Labyrint, for saxophone and orchestra

I started writing _Labirynt_ while I was on a Fulbright grant in Poland. The spelling is polish, although
the word is ancient. In retrospect though, it seems to be a very American piece. I also started with the
idea of not writing a concerto, but rather a piece for soloist and orchestra that was more cooperative.
But, oftentimes compositions go their own ways.

Whether Polish or American, concerto or not, from the outset I was considering contrast. Orchestra is
the ultimate "old world" ensemble. Many twentieth century intellectuals -- at a certain stage of
modernism -- are interested in giving up the forms and styles of the past, and making an art that is of and
pertains to today, or the future. I've held that attitude. Interestingly, Polish cultural thought is on a very
different trajectory. Perhaps it's obvious that Marxism isn't as chic there as it is at American
Universities? Generally, Poland in the late 1990's (when I was there) was very much interested in
rejoining the culture of Europe after more than half a century of separation. So, although Polish
composers (Lutoslawski, Penderecki) were leaders in the avant-garde of the late 20th century, there is
no overt rejection of the past. None of my colleagues there thought it was at all problematic to work with a
"baroque" form, such as a concerto while using contemporary musical language.

Another contrast: this is a piece for jazz saxophonist and orchestra. (As an aside, the saxophone
is the perfect concerto instrument for many reasons. Although it has been known play in the orchestra, it
is exotic enough to stand out. It's a social climber. And, there are no particular balance problems. I've
used both tenor and soprano saxophone in this piece, which expands the possibilities even further.) The
sound of classical saxophone has never appealed to me. Younger, I wanted to sound like Coleman
Hawkins. Then Joe Henderson, or John Coltrane. Steve Lacy or Johnny Hodges. Through its
association with jazz, the saxophone has a certain bawdy quality that really isn't "classical." I'm thinking
here of "walking the bar" style tenor saxophone, especially. As opposed to Glazunov.
As a composer, I felt that the contrast between orchestra and saxophone was a great source of
energy. And this unfolds in the piece, but of course with a twist. In the first movement, the
tenor is given a fairly constrained role. It is fairly tight, contrapuntal, and the tenor relates
to the orchestra in a well mannered way. The switch to soprano, and the second section, introduces
more of the jazz sound world. Microtones, harmonics, multiphonics, articulations -- all are coming from a
much broader coloristic palette. These sounds move into the orchestral world, especially in the brass
chords that punctuate this section. The tenor returns in the third section, which fuses these two modalities.

Finally, why the title? I prefer titles that point in many different directions, as many as possible.
The labyrinth is part of the inner ear, collectively describing the cochlea, vestibule, and semicircular
canals. On of the older myths about labyrinths involves using them to rid oneself of evil. The plan is to
walk slowly to the center of the labirynth; your evil spirits will follow you. When you reach the center,
then all of your spirits and you are there together. Now for the trick: run out of the labyrinth as fast as
you can. Your evil spirits (presumably slow-moving) will not be able to follow you, and will be trapped in
the labyrinth. I did write this piece as my doctoral dissertation, which should indicate the particular
resonance of this myth for me. Also, there's a nice story with Adriadne, Theseus, the Minotaur, and the
Golden Thread.

Michael Zbyszynski, Oakland 2005