This collection of Eric Chasalow’s music for strings balances his extensive work in electroacoustic contexts with his straight chamber music, touching on two core components of his output. The inclusion of two Wallace Stevens settings and a work inspired by Greek mythology points to another important strain in Chasalow’s work, the integration of literary sources. Chasalow’s music revels in character juxtaposition, expressive use of timbre whether acoustic or electronic, and a deft management of structure, all of which can be heard in various ways in these pieces. The myth of Icarus and Daedalus is the inspiration for The Wings That Bear the Night Away for violin and fixed media, performed by Mari Kimura. The electronic part is fashioned from preexisting string quartet material that Chasalow subjected to granular synthesis. The result is a percolating, textural environment within which Kimura’s Icarus takes flight. Impetuous ascending scalar fragments and tremolo figures in the violin are juxtaposed against nervous figures in the electronics. As the flight becomes more challenging, Icarus’ electronic environment becomes more unpredictable, pivoting to glitchy timbres and interruptions. The contour of the violin lines turn towards descending passagework, implying Icarus’ fall, before an otherworldly, ethereal passage of microtonal sonorities sets up another reinvigorated, virtuosic ascent. The piece ends with a swirling texture, brilliant against the backdrop of a sonic blinding sun. Third Piano Trio: Rock Hill Variations, performed here by violinist Clara Lyon, pianist Steven Beck, and cellist Hannah Collins, is dedicated to Aaron Copland, and opens with a nod to the great American composer’s expansive musical vision, with sonorous sustained octaves in the piano that explore a broad register. The first ensemble section is pointillistic, with darting figures passing through the ensemble, nimble keyboard gestures, punctuated accented pizzicati, and stark high register violin sustains. A mournful line in the cello establishes a short, slow middle section featuring languid string lines, but is interrupted shortly by a furioso string of keyboard notes. An alternating figure passes from strings to piano, eventually leading into airy, weightless sonorities. The trio closes with a reprise of the energetic, darting material dancing between the three players, and finishes with a wry final staccato attack. For his setting of two poems by Wallace Stevens, The Snow Man and Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock, Chasalow calls for a performing cellist to recite and sing the poem while playing, with live electronic accompaniment. There is a unique intimacy to the sound of a performing instrumentalist delivering text, and Chasalow builds in subtle shaping of the spoken text in addition to explicitly sung phrases. In The Snow Man, David Russell’s cello plays translucent harmonics and pointed pizzicati, supporting the poem with a halo of sustained sound and punctuated commentary. Throughout, the live electronics creating an enveloping embrace, a cloak for the icy timbres Chasalow has conjured. Russell’s voice is occasionally processed in Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock, creating shadows of delays and altering its timbre, enhancing Stevens’ haunting poem. Steady pizzicato lines pause between short phrases, an anxious over-the-shoulder glance in a spooky environment. Chasalow’s Second String Quartet exists in different temporal extrapolations. One is an hour long and is designed to be performed by a spatialized ensemble in a gallery space. Loops are developed in the quartet while the audience circulates and then the players convene for a fifteen minute version that is collated from the material. The fifteen minute concert version is what we hear on this recording, played by the Lydian String Quartet. The work opens playfully, with a gentle passage of pizzicati supporting a poignant sustained line passed between instruments. Petulant outbursts begin to interrupt the revelry, growing in frequency and extending into full phrases, establishing a dichotomy between stable and unstable impulses. The piece develops with canonic dialogue, becoming frenetic and angular, before a forceful cadence indicates a structural arrival. Tentative material is exchanged between the members of the ensemble until it coalesces around a steady cantus firmus in the violin, dotted by gentle, tutti pizzicato chords. A vigorous, climactic section best characterizes what Chasalow calls metaclassicism, as memories and associations with the iconic string quartet repertoire are obliquely triggered and used as a jumping off point for further invention. The three movement String Sextet engages in metaclassicism of its own, specifically in the opening movement’s reference to lines from the fourth movement of Brahms’ Op. 36 Sextet. Chasalow takes Brahms’ material and spins out vigorous contrapuntal interactions. The second movement, "Beautifully imperfect, as if droned on sympathetic strings,” is suspended and mysterious, as the viola plays improvisatory gestures over a bed of luminescent harmonies. Growing intensity leads to an accumulating dialogue with the other strings and the addition of percussive timbres, before the movement recedes back to the hollow fog from which it emerged. The final movement merges three contrasting energies, a rhythmic march, a dreamy interlude with poignant, closely spaced sustains, and an agitated scherzo. Originally a flute and piano work, To the Edge and Back is heard here in a transcription for violin and piano by violinist Julia Glenn, heard here with pianist Steven Beck. The work features coquettish dialogue between the instruments that occasionally turns adversarial, as the two voices vie for prominence. Just as quickly the mercurial music becomes wistful and reflective, before shifting back to raw vigor or a coy wink. These impetuous expressive changes characterize the piece, which never settles in one mood for long, preferring to weave with glee, keeping the listener on their toes. – Dan Lippel