Michael and Joshua in the 1970s
“Bygone Beguine” (1973)
For Laura Nyro
“In the early 1970s, I was falling in love for the first time, experiencing those radiant, achy, free-fall, out-of-control feelings. The emotional streams resolved themselves into music. I could play it for some time before I could imagine how it might be written down.
This piece was originally a simple little song, but one that reflected all of my inescapable influences, including ragas, gamelan, bossa nova, the piano music of Schumann and Debussy, as well as the musical language of Monteverdi and Berg and Peggy Lee’s inimitable rendition of the song Alley Cat. All of these flowed together in a way that seemed completely natural—to me, anyway. The ensemble under my fingers consists of a free-floating treble melody, a rhythm section riff, a baritone horn or trombone line, and a bass line. I sometimes played this piece in restaurants, spelling some of my pianist friends. I also played it on some first dates, most importantly the one with the man who became my husband.
One memorable Sunday afternoon I drove up to Danbury, Connecticut to play it for Laura Nyro, whose music and spirit have been an enduring part of my life. It was a laid-back sunny day. Laura and her friends were lounging poolside, listening to old R&B. The piece is dedicated to her.”
—Michael Tilson Thomas
“Sunset Soliloquy,” Whitsett Avenue, 1963
“In the late afternoon, the sun poured through the Venetian blinds in bands of shimmering light. It was a time for me to be alone with the piano in my parent’s darkened living room. As my father and his father before him, I was seeking, through improvisation, some kind of understanding of who I was. I was already aware of the many “me’s” whose spirits seemed to inhabit one or another of my hands. My left hand was the home of a reflective spirit that arched in lyrical phrases like a cello solo. My right hand was ruled by a scampering spirit that zanily darted about in fits and starts like fractured village music full of caprices and clashes. Now and again, there was much gentler music—a duet played by both hands, one tentative finger at a time. Eventually my hands found a way to make all of this music simultaneous and independent, gradually uniting in a shared cry, after which they quietly and somewhat nonchalantly faded away. The piece is a record of that process. The beginning, the duet, and the ending are much as they were when the piece first came into focus some fifty years ago. The right-hand music was tougher to resolve. It seemed it had other urges, and meandered its way toward the more thoughtful and lyrical world of its partner.”
—Michael Tilson Thomas
“You Come Here Often?”
For Yuja Wang
Picture a private club in a downtown loft on a Saturday night. Bits of music can be heard from the street as you approach, and, as you pass the front door and snake your way upstairs, it gets louder and louder until you’re enveloped in the joyous and throbbing throng. In this scene, two people with some history unexpectedly run into one another. To their great surprise, they have something left to say to one another. During the gaps in the music they try to get in a few casual, defiant, and some tender words before the exultant cacophony overwhelms it all.
This virtuoso piano piece depicting this scene is inspired by and dedicated to a great artist and friend, Yuja Wang.
—Michael Tilson Thomas
Sunset Soliloquy, John Wilson, 2018
You Come Here Often?, Yuja Wang, 2018