The Crash is Coming

Recently, there has been a couple of films, subject matter both grim, that had as a supporting roll, the boundless North American rural landscape. I am of course talking about The Revenant and The Hateful Eight. What is it about vast grand, empty visual space that can evoke both, contrasting, sensations of freedom, awe and a sense of impending doom? Does space/silence in music contain similar affecting qualities?

I am lucky to often travel the AC 7 flight, leaving Vancouver for Hong Kong at 12:10PM, where it then heads north along the coast of Canada up towards the Bering Straight, where it curves, and comes down along the coast of Asia. The redeeming quality of this prolonged bout of air travel, is that it remains in daylight for the entirety of the journey. While the cabin lights get turned off, and the window shades dropped, I can't help but lift the shade up for a peak every five minutes, often being hypnotized and starring out to the most spectacular, remote, daunting, yet pleasing, visions of the enormity of our planet. Or conversely, the minute nature of our person. In particular, once passed the Bering Straight, and heading due south, the view becomes an otherworldly almost interstellar landscape that only few (those who take a specific flight, departing at a specific time, with optimal no-clouds weather conditions) will ever witness.

Yesterday, I discussed with some friends, the good-old conundrum of the finite-infinite debate of the Universe. I mentioned how as a young boy, the thought of infinite space scared the hell out of me, yet also, filled me with excitement and energy without compare.

So, again, does musical space contain the characteristics of free-falling joy and relative insignificance?

The Crash Is Coming, for Piano, Violin, Viola, Cello, Clarinet, Crotales, and Glock. If you would like to read along with the score, click HERE.

And is dedicated to my dear friend Cheng Pui Mei.