The marimba is an instrument that, for me, visually conjures its primitive ancestors. This association has led me to imagine a prehistoric, primal music made by the banging of stretched skins, wood, and stone. Another inspiration has been the visual spectacle that is created when a marimbist performs. Because of the large, nimble, and dramatic dance of movements required to perform the instrument, it can be as beautiful to watch as it is to hear.

My concerto starts with a coarse orchestral explosion of emphatic pounding of anvil, brake drum (taken from cars in junk yards), and brazen yelping of brass. Often, I’ve treated the marimba like a drum. Mallets fly about and the performer dances around the instrument, frenetically striking notes.

Throughout, a dialogue of imitation emerges between the marimba and orchestra. I repeatedly pair the soloist with other instruments having sharp attacks and quick decays like the harp, timpani, finger cymbals, log drums, tom-toms, and glockenspiel. String instruments emulate the soloist with tremolos and pizzicati. Trumpets and winds take turns copying the marimba with trills and crisp articulations.

Practical considerations have sparked musical designs. I have used the open-sounding musical interval of a perfect fifth, as it plays comfortably on the marimba. The interval became a basic building block within the work, facilitating flourishes of hyper-velocity for the soloist.

I’ve dedicated my concerto with great admiration to Richard Ortner. During his life, he was a tireless supporter of music and musicians. I remember fondly his warmth, good humor, and generosity.