you coming and the light would flare,

I hung on your every word, hoping you felt the same,

doubt evaporated the moment you brought me in and rested your hand on my face.

People noticed, we sat and talked, our bodies would come closer together; the laughter came as easily as the next sentence.

I’d imagine you out in the world, wishing to see the wind blowing through your hair; longing to be the thing that made you smile.

Moments without you dragged and turned gray; butterflies flapped pleasant knots as I'd wait for you to be near again.

Heartbreak -

We knew each other once, sometimes I’d know what you were going to say before you did.

You’re out there somewhere, your side of the bed still feels warm, your phantom presence feels like a weight around my neck.

I can still hear your voice breaking, the moment I knew I’d lost you playing over and over again

as I wandered the streets looking for myself.

After a time it felt inevitable, replaying the frayed connections,

it seemed there was no other way out but this.

Bitterness turned to resignation, anger and envy lost their edge as I learned to become again who I was before you.

There’s a world where we were happy together, but we have to live in this one,

strangers who know each other better than ourselves.

Passions -

Consumed, that’s what I was.

You became the core of my world, there’s the before, and there’s the now.

Your arms around me, the melting into one being, lost in the expanse of our connection,

surrendering myself to you.

Somehow we’d always known each other. We found ourselves sinking into a place we never

knew we’d been searching for.

The now is all that matters, whatever might come could never dull what we have now, could

never obscure the burning truth we both share.

Joy -

The world shines, the breeze carries a sweet smell,

each morning brings a promise never known before.

The past carries its own form of happiness,

the future unspools in a wonderful tapestry that has

yet to show itself.

Worries turn to dust and blow away,

drifting towards simple pleasures that lie ahead.

Passing faces glow back, secret hearts hold no darkness and reflect what is already there,

bonding us all in happy communion.

Simple pleasures are anything but, they simply speak their own truth,

holding a lasting sensation that maybe everything is just right.

Joy. Then Heartbreak.

by Jonathan E. Singer

We first meet Steve on the putting green.

It’s just me and my son Jay out there at seven, up early because of the jet lag. It’s our third time on the Big Island, but our first at the course. Jay is laughing about the wind, which is howling off the Pacific and pushing his practice putts all over the place. “Watch this, Dad,” he says, and hits a lengthy one that does a U-turn in the gale.

Steve ambles over from his cart and introduces himself. An easy smile and sharp blue eyes beneath a Dodgers cap. Two out of three ain’t bad.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he then says. “I play quick.”

The magic words. I play quick. “Sure, you can join us. We’re not very good but we play quick too. What’d you say your name was again?”

“Steve. I’m here celebrating my 50th wedding anniversary and thought I’d sneak a round in.” “And your wife doesn’t play?” I hold out one of my hands to ward off any response. “Don’t answer that. I understand completely.” I tell Jay to come over and we properly introduce ourselves, handshakes and names. Michael and Jay, father and son. Out to the islands for one last family trip before Jay’s off to college.

Just then Jay’s Padres cap blows off and Steve and I watch him chase it around the putting green. “If any of us breaks 100 in this wind, it’ll be a miracle,” Steve offers. And we don’t, but no one cares. The four hours fly by, Steve is such a joy. Salt of the earth, a good egg, a real trouper. When he hits a particularly bad one, he says “Dammit, Roddie, do better.” That’s what his wife called him when they were both young, he says, his middle name is Rodney. As we part company after the 18th, he hands Jay a sleeve of golf balls he retrieves from the deep recesses of his bag.

“I never did know what to do with these,” he says with that smile.

San Diego Padres.

We watch as he drives his cart back to his car.

‍ ‍🌴🌴🌴

The second time we meet Steve is at breakfast two days later. The host seats Marian, Jay and me by a family of five from Minnesota, all of them pink as flamingos with sunburns. First time in Hawaii? I ask. Ya’. You betcha’. How’d ya’ guess?

We’re waiting for our coffees when we notice Steve. He’s got his back to us behind the Minnesotans, and is enjoying a crossword as he eats. Jay gets up and goes over to say hello, tells him to join us for the rest of the meal.

“Steve! Come sit with us and meet my mom!”

Steve stands slowly and grabs his plate and the puzzle, does an end run around the Minnesotans and joins our table. Without his Dodgers cap you can see the age him in more, spots and wrinkles, but his eyes are the kind that stay forever young. When he shakes hands with Marian, he grabs her elbow with his free hand like a politician.

“Marian,” he says. “What a beautiful name.”

The meal passes like our golf round, Steve is a terrific conversationalist. And so droll. He was a trial lawyer in his day, he has one story after another. There was this time. And this other time. When we all stand to leave, he excuses himself by telling us he’s going for a short stroll, walking after eating is one of life’s three great commands.

“What are the other two?” Jay asks; Steve dodges one of the Minnesotans, who’s returning from the buffet with yet another Belgian waffle soaked with syrup.

“You’ll just have to grow up and figure those out for yourself. Wouldn’t be fair giving you too much of a head start now, would it?”

“What a nice guy,” Marian says, as she watches him wander off. “I wonder why his wife didn’t join him for breakfast.”

“Me too,” I say, and reach for Marian’s hand.

‍ ‍🌴🌴🌴

The last time we meet Steve is at the beach. Marian wanted to see it at sunrise, so we’re up with the birds while Jay sleeps on the couch. Marian spies him first, by the end of the boat dock, crouching to place something on the water with the help of one of the twenty-something hostesses from the resort.

“Steve!” Marian calls out as we approach, though it dies in her throat when she sees what he’s done.

A small raft, with a picture and a lei in place of the sail.

The young woman helps Steve to his feet and then leaves him, standing at the end of the dock, looking across the channel at Maui. She walks back to where Marian and I stand rooted, and we ask her about Steve.

“He comes here every year this time,” she explains. “I guess he got married on this beach.” “And how long ago did he lose her?” Marian asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve only worked here a few years. Well before I started.” The young woman smiles a glorious smile, and I can’t help but think of Jay. Youth.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “But so sad.” Marian and I say nothing and let her leave. We watch Steve for a minute or so, unsure of what to do, as behind us the sky continues to brighten over Mauna Kea. It’s a new day, for all of us. Whatever may come. The sound of the surf laps rhythmically at our ears. Steve’s silhouette on the boat dock grows smaller with our every step. ##