Wes Matthews tells me that his piece Terraces is conceived for an orchestra that gives equal prominence to the string and wind parts. The strings, as he explained to the orchestra, are the "main thrust of the narration" in the piece, which they open with an elegant and soft melodic passage. The phrase lengths and instrumental entrances in Terraces are irregular, but neither inorganic nor jarring. Matthews seems to have derived his harmonic language from Elliott Carter in the subtlest ways, and listeners eager to fit this composition within the historical trends of American music wouldn't have to stop there. Matthews's flowing, rhapsodic string lines bring to mind Roy Harris, whose Third Symphony -- like Terraces -- finds itself awash in the warm rumble of the vibraphone.
By no means does this work come across as derivative, though. It is a work of startling introspection, masterful development, and tremendous beauty. Matthews is concentratedly invested in the possibilities of overlapping instrumental colors, as phrases frequently pass from one voice to another at unexpected intersections; in fact, melodies often seem to be cut off at their moments of maximum tension. In this way, ascending lines are often thwarted, shifting sideways. Similarly the descending melodic passages seem to cascade or to glide rather than to roll artlessly downhill. Wes Matthews has composed a work that effectively questions rather than declares and breathes as eloquently as it speaks. Music like this demands a second, a third hearing. Its sophisticated charms deserve many enthused listeners.


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