Chinary Ung's Rain of Tears: Concerto for Chamber Orchestra
Program Note

Chinary Ung is often associated with that group of Asian-born composers whose music incorporates aspects of eastern musical characteristics into a western classical music setting. Aside from specific cultural and generational distinctions, the principal difference between Ung’s work and theirs is that for many years he was prevented from engaging directly with the source of his cultural heritage as his native country was being torn apart by the scourge of the Khmer Rouge. Indeed, as the people and culture of Cambodia were being systematically dismantled, Ung took it upon himself to rescue some facet of the traditional music he had known as a child, reconstituting Cambodian musical traditions through his performances on the roneat-ek – the Cambodian xylophone. This project reflects the qualities of responsibility and of hopefulness that are so strongly a part of Ung’s personality.

Ung’s Cambodian roots are woven into the fabric of his identity, but the musical aspects are, as a result of his peculiar circumstance, keenly related to memory. For many years Ung’s music had a plaintive character in its modally-inflected, melodic behaviors, as if he were reaching back to another time uncorrupted by political tumult. Ung’s work of this period established him as a major figure in American music, winning citations from virtually every major musical arts institution in his adopted country. For Inner Voices he was given the Grawemeyer Award, the most prestigious prize in music composition. That work, along with the Spirals series indicates a self-referential artistic project where one seeks spiritual strength and inspiration through meditation and quiet contemplation, traits of Buddhist spiritual exercises. The Spirals series in particular shows an affinity for the connection between pieces, as opposed to the mid-20th century modernist doctrine of individuality exemplified by Stockhausen.

Rain of Tears represents a continuation of some trends and a foray into new interests. Ung often describes being quite concerned in his earlier works with the idea of blending eastern and western materials; the reinvention of western classical instruments into Asian counterparts was accomplished with remarkable deftness without the problem of ecotourist misappropriation one might associate with some western composers. It would appear that, however successful a colorist Ung may be, he now seeks to provide a place where east and west may coexist. While there is vagueness to this notion, the actual fact of the matter is that blending may no longer be necessary. Not only is the world configured in a way that accommodates sharing of information and traditions across broad distances, but recent experiences enforce the reality of shared plights.

Ung’s much heralded work from 2005 Aura contained a brief passage subtitled "Rain of Tears" that begged further development. Often influenced by visual metaphors and dreams, Ung recounts a dream in which a giant wave loomed over him. Several days after this experience came the tsunami in Southeast Asia. Aura is a lament for the victims in Bandeh Aceh and of New Orleans, whose residents suffered such a similar disastrous fate.

What would compel Ung to return to this sorrowful topic in the current piece? Aside from the obvious fact that the dimensions of suffering were so profound, it was the weight of the dream that still held sway over his thoughts. Thus, Rain of Tears: Concerto for Chamber Orchestra takes an almost obsessive view towards the rising and falling of waves of various sizes and strengths. In the hands of a musician as subtle and imaginative as Chinary Ung, this potentially banal image is shown with staggering variety and scope. Somewhat like a spiral, Rain of Tears views the matter from its outside ripples to the source, horrific wave. The rate of ascent and suspension are varied constantly, as are the ways in which the overall ambit is spanned via changing modal inflection, transforming the intermediate distances covered by the wave’s development.

Lest one confuse the work as singular in purpose, it is interesting to note Ung’s attitude regarding universal suffering, which is not alone in circumstances of mass tragedy – each of us has experienced some measure of hardship. Posted on the wall of his workspace was the following quote:

“The Buddha once asked his monks, ‘Which do you think is greater, the water in the oceans or the tears you have shed while wandering on?’

His answer: ‘The tears.’”

At a point roughly half way through the piece, a wide registral space is outlined between the lowest pitches held by double basses and the highest, played by violin, flute, and piccolo. By presenting just the outer edges, Ung exposes a void in the middle range that he relates to the concept known as Shunyata. This void, or bubble, is looked upon with hope in the Buddhist tradition (sometimes it is translated as “openness”) where its purpose is to offer a metaphysical critique: things are empty in the sense that there is no independent, persistent existence. Ung’s interpretation is that one contemplates the void and fills it with compassion towards others in order to attain Nirvana. Thus, the emergence of the Shunyata moment in the score is followed by four distinct statements of compassion, which are echoed in the work’s coda. Connected back to the wave, held in a freeze frame, the implications of hope for its victims are irresistible.

Rain of Tears is a work of tremendous variety and breadth, despite its relatively modest duration of twenty-two minutes. The work’s subtitle “Concerto for Chamber Orchestra” refers to the intense demands made on the performers, both as individual players as well as instrumental families. Sometimes the pairs of woodwinds, for example, form dialectical poles separated by wide registral space; yet, their bounded identity is never in question. Textures are often more consistent with chamber music than with orchestral masses, although those arrive, too, and often with devastating force. The string section is occasionally converted into a percussion instrument, with col legno battuto attacks played in unison. Percussionists bow crotales, sometimes while placed on a timpani head, creating a hybrid instrument. The invention of unusual sonorities is one of the hallmarks of Ung’s musical fingerprint, and here one finds a sympathetic resonance with some of the efforts of his colleagues in the Avant-garde – coexistence indeed.