FAULT LINE for Ensemble for 15 players and optional soprano (2005–06)

As a composer, I strive to create a “living organism” made of sound and time, an object of beauty and meaning (all subjective terms, to be sure) that feels urgent and necessary. And while it is possible and valid to speak of a work of art purely in terms of its construction, it is my hope that when all is said and done, the resulting work transcends the means through which it is made, becoming a human experience for those sharing it with me — performers and listeners.

The title Fault Line is a metaphor for the volatility of human existence. Underneath even the most seemingly orderly of lives, fault lines lie, at times totally invisible on the surface, yet capable of erupting with the power to shutter and change all. Fault Line may be heard as a journey of a life, with all of its exuberance, energy, despair, triumphs and losses, wonder, brashness, and the grace of tenderness.

In three interlocking sections, the work opens resonantly and deliberately, with the distance bounded by the adjacent notes F and G gradually expanding into larger cycles of growing activity. This first large section of the work is bright and rich in sound, highlighting various ensemble combinations as they move in and out of fuller textures. It is the much sparser, more lyrical and transparent middle portion of the work, replete with solo lines, that transforms Fault Line’s course, with darker undercurrents assuming a progressively more prominent role. A line will sometimes appear twice, the second time not only altered in musical detail but also in character and emotional intent. An important solo violin line in the upper range, when first heard, reminds one of a perfectly clear sky, as clear as it is rare. When it returns later on sung by soprano, while still dream-like, this line, now transposed, also has a much more achingly human quality to it. An Eb clarinet line, pleading and expressive already in its first presentation, comes back a step higher, to be played with greater urgency yet. And so on. The third and last large section begins with strident brass and timpani chords, gradually building into the work’s most intense stretch, with tutti and solo lines merging together. Fault Line’s opening line briefly comes back much transformed, in no way a recapitulation but rather alluding to the continuous thread of this journey, leading to the final climax which then soon disintegrates into hushed silence.

The optional vocal part of this work (a purely instrumental version exists as well) is sung partly in vocalise style (wordless singing). Not wishing to completely forgo the voice’s capacity to emit the more varied sound of sung speech led me to integrate a text line as well for the brief appearance of the voice. It reads: “Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,” from Shakespeare’s Othello (final act), a longer segment of which I set in an earlier work composed in 1975, Ensembles for 17, and that seemed especially appropriate.

On January 1, 2006, my mother, Berta Ran, a person of singular qualities that made her a shining star not just in my own life but also in the lives of many who knew her, passed away. Fault Line was composed during the last few months of her life and following her death — a fault line like none others in my own life.

—Shulamit Ran