Calapitter

Calapitter is a bit of an unconventional “spoonerism” — when the initial sounds of two words are swapped to create a new phrase. In this case, though, syllables have been swapped within the same word. To me, this transformation triggers waves of nostalgia. Perhaps it’s the faint memory of reading Shel Silverstein’s Runny Babbit as a child — or perhaps it points toward the greater or more general experience of growing up and learning to communicate with the world around us. What I especially love about anomalies like Calapitter (or similarly the other contender for ‘title of this piece’ , Futterbly, which is making a desperate attempt to be autocorrected here), is the clarity of meaning yet instilled. This is not always the case. If a friend tells you, “I am happy, ” you may be thrilled for them. If that same friend were to tell you, “am I happy, ” you may be in for a long conversation ahead. I set out, in this piece, to create the same sense of nostalgia I feel when I hear or say the word Calapitter. Something that may be new, but is yet so familiar. Something that doesn’t necessarily conform to the normal rules of vernacular, and yet can be understood. The piece begins in a world of perpetual motion, with the first theme heard in the Clarinet being later transposed, transformed, reorchestrated, and yet still preserving its inherent buoyant character — one that the musicians first read in their score as “Sprightly and Whimsical” . Eventually, the theme, along with the percussion and harp ostinato, builds into a groove; an effort to showcase that this incredibly talented band of musicians is, indeed, a band — and bands should groove! Some moments are dense and driving, other moments clear the air and allow the nostalgia to seep in, offering ephemeral moments that are unapologetically tonal, in the context of a greater obscuration. The piece is intended to be playful and fun, and (as I always aim to do in my music) toes the line between confirming v . subverting expectation.