R-O-R refers to the chemical compound ether, when two elements come together to create entirely different matter. This ethereal compound also gives it's name to the collaboration between Icelandic musicians Gy�a Valt�sdottir and �lfur Hansson, whose new album AUGA brings together the two musicians in a unique new work of cosmic alchemy. � On AUGA the two musicians combine like electrons to create an expansive sound-world that feels like entering the landscape of a dream. The elements here are both earthly and alchemical: evocations of rain, geology, wind entangle with the oneiric and celestial. �lfur's self-made synthesiser soars and segues with sparkling harmonic threads of Gy�a's cello, creating a tapestry in which matter entwines with a luminous sense of the spectral. � AUGA is a new direction borne from a long history of collaboration between the two. Both have worked on each other's previous solo projects, with Gy�a playing cello on �lfur�s album Arborescens, and �lfur working on arrangements and production for Gy�a's albums Evolution and Ox. A deeper collaboration began, however, when Gy�a and �lfur created the Icelandic Music Award nominated track 'Morphogenesis' for Gy�a's album Epicycle II. Partly created out of improvisation and partly composed in writing, and appropriately named 'Morphogenesis' for the biological process that causes an organism to develop it's shape, this explorative collaborative process set the path for the deeply symbiotic creation of AUGA. � The resulting album is an elemental dreamscape of long-form music informed by the astral and eternal. The music made between the two has the quality of a kind of primordial plasma, with contours of melodies arising from thin air and swiftly shapeshifting into whorls of formlessness. On 'Petrichor', a track named for the scent of falling rain, a dew-drop string melody merges with the geological bedrock drones of �lfur's synthesizer. Elsewhere, the chemical evocations of tracks like 'Esters' and 'Onium Ion' take us on a spectral atomic journey through hydrogen and halogen, and the deep tremors of 'Vacuum' transport us through a sense of expansive geological deep-time. � Speaking about the collaboration, Gy�a says; ROR is a realm which I love entering. When me and �lfur improvised for the first time together many years ago, we immediately went to this place, which was so clear, strong and familiar; like it had always been there, right behind the veil, and we were simply finding it again. I could never go there by myself, but when our tones met, we went there instantly. I love this realm, it is timeless, colourful and textural - a poetry of pure vibration. � The music of R-O-R is a hologram made from two different beams of expression, forming a whole where sometimes neither instrument can be differentiated from the other. Carbon, silicon, horse hair and wood melt into one projection; a wormhole where both image and form, emptiness and void emerge in a dance of opposites. Gestures echoing into one another. AUGA is an ever evolving nebula of sound.

These two quartets were written in the summer of 2021. There was a pandemic going on, and I spent most of the summer in my apartment, reading books and feeling the momentum of life melting away in the heat. Early that summer, I read Haruki Murakami's first novel, "Hear the Wind Sing," and in the introduction he tells an anecdote from a baseball game: "In the bottom of the first inning, Hilton slammed Sotokoba's first pitch into the left field for a clean double. The satisfying crack when the bat met the ball resounded throughout Jingu Stadium. Scattered applause rose around me and in that instant, for no reason and based on no grounds whatsoever, it suddenly struck me: I think I can write a novel." This story had an effect on me similar to the crack of the bat, as I'd never written concert music but had always wanted to. My only idea of how to start composing was to improvise at the piano. There are parts of the piano quartet that are direct transcriptions of these sessions, such as the cadenza-like development section of the first movement. But even the most structured-sounding passages began as improvisations before being arranged into an almost naively typical sonata structure. The piano quartet, while clearly an "early" piece, introduced me to my own language, and got me addicted to composing. I started writing Love and Levity, my first string quartet, immediately after finishing the piano quartet. The Renaissance Quartet wasn't even really a thing yet, but I knew who I was writing it for. I consider the piece to be, at it's core, Beethovenian: in it's thematic and structural tautness, but even more so in it's motion towards excess-staying on an idea for too long, playing something too fast or too slow, too quiet or too loud. The title came from this anachronistic romanticism, this desire to talk about big feelings, but always with a bit of humor, always a bit weird. Jazz and contemporary songwriting are as important to this music as the classical tradition. The scherzo movement, "Hermit's Waltz," is a jazz piece, complete with a transcription of an actual solo taken by guitarist Jacob Drab. The outer movements feature chords, melodies, and instrumental techniques taken from American folk musics such as rock, bluegrass, and the blues. These musics are not only emblems of New York, the city I call home, but contain the DNA of virtually all contemporary music. I leave it to you to discover what any of that means, and how it all came out. I want to thank my quartet mates, as well as Valerie, Brian, and Han, for making this music so much better than it is on the page.

Who knew? Certainly, we did not. When the eight of us met at WBEZ in Chicago on September 13, 2022, we thought we were taking the first step toward recording a new CD. It was a fine day in the studio, we got a bunch done and it sounded pretty great, but then we spent much of 2023 working on a chamber theater piece that split it's time between LA and Chicago, leaving not much empty space to go back into the studio. January 5 of 2024 was the next time we gathered to record, this time at Tonal Park in Takoma Park, Maryland - and there were a lot of us. There were the five core members of the group, with Tim Langen on fiddle, and James Oxley, tenor, for a total of seven musicians. Dan was producing, Charlie at the console, and Lindsey overseeing it all. Honestly, it was a tough session. We had been overly optimistic about what could be achieved, perhaps we were under-rehearsed, and I had cancer. This is not a poor-pitiful-me-moment. It's just a fact that sometimes when you have cancer and you don't know it, you haven't been diagnosed, nothing feels right, and indeed, nothing felt right. Even in the haze of exhaustion and infirmity, there were shining, glittering moments of extraordinary music making. Isaac brought his saxophone. Ensemble Galilei, known for early music/traditional music crossover had never, ever, recorded with something that modern. Cape Clear, a traditional Irish air would be played on sax accompanied by the viola da gamba. Who knew? Both instruments rumbled and sang, Isaac's saxophone riding the red-hot coals of grief, with the gamba, in the basement of it's range, providing a partner in darkness. James Oxley poured himself into, Come Away, Death, with Jesse Langen's extraordinary guitar giving space, air, and light to the tune. Bernard McWilliams, the session photographer, was there when the jig set was being recorded, a straight-ahead Irish set that Tim, Jesse and Isaac had assembled a few days before, and he looked me straight in the eye and said, "That is like hearing pure joy." The Boys of Barr na Sraide with it's perfect imperfection still makes me cry when I hear Isaac singing, And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles they were aflame To the rebel homes of Kerry the the Saxon strangers came And the men who fought the Auxies and beat the Black and Tans Were the boys of Barr na Sraide who hunted for the wren. There was a biopsy on April 15, I told my surgeon that my first free day to go under the knife was June 17. I had things to do. We had recording sessions already scheduled. As our producer, Dan Merceruio, and I listened to the tracks from December, there was music that soared and there were pieces that didn't quite rise. We needed a fiddler. I called Hanneke Cassel who lives in Boston, asked her if she might have one day to come to DC to record, and when she said, "Yes, if it's May 6, " we were good to go. I flew up for a rehearsal, we went over the tracks she would be working on, she created beautiful and compelling parts, and May 6 was one of those days of focused creativity that one never forgets. At that time, there were two projects in the works, on parallel paths. For the first time, we were going to record an early music CD in a conventional classical music style. Ensemble Galilei had always been known as a crossover group, meaning that while it was true that we performed early music, traditional music was always right around the corner. We never sought to achieve a level of historical performance practice that might engage early music audiences, until now. There were just four of us when we met to rehearse in the spring, and when the rehearsals were over and we were convinced that we had something to say that had never been said before, we scheduled a session for June 6-9. Kathryn Montoya and I were the early music representatives from Ensemble Galilei and we would be joined by the extraordinary lutenist, Ronn McFarlane and the peerless English tenor, James Oxley. Unfortunately, right before James was set to fly to the US from England, he tested positive for Covid. The studio at Sono Luminus had been reserved, Erica Brenner our producer, had her tickets, and Robert Friedrich, our engineer, had packed all the equipment. We were going to record. That studio is designed for a group to record together - sharing space, hearing the music as it is being played, feeling the resonance of the room. There is no isolation, no overdubbing, no fixing that pesky buzzy string in bar four that will be problematic later. The sound of the recording will be broader, there will be more room sound, and the process is inherently different. You can see each other, hear each other breathe. And if you make a mistake, it lives on in everyone's microphone. There is, after all, a plus and a minus to everything. Those days of recording with Kathryn and Ronn were astonishing. Because we had three days booked (and since we weren't recording any of the vocal music), we could focus, really take our time, stretch out and listen, and with Erica gently guiding us, rearrange, and go again. It is rare that time is your friend in the studio, and for us in those days, it was. We were able to book the studio with James for August 4-6, and there we met again. True confessions, two of the songs that James sang are profoundly important in my life, and the way that he sang John Dowland's Flow My teares and Go Cristall teares made playing the bass line, with Ronn taking the lute part, an exquisite experience. And I do hear it, in the recording. All of that intention, all of that seemingly effortless technique (which we know is not effortless) and the heart that they put into the performances, these are the things that one lives for in music. I called Collin Rae, the head of Sono Luminus, on the way home from the session, hoping that he might have a great name for this Ensemble Galilei early music spinoff and he suggested that instead of releasing two different projects under two different names, that we release a single recording as a two CD set. Lindsey Nelson, our executive producer, who seems to always have the wisdom and experience to guide us when we are in uncharted territory, was in the car during that phone call. It was a mind-blowing moment. There were so many things that made sense about it, and at the same time there were major obstacles. We had always been an ensemble that embraced a wide range of music, so putting early music and traditional music on the same CD was business as usual. But we had recorded in radically different sonic environments, intentionally, and how we would marry these diverse soundscapes was challenging. But Collin was right. It was crazy to spin off a different group, give it another name, and release a CD. And while it had never occurred to Lindsey or to me, a two-CD set was the perfect solution. The summer of 2024 was tough, and yet astonishing things kept showing up. A few years before, I looked at our Spotify page for the first time and saw that we had millions of streams. Our big cities were Paris, Seattle, and London, and our demographic was predominantly people in their late teens, twenties, and early thirties, not our usual concert audience - and they were not hearing the music on a Spotify radio station, they were listening and sharing with friends. This was happening all over the world. And then in August, Come, Gentle Night, the title track of a CD that was released in 2000 on Telarc, caught fire. All of a sudden, our top five cities were all in Turkey. The tune was streamed hundreds of thousands of times, again, shared from one person to another. People were listening. Radiation started for me in September. For my first session, which would be the longest, the tech asked what I would like to hear and I said, "Me. Us. Ensemble Galilei." He found Ensemble Galilei on Spotify and as I lay on the cold metal table, in the chilly, dimly lit room, I heard Following the Moon, the title track of a CD released in 1995. It was the second tune I had ever written, and it had been decades since the penny-whistle, harp, viola da gamba and fiddle soaring through space had crossed my consciousness. As I am listening, the machine delivering the radiation starts to rotate across the table, doing it's own, graceful, beautiful dance to the music. Then the next tune, and the next tune and what I realized, in that extreme and novel moment, was that there was a kind of hope and humanity in our music. You could hear it. You could feel it. I understood that people around the world were listening because these tunes offered them a place to be. Of course it did. We had been making music for thirty-five years because it's what we do, not because we ever had a big breakthrough, or there were sold-out performances at Carnegie Hall. Did it make a difference that now there were over twenty-one millions streams? Yes, actually it did. We weren't quite finished recording. We needed Jackie to sing As I Roved Out in a way that only he could do, and we needed a great first track for the first CD. Isaac was writing a new tune that would go with an old tune, and he and Jesse finished working on it on Friday, December 13th and aptly named it, The Last Minute. It changed a little after the concert on Saturday, we did it again in concert on Sunday so, sure, it was ready Monday morning. December 16th was the one day when Dan could fly north, and Jackie, Jesse, Isaac and I would all be in the area, so after our Sunday afternoon concert on December 15th the four of us drove to the studio, met Charlie, set up the microphones, chairs, headphones and whatever else we needed so that we could start recording right at 10:00am, but the next morning there was fog in DC so Dan's flight was delayed. Of course it was. In spite of the challenges we had an extraordinary day, clocked out at 6:00 and everyone made it to their airports on time. After Dan edited the tracks from Chicago and Takoma Park, after Erica edited the tracks from Sono Luminus, I got to work sequencing. Now that all of this music would be one project, we needed a single person to make the choices, to guide the process, to envision and manifest this opus. It was Dan. It had to be. He had been our north star for fifteen years and the hard decisions would have to be his. Some tracks would not make it into this recording and his expertise, compassion, and patience were essential. We also needed to get a proof of concept CD to Collin. None of us really knew for sure whether we could make these two very different sonic fields into one compelling project. When I downloaded all the tracks and started putting them into an order that made emotional sense, I started to hear the stories. But there were problems. There were moments in sequencing the two discs when there seemed to be no way to get from the early music to the Irish music, or back again, and then Kathryn and her recorder solos provided exactly what we needed. In an unexpected turn, the recorder which is so clearly identifiable as an early music instrument became timeless. In her hands, this instrument which is essentially a wooden tube with holes in it, became an expressive and infinitely transmutable pathway for traversing the cultures and centuries. It was miraculous. It would have been technically possible to have the early music recording and the traditional music recordings come close to matching in sound and space, but honestly, I came to love the differences. Robert, a master location engineer, had achieved a sound that included the room, with it's high ceiling and hardwood floor, and also brought the resonance of each of us close to the listener. Charlie, who had produced the very first Ensemble Galilei recordings, knew exactly how to place the microphones so that on that amazing guitar solo, Bruach Na Carraige Baine, the pure sound and the overtones would sparkle, and fill the ear. As I listened down through all thirty-four tracks and forty-seven tunes over two CDs, sometimes I felt like I was turning a corner, from one song to another, moving from an Irish hillside to a medieval castle, from one world to another - each of them compelling, expressive, and sonically exquisite. In the end, if the musicians have brought their hearts, souls, and years of mastery, if the recording team has entered into the space with wisdom, tools, patience and good will, if the executive producer is saying, "Sure, let's book one more session to make this the very best it can possibly be" then the opportunity exists for the listener to hear it all - the breath, the intention, the ensemble, the soloist, the fingers on the strings, the air as it comes out of the recorder, the hands on the regulators of the uilleann pipes, the tipper as it touches the head of the bodhran, the rosin on the fiddle's bow, and feathered end of the note on a viola da gamba. It is all there. What you do not hear on this recording is the harp being played by EG Emeritus member, Sue Richards. Never in the thirty-five years of Ensemble Galilei has there been a recording without Sue. Who are we without that grace, without her sense of beauty and joy? The answer must be that we are still making music, still telling stories, still finding our way into new territory, trusting our hearts and our sensibilities. Playing music together is a place where we meet, a place that we love, indeed, it is there I long to be. - Carolyn Surrick, March 10, 2025 Ensemble Galilei Isaac Alderson - uilleann pipes, Irish flute, whistles, tenor saxophone Jesse Langen - guitar Kathryn Montoya - recorders, whistle, shawm Jackie Moran - banjo, bodhran, egg shaker Carolyn Surrick - viola da gamba With Hanneke Cassel* - fiddle Gjendine's B�dl�t and Gjendine's Waltz, Boys of Barr na Sraide Tim Langen - fiddle Jig Set, When that I was a Tiny Boy Ronn McFarlane - lute James Oxley - tenor *Ensemble Galilei emeritus Barn Dance no.1 and Leaving St. Kilda were recorded at WBEZ in Chicago on September 13, 2022. Recording Engineer - Brian Doser Producer and Editing Engineer - Dan Merceruio Mixing Engineer - Charlie Pilzer Producer and Music Director - Carolyn Surrick Come Away Death, Io son un Pellegrino, Serbian Wedding Dance, Bruach Na Carraige Baine, Cape Clear, When that I was a Little Tiny Boy, Waltz no.1, Sliabh Geal gCua, Aggie Whyte's, The Old Blackthorn Stick, Old Simon the King, The Boys of Barr na Sraide and The Fair Maid of Barra, The Sporting Pitchfork and Scattery Island were recorded at Tonal Park in Takoma Park, Maryland from January 5-7, 2024. Recording and Mixing Engineer - Charlie Pilzer Producer and Editing Engineer - Dan Merceruio Producer and Music Director - Carolyn Surrick Hanneke Cassel recorded Gjendine's B�dl�t and Gjendine's Waltz, and added her incredible musical sense to The Boys of Barr na Sraide on May 6, 2024 at Tonal Park. Recording and Mixing Engineer - Charlie Pilzer Producer and Editing Engineer - Dan Merceruio Producer and Music Director - Carolyn Surrick Lament for Owen Roe O'Neill/Allen Water/ Licke-potjen, Fantasias no. 2 and 3, Life, Tweede Stuck, Galliard, Loftus Jones, Suzanna Galliard, Vierde Carileen, Oncques amour, Jesus in Thy Dying Woes, Zesde Petit Brande/Frere Frapar/La Perichone, and Love is the Cause of My Mourning/Miss Noble were recorded at Sono Luminus in Boyce, Virginia from June 6-9, 2024. Recording and Mixing Engineer - Robert Friedrich Producer and Editing Engineer - Erica Brenner Au joli bois, Beware Fair Maids, Flow My Teares, Go Crystall Teares, His Golden Lockes, and Venus Birds were recorded at Sono Luminus in Boyce, Virginia from August 4-6, 2024. Recording and Mixing Engineer - Robert Friedrich Producer and Editing Engineer - Erica Brenner Hewlett and As I Roved Out were recorded on December 16, 2024 at Tonal Park. Recording and Mixing Engineer - Charlie Pilzer Producer and Editing Engineer - Dan Merceruio Producer and Music Director - Carolyn Surrick Lindsey R. Nelson, Executive Producer. Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by Robert Friedrich, Five/Four Productions, LLC.� Produced by Dan Merceruio. Collin J. Rae, Executive Producer Joshua Frey, Layout Carolyn Surrick, Liner Notes Photography: Bernard McWilliams Cover Art: Amy Fenton-Shine

At once sensual and existential, this collection of songs-composed across 125 years-meditates on nature and nostalgia, sex and love, the ephemerality of the human spirit, and the eternal, transformative power of art. These song cycles of Edvard Grieg, Claude Debussy, George Crumb, and Robert Spano coalesce into a testament to the limitless potency and fragility of love-both it's resplendent joys and it's tender sorrows. Despite love's transience and riskiness, the album compels us to ruminate on Rilke's witticism that "for one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks...' Each of the cycles presents us with existential questions of life and death, love and loss, but the album is structured in couplets. Debussy and Spano draw upon Ancient Greece, Grieg and Crumb draw upon enchantments of nature, the temporality of love, life, and memory. Claude Debussy's ethereal Chansons de Bilitis (1899) evokes a lusty, Grecian fever dream where the tumescence of love and desire comes to the fore. Robert Spano's Sonnets to Orpheus (2020) lends voice to Rilke's enigmatic eponymous poetry. Spano's setting of the songs-the intimate conversation between piano and soprano-"draws one voice out of two separate strings." Meanwhile, George Crumb's Three Early Songs (1947) emerge as whispered secrets, darkly-hued odes to impermanent nature-night, a flower, and wind. The songs lead us to ponder the difference between the actual and the seeming. Chansons de Bilitis is a sensual, sultry tease in more ways than one. The poetry penned by Pierre Lou�s is a literary forgery. Lou�s, in an introduction to his original poems, claimed that the verses were found in the tomb of a sixth-century (fictional) poetess named Bilitis. She was made out to be a contemporary of Sappho and the poems were written as pastiches in the style of Sapphic erotism. This deception only fueled the work's popularity. And although Debussy only sets three poems, Lou�s wrote 143 poems separated into three volumes that span scenes of pastoral youth (Book I: Bucoliques en Pamphylie), to burgeoning Lesbian-referring both to same-sex attraction and to acts associated with the isle of Lesbos-sexuality (Book II: elegies � Mytilene), and to life as a courtesan at the employ of Aphrodite (Book III: Epigrammes dans l'�le de Chypre). In this way, maturation narratives-bildungsroman-form a motif throughout this album. Lou�s was inspired by sex tourism, to be blunt. At the insistence of friend and fellow writer, Andre Gide, Lou�s traveled to Algeria to indulge in sensual exoticism (and orientalism). A young Arab woman, Meriem, had come highly recommended by Gide who wrote of her and her music as something that "stupefied me like an opiate" as it "drowsily and voluptuously benumbed my thoughts." Meriem would become the muse for Chansons, which Lou�s began to draft in Algeria; the dedication of the collection reads "in memory of Meriem ben Atala." The turn of the twentieth century was rife with literary and musical games-anagrams, witticisms, forgeries, and puns. Lou�s even includes a fake scholar in the introduction to his work named G. Heim, meaning "mysterious" in German. And the title seems to me to be a play on words suggesting the feebleness, the feeblemindedness, debilite (de Bilitis) of love, sex, and the trickery of artistry. Exoticism too was par for the fin de siecle course-just think of the Orientalism of Delibes's Lakme (1883), Ravel's Sheherazade (1898/1902), and Debussy's own "Pagodas" from his piano suite, Estampes (1903). Each piece relies on coded musical identifiers that suggest otherness-nonconventional percussion instruments, incessant and layered rhythms, and sonic chinoiserie. For those sonic elements, Lou�s called upon his dear friend, Debussy, to orchestrate music to underscore his poetry. Debussy complained that the turnaround time was too short. Nevertheless, he was hard up and needed the money.

Hik Hail to the hesitation Hik is an old Icelandic word for hesitation. Hesitation is the moment of pause or delay before saying or doing something. It is a glimpse in time filled with uncertainty, even doubt. "A feeling of uncertainty, doubt or indecisiveness facing difficult decision or situation. A state of being reluctant or hesitant to act, speak, or make a choice." This album is in many ways an ode to hesitation. It is composed by improvisation, and as a conversation between the violin and the organ, reacting and coexisting in sound and metrum. The feeling of hesitation is that glorious moment before playing on, lingering on an overtone or diving into next phrase. It can feel endless, wonderful, natural, weird, distressing or impossible, but mostly exciting, hopeful and mysterious. These pieces were composed in Laugarneskirkja in Reykjavi�k where we also recorded: August 7th, Hik and Tango These pieces were composed in Reykholtskirkja in West - Iceland, very close to where Una �s grandmother was born on the farm Rauthsgil in 1905: Disclosure 1, Disclosure 2, Fuga in G, Skylight 1 and Skylight 2.

I am writing these words while the Middle East, my place of birth, my roots, is bleeding. There are no words that can describe the pain, loss and suffering I see in the land and it's people on a daily basis. Like me, my friends, family, and neighbors who live on the other side of these fences that were built to divide us, carry an excruciating pain that grows deeper as the wars continue - pain that will live in hearts and souls for generations to come. I wanted this project to bring people together through music. My grandfather, born in Syria and shaped by hardship, believed in peace until his last day. Because of him, I believe in peace, and I hope this is one belief I will never have to grieve. The sonic landscape of conflict-the sudden silence after chaos, the irregular heartbeat of distant artillery, that unnatural quiet following destruction-has inevitably found it's way into my musical language. These experiences of personal loss, collective grief, and enduring hope became the foundation for the music in this album, each piece exploring different sides and shades of mourning. Shades of Mourning This album began, unknowingly, at my grandmother's deathbed. I didn't realize then that the piece I wrote while she was taking her last breaths would grow into an album, nor did I yet know I was a composer. The room was dark and hushed, air hanging motionless as though time itself had paused. Outside, the world continued it's rhythms, but in that space, existence narrowed to the shallow rise and fall of her chest. "Shades of Mourning, " which opened this collection of compositions centered around the process of grief, is a passacaglia - a farewell to a woman who shaped my life in ways I'm still uncovering. It opened a door to composing as a form of grief, reflection, and memory-and became the foundation of this entire work. Roots While grieving my personal loss, I found myself reflecting on my family's history and how it shaped both my identity and my music. When composing "Roots, " I wanted to create something that contrasted with the first piece - something wild, unexpected, unapologetic. I wanted to capture that visceral feeling of blood connecting to soil, of heritage running deep in our ground. Each note seemed to carry the weight of stories passed down through generations, a lineage both heard and felt, resonant as ancient memory. I asked myself: what do our roots mean to us, and to others? How much of our history lives in our cells, and how much is rewritten with each generation? Intermezzo A few months after my grandmother's death, I found myself at an artist residency in the Catskills. After being so close to her in her final moments, I experienced a privilege that many don't get to experience - breathing fresh air amid some of the world's most beautiful scenery. The garden welcomed me with meticulous care, an explosion of green against the blue sky. Flowers nodded in gentle breezes, while the sunlight warmed my skin. My ears filled with nature's music - birdsong trilling above the steady, the murmur of the Hudson River flowing past. There, surrounded by life's persistent beauty, I found a stark contrast between loss and renewal. It was here that I met Purcell Palmer, the founder of the residency, who became a dear friend. She passed away just months later. I wish she knew how profoundly she and her home affected me, how much healing I found in the sanctuary she created. I dedicate "Intermezzo" to her memory. And Maybe You Never Used to Be As time passed, grief evolved beyond my personal loss to become a central theme in my life, as it has for so many others around the world. I found myself processing not just the death of loved ones, but the loss of friendships, ideas, ideologies, and deeply held values. Inspired by Philip Glass's minimalist works, I created this four-movement string trio to explore these different dimensions of loss. "And maybe you never used to be" - my first chamber music work - opens the collection with a question: what happens when the things we thought were certain begin to shatter? My Clouds of Grief During grieving, there comes a stage when you wake each day under a dark, inescapable cloud. It follows you-pressing down on your chest, shadowing every breath. The weight settles into your bones, as if colors drain from the world around you; food loses it's taste, becoming nothing but texture. Even laughter from passing strangers sounds distant and hollow, as though filtered through thick glass. I wanted the music to envelope listeners in this heaviness, to let them experience how it feels when grief becomes your constant companion, surrounding you in it's seemingly infinite darkness. The End of Times Perhaps the most delicate and lush movement of this collection. Through the subtle effects of mutes, I explored the strings' capacity to create delicate colors and textures, searching for sounds that could capture an existential question: What does the end of times feel like? At a certain point, it felt as though I was living through such an ending. In this movement, I grapple with uncertainty - will we find relief in our final moments, or will pain be our lasting legacy? The music whispers these questions through veiled tones and gentle dissonances. Imaginary World While wars, conflicts, and unthinkable violence continue to plague our world, I find myself seeking refuge in imagination. Grief, pain, and sorrow are collective human experiences that touch every aspect of our lives, appearing in different shades and meanings, leaving lasting imprints on our souls. In my imaginary world, no living creature suffers. We exist side by side, caring for each other despite our disagreements and painful histories, working together to leave this world better than we found it. Inspired by the Mishima Quartet, whose music offered me solace during dark times, I created this movement. May it bring you the same joy and comfort that this music brought me. Prelude & In My Blue How do we conclude this journey through love, loss and grief? "Prelude" opens the path to the final track "In My Blue." "In My Blue, " based on the theme of it's Prelude, travels through harmonic changes and rhythms, much like the way grief transforms over time. The music creates a sensation of gentle vertigo, as if the room slowly revolves around you-a melancholy dance in darkened space where shadows become partners and notes hang in the air like suspended memories. During my darkest moments, I found unexpected solace in music - not just in creating or practicing it, but in letting it become my sanctuary. Inspired by Chet Baker's 'Almost Blue' and referring to the gentle sway of Bossa Nova, I imagined a love story between people who know deep pain intimately, yet still find the courage to dance together. I wanted to end this album not in sorrow, but with the same quiet hope that music has always given me - the possibility that even after profound loss, we can still move forward. Together. Tamar Sagiv is a cellist and composer whose musical language bridges classical tradition with contemporary expression. Her work explores themes of memory, identity, and emotional resonance, often drawing on personal experiences to create sound worlds that feel both intimate and universal. Her original composition Roots-a reflection on heritage and belonging-was premiered at her Carnegie Hall debut in May 2023, and performed alongside her mentor, acclaimed cellist Matt Haimovitz, at the Cello Biennale Festival in Amsterdam. Originally from Northern Israel, Sagiv began her musical training at the Kfar Blum Music Center with Uri Chen and continued at the Israeli Arts and Science Academy in Jerusalem with Prof. Hillel Zori. She earned her Bachelor's Degree from the Buchmann Mehta School of Music at Tel Aviv University, and completed both her Master's and Professional Diploma (PDPL) at the Mannes School of Music in New York City under Prof. Haimovitz's guidance. As a performer, she has appeared as soloist with orchestras in Israel and Germany, and played at venues including Lincoln Center, Alice Tully Hall, National Bohemian Hall, and the New York Public Library. Her music has been broadcast on Israeli National Radio since she was 16. Sagiv has participated in masterclasses with Steven Isserlis, Ralph Kirshbaum, Gary Hoffman, and Frans Helmerson, and attended festivals across Israel, Europe, and the U.S. Her achievements have been recognized by awards from the America-Israel Cultural Foundation, the Ronen Foundation, and a Certificate of Honor from Maestro Zubin Mehta. In 2022, she performed the music of composer James Simon-who perished in Auschwitz-at Carnegie Hall. Her debut album on Sono Luminus highlights her distinctive compositional voice and virtuosic playing, establishing her as a powerful new voice in contemporary classical music. Acknowledgements I extend my deepest gratitude to my husband, my mom and family for their unwavering belief and support throughout my musical journey, especially during moments when I struggled to believe in myself. I am profoundly thankful to my teachers who have shaped me as a cellist and musician: Matt Haimovitz, Felix Nemirovsky, Justus Grimm, Chagit Glaser, Hillel Zori, and Uri Chen. They opened my heart and ears, teaching me how to truly listen and nurturing my artistic growth. Special thanks to Leerone Hakami and Ella Bukszpan for their beautiful playing, artistic contributions, and cherished friendship throughout this project. To Michael Winger, whose guidance is invaluable to my development. To Noam Rappaport, my trusted confidant with whom I could share my mind and inner musical world-your friendship and insights have been immeasurable. I am grateful to Michael Lahr and Gregoij von Leitis from Elysium - Between Two Continents for their cherished friendship and support and for the Catwalk Institute for providing me with the creative space needed to compose these works. My sincere appreciation goes to Yaffa Ronen and the Ronen Foundation for their continued support of my career and artistic development. Special thanks to Sono Luminus for believing in this project, and to Simone Dinnerstein, Paola Prestini, and Pavlina Dokovska for their inspiration, guidance and encouragement through the years. Recording, Editing, & Mixing Engineer: Wei Wang Mastering Engineer: Daniel Shores Producer: Tamar Sagiv Recorded at Skillman Music - Brooklyn, NY 11211 January 31 - February 13, 2024 Tamar Sagiv - Cello, Composition Leerone Hakami - Violin (Tracks 4, 5, 6, 7) (left) Ella Bukszpan - Viola (Tracks 4, 5, 6, 7) (right) Photo credits: Zan Wang & Apar Pokharel Liner Notes: Tamar Sagiv Layout: Joshua Frey Executive Producer: Collin J. Rae

R-O-R refers to the chemical compound ether, when two elements come together to create entirely different matter. This ethereal compound also gives it's name to the collaboration between Icelandic musicians Gy�a Valt�sdottir and �lfur Hansson, whose new album AUGA brings together the two musicians in a unique new work of cosmic alchemy. On AUGA the two musicians combine like electrons to create an expansive sound-world that feels like entering the landscape of a dream. The elements here are both earthly and alchemical: evocations of rain, geology, wind entangle with the oneiric and celestial. �lfur's self-made synthesiser soars and segues with sparkling harmonic threads of Gy�a's cello, creating a tapestry in which matter entwines with a luminous sense of the spectral. AUGA is a new direction borne from a long history of collaboration between the two. Both have worked on each other's previous solo projects, with Gy�a playing cello on �lfur�s album Arborescens, and �lfur working on arrangements and production for Gy�a's albums Evolution and Ox. A deeper collaboration began, however, when Gy�a and �lfur created the Icelandic Music Award nominated track 'Morphogenesis' for Gy�a's album Epicycle II. Partly created out of improvisation and partly composed in writing, and appropriately named 'Morphogenesis' for the biological process that causes an organism to develop it's shape, this explorative collaborative process set the path for the deeply symbiotic creation of AUGA. The resulting album is an elemental dreamscape of long-form music informed by the astral and eternal. The music made between the two has the quality of a kind of primordial plasma, with contours of melodies arising from thin air and swiftly shapeshifting into whorls of formlessness. On 'Petrichor', a track named for the scent of falling rain, a dew-drop string melody merges with the geological bedrock drones of �lfur's synthesizer. Elsewhere, the chemical evocations of tracks like 'Esters' and 'Onium Ion' take us on a spectral atomic journey through hydrogen and halogen, and the deep tremors of 'Vacuum' transport us through a sense of expansive geological deep-time. Speaking about the collaboration, Gy�a says; ROR is a realm which I love entering. When me and �lfur improvised for the first time together many years ago, we immediately went to this place, which was so clear, strong and familiar; like it had always been there, right behind the veil, and we were simply finding it again. I could never go there by myself, but when our tones met, we went there instantly. I love this realm, it is timeless, colourful and textural - a poetry of pure vibration. The music of R-O-R is a hologram made from two different beams of expression, forming a whole where sometimes neither instrument can be differentiated from the other. Carbon, silicon, horse hair and wood melt into one projection; a wormhole where both image and form, emptiness and void emerge in a dance of opposites. Gestures echoing into one another. AUGA is an ever evolving nebula of sound.

Pacific Triptych for piano was completed in August of 2019. It is based on an earlier unperformed version for full orchestra completed in 2006. So, the piano version recorded here acts as a premiere. As implied by the title, it's a three-movement score based on contrasting sections that reflect the majesty of the Pacific Coast, especially the drama of the ocean and the endless sky above. Seven Nuggets was completed on April 25, 2023. It was inspired by a group of uncut, yet brilliant gemstones. Each "nugget" or movement ends with a low bass note. Those same notes are then played in sequence - at mid-range - at the end of the seventh nugget before being resolved into a sixth chord in the final nine bars. An American Travelogue (Book 1) was completed on May 3, 2023. This four-movement piano suite was inspired by various American locations in the western, southwestern, and Gulf Coast of the United States. (Book 2 continues this exploration in locations in the rest of the country.) - P S L Peter Scott Lewis is a San Francisco based, yet internationally active composer of modern classical music. His music has been published by Lapis Island Press and Theodore Presser Company and includes an extensive catalog of solo, chamber, vocal, and orchestral music. His numerous recordings have been released by Sono Luminus, Naxos - American Classics, New Albion, and Lapis Island Records. He also plays the piano and has recorded as both a conductor and guitar soloist. Blair McMillen is a prominent soloist, recording artist, new music specialist, ensemble leader, music festival director, and educator. He is known for his passionate advocacy of living composers and contemporary music, as well as championing very early keyboard music and more recent neglected masterpieces. McMillen has toured and recorded with, among others, The Knights, International Contemporary Ensemble, the New York Philharmonic, St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, and the Albany Symphony. Blair McMillen, piano Peter Scott Lewis, composer Recorded at Oktaven Audio, Mount Vernon, NY May 19-20, 2024 Producer: Peter Scott Lewis Recording, Mixing, & Editing Engineer: Ryan Streber Mastering Engineer: Daniel Shores Piano Technician: Brigitte Sims Cover Art: Collin J Rae & Joshua Frey Layout: Joshua Frey Photo of PSL: Thomas Heinser � 2023 Instrument: 1987 Hamburg Steinway D 9' concert grand. Rebuilt by Klavierhaus and Arlan Harris in 2009. Published by Lapis Island Press (Subito Distribution)

A transformation During the COVID-19 pandemic, when the world shut down and many lives were lost or changed forever, I experienced a serious transformation. A commitment to sobriety unleashed new creative forces. The world's new normal of quiet and introspection led me to return to a more formal branch of my musical upbringing: fully-inked acoustic music. Untethered from the backbeats and lead sheets of my career in jazz and pop music, I once again immersed myself in scores and music literature. An exciting new sense of freedom filled me with inspiration. I discovered a wellspring of patience and subsequent understanding and became obsessed with form. Hyper-focussed and pencil in hand, I wrote tirelessly from dawn until dusk. When I spoke about this newfound passion with one of the biggest supporters of my lifetime, my Dad, he told me it sounded like I had "seen the light" - a remarkable turn of events during an otherwise difficult time for us all. About the music... String Quartet No. 1 "The Orphans" (2023) The idea of writing a string quartet began to haunt me as this hallowed format can be intimidating. After what initially seemed like fruitless labor, I sidelined this ambition to work on some other music. Then one day while walking in a forest preserve in Chicago, a tune popped into my head which later developed into a promising base movement for a string quartet. Despite a failed attempt at a second movement, my confidence grew, and again inspired by nature, movements I, II and III were written with the base movement now as IV. Just when I thought the whole piece was done, the inspiration for another, shorter, livelier, and more cohesive movement came to me, and outdoors no less! Following my intuition I completely abandoned the germ of it all, the mother of this string quartet, for four of her offspring. It was an unpredictable process. Three Poe Excerpts (2022) While writing my first opera, The Bells of Fortunato, adapted from Edgar Allan Poe's The Cask of Amontillado, I became transfixed by Poe's writing. I discovered more stories of his with moments full of life and beauty that seemed to be wonderful opportunities for songs. I ended up taking a break from Fortunato to work on the songs that became Three Poe Excerpts. "Even as it Was" came first followed by "A Feeling for Which I Have No Name." These both came fairly easily and with much joy, but I wasn't satisfied with just the two. Although initially skeptical of the music that became "To the Right and Left," something told me to stay the course, and I am happy with the result. I thought the three songs could use some sort of set up, and the image of a hand opening an oversized book like in the beginning of old fairytale movies came to mind. This inspired the foreword and afterword. The Thousand Injuries (2023) A section of one of my prior works, a fantasie called Outside Motion in Stillness, gave me the idea to try my hand at an opera. I read through many plays, poems, and stories until landing on the right one. I believe there have been at least a couple of operas based on The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allen Poe, but that didn't stop me from writing my own adaptation, The Bells of Fortunato. The Carnival scene was the perfect fit for the music I had brewing. Poe's writing is wonderfully succinct and illustrative, and I found myself so intrigued that the rest of the music came without much hesitation. After a musical introduction which includes a chorus singing "nemo me impune lacesset" ("no one attacks me with impunity"), we meet our protagonist Montresor, played by a soprano, who sings the only aria from the opera. "The Thousand Injuries" informs us of her contempt for the entitled Fortunato. The musicians and the studio... I can't speak highly enough of the musicians on this album. The dedication to great performance from each individual is heard in every moment. I am truly honored to have made this with you all. I'd like to express my deepest gratitude to Doyle for assembling this dream of a string quartet to help bring "The Orphans" to life with such finesse and conviction. Thanks to Steve of SHIRK studios for the hard work, perpetual coolness, and professional atmosphere that is consistently provided. Special thanks to Matt Reed, Stu Mindeman, Margaret Casey, and Tom Palmer. All my love to Al and Ray. In memory of Tom Doherty. Rest easy Thos.

Pressed between bodies heaving to the pulse. The room inside the drum: each of us within it's envelope. Sent elsewhere. Stamped to distant locales but together in this resonating box. My wrists were broken. My mind screwed on tight.�I wake next to a reflecting pool. An inlet. The water here is cool, shaded by trees that lean in to listen, swaying lightly with the gentle breeze, the hairs on my neck alive. I start my own religion here.�But I ask of the sea: long to see it's waves crashing. As I approach, the blue-green colors of my oasis dull to a metallic blur. The wind a knife's edge into my bleared eyes. From below the surface, shafts of artificial light emerge. Power indicators of unseen machines from another time, rising endlessly... narrow spotlights pushing into the sky. My heart quickens. These climbing pixels build a hard-edged latticework of digital snow, blinding me. I try to tune it. I look for the one of one. No wiser, I exhale and step into a clearing among the trees: an orderly garden path. I pace slowly among the carefully selected native plants... am I yet awake? Each turn reveals that these rows lead into a deep forest. The roots intertwine with a soil rich in jumbled wiring, broken monitors, cables to outdated devices. The path opens suddenly onto an outcropping above the sea. From this new vantage, each square of color in the water pollutes it's surface with 8-bit splendor. I spin back into the forest, the roots and limbs now formed of telephone cords, drive thru bank tubes, and strings of LED lights. They whirl me into a dance: a rite of doubt and self-abdication. Awakening from the depths of this wood: a giant stone head. Looming. Impassive. It's face in a half-smile of cool knowing. It's surface like a freshly cut tree trunk, brindled with geological age and the scars of it's removal from the earth. I am lifted up and held against it: a familiar texture, it's rough beard streaked with aquamarine moss. A deep calm comes over me: of the kind one feels when giving in to the weight of a midday slumber or a powerful drug. A kept beast that loves it's strict, heavy-handed trainer. Below this effigy, an entry to the junkyard earth. I walk myself dutifully down the mossy stairs to my resting place, each step echoing with a memory of an imagined golden age. "Activity involving in a single process the many, turning them, even though some seem to be opposites, towards oneness, contributes to a good way of life." - John Cage

Look around at the place you are right now - yes, now. Apartment, house, subway car, tool shed, office, wherever. Now imagine this place, with all it's material elements and constituent parts, intertwined as they are, as living, with a circulatory system and a pulse. With an inner life, a memory, experiences and a story of itself to tell. Now listen. Nathan Davis's Earthworks is a unique acousmatic piece, a 40-minute conceptual and musical love child of land art, environmental activism and music concrete in which the composer orchestrates the sonic outcome of the extraction, processing and use of common commercial materials of our contemporary built environment. It is an audio tapestry of drilling, fracking, stirring, slurring, scraping, cracking, popping and hammering, with the bright thread of one very intimate human voice woven through it. This particular iteration of Earthworks, originally produced as a sound installation for the exhibit "Planetary Home Improvement: From Just-in-time to Geological Time", is immersive in nature - both a recording and a full-body experience, primordial and post-industrial. Davis collected field recordings of the raw materials and created a multi-channel sound environment using the materials themselves as speakers, soundboards, and resonators. It is musique concrete as composed through a big box store, and the effect it had on me was mysterious - compelling and even dreamy. A few times I pictured Morton Feldman walking through the enormous back aisles of a Home Depot - the "modern quarry" from which this work is drawn - with an Earthworks-like soundtrack running through his celestial head. In experiencing Davis's work I often find that in addition to composing in the traditional sense, he is also coaxing and conjuring, often in nature, and often with the most basic elements - minerals, metals, stones, water, air. Much of the power of Earthworks derives from what the exhibition artists describe as "collapsing the ancient and the instant." Of it's audience Earthworks demands close attention and attunement to the elements from which it arises. I fully understand that there is a conceptual sophistication and technological mastery at work in pieces like this - it is experimental music for grown ups - but I think I'd do Earthworks a disservice by overintellectualizing the pleasures inherent in it. By this I mean that there is something childlike about the work. At least, this is least one of the responses it summoned in me. I experience these "lifeless" materials both talking amongst themselves and speaking to me. When Sylvia Milo begins the piece by intoning the names of these orchestral instruments - Galvanized steel sheet. Foam insulation. Polycarbonate panel... - each one followed by the sounding of it's characteristic voice, I'm transported back to my early listening to Peter and the Wolf, when I first heard Boris Karloff introducing the cast of the tale by way of their instrumental voices. As a percussionist Davis possesses a deep attunement to materials and their sonic characteristics. But there are non-material aspects embedded here as well. In this case the political context of the work: it is a response to the industrial plunder of the planet. The experience of listening to these materials speak, hearing their breath and pulses, move us closer to an understanding of this, and to a relationship of awareness and reciprocity with the Earth, whose body we tear apart in order to achieve shelter or convenience, and whose riches we violently transmute into material for use. Ever since the story of Adam and Eve's ejection from the Garden, and certainly before, our human alienation from Nature has been the source of existential grief. Part of the task of poets, artists, philosophers, filmmakers, musicians is to restore us to this Edenic state, in which we are again in peaceful harmony with the Earth and it's elements.

Revolving around the first recording of Sir James MacMillan's Kiss on Wood for viola and piano arranged and performed by Rachel Yonan, this album explores the polarity of light and darkness. Minimalist composer Arvo Pa�rt's beloved Fratres and Spiegel i'm Spiegel bookend the program. The concept of light infuses these pieces with their intense clarity and search for transcendent meaning. Fratres (Brotherhood) evokes the struggle between good and evil with it's contrasting voices. Spiegel i'm Spiegel (Mirror in Mirror) is pure and stable as it sonically imagines the infinite reflection between two mirrors. Pa�rt's deeply spiritual music links to MacMillan's devotional Kiss on Wood which invites the listener into a place of stillness and silence as it reaches for an essence of meaning beyond words. MacMillan sounds out the darkness of loss, yet finds delicate rays of hope to fill the long spaces. Paired with these intense yet static twenty-first century works are Schumann's miniature character pieces Ma�rchenbilder (Fairytale Pictures) that use an emotional palette ranging from bright and playful to deeply melancholic. The programmatic title of each work-Fratres, Kiss on Wood, Ma�rchenbilder, Spiegel i'm Spiegel- hints at meaning that cannot be expressed by words alone, but must be illuminated by the music.

Yuval Noah Harari’s Sapiens, first published in 2011 in Hebrew, and in 2014 in English, is justifiably one of the most celebrated books of our time. With its audacious subtitle, the book attempts to explain and explore why our particular species has thrived while most others have perished, and how we are set apart from all others due to our ability and desire to understand and give meaning to things that do not necessarily exist – such as the shared myths of language, money, religion, love, political boundaries, and a host of things not truly tangible but with which we have developed a shared understanding. What I have attempted is a humble musical response to human signposts, concepts, myths, or ideas that we as a species have carried with us, developing along the way these past couple hundred thousand or so years – breadcrumbs on the path of humanity. I imagined the modern piano as a sort of meta-instrument, present at the dawns of humankind, the cognitive and agricultural revolutions, and some of the most notable inflection points of our troubled and triumphant history. The piece begins not on the piano, but at the piano, with a single human breath, as I imagine the first music to have been, somewhere near the dawn of our species. If it is, like most, intended to die off one day, I imagine the very last music to sound more or less the same.

Aequora? aequor aequoris neuter noun? [AEQUUS] a smooth or level surface, expanse, surface; a level stretch of ground, plain; inmensumne noctis aequor confecimus? have we made it across the vast plain of night? the surface of the sea especially as considered as calm and flat, a part of the sea; per aperta volans aequora soaring over open sea; the waters of a river, lake, sea; tibi rident aequari ponti the waters of the sea laugh up at you. Gajic and Carrettin have performed under the moniker "Mystery Sonata" when performing new work and non-classical music styles. AEQUORA is the first album recorded under the name Mystery Sonata and reflects the duo's commitment to performing contemporary music alongside their work with ancient music, historical instruments, improvisation, and electric instrument collaborations with contemporary and aerial dance.

UBIQUE lives on the border between enigmatic lyricism and atmospheric distortion. Through a combination of sounds, pitches, and textural nuances, low deep drones envelop lyrical materials and harmonies that breathe in and out of focus throughout the progress of the piece. The flow of the music is primarily guided by continuous expansion and contraction - of various kinds and durations - as it streams with subtle interruptions and frictions but ever moving forward in the overall structure. The work is inspired by the notion of being everywhere at the same time, an enveloping omnipresence, while simultaneously focusing on details within the density of each particle, echoed in various forms of fragmentation and interruption and in the sustain of certain elements of a sound beyond their natural resonance - throughout the piece, sounds are both reduced to their smallest particles and their atmospheric presence expanded towards the infinite. As with my music generally, the inspiration is not something I am trying to describe through the music as such - it is a way to intuitively approach and work with the core energy, structure, atmosphere and material of the piece. UBIQUE is 45 minutes in duration and is written in 11 parts, for flutes, grand piano, 2 cellos and pre-constructed electronics. - Anna Thorvaldsdottir