The Interloping Beguiler: for Bass Clarinet and Orchestra

The Interloping Beguiler is an nineteen-minute concerto in four movements for bass clarinet solo and orchestra. The title refers to the role of the solo instrument, which continually thrusts itself into the affairs of the orchestra, deceiving and diverting the members of the orchestra away from their task of performing a "serious" orchestral composition. The bass clarinet portrays a comical, cartoon-like character whose awkward, and sometimes goofy, interjections cause chaos. Attempts are made by various members of the orchestra, especially the horns, to regain control of the work, but the bass clarinet always succeeds in its distracting antics. By the final movement of the composition, the bass clarinet has propelled the work into a cartoon-like landscape of quickly changing textures, dissonant intervals, and overlapping themes. The first movement, Introduction, sets the serious tone of the music to follow, or so it would seem. The entrance of the bass clarinet immediately changes this texture with its out-of-rhythm alternations between high and low pitches. This gesture provides a glimpse into the personality of the bass clarinet, an instrument here to mislead the members of the orchestra. Deception truly begins in the second movement, The Interloping Initiates. The bass clarinet starts the movement with a driving theme and is immediately supported by the orchestra. As the movement progresses, the bass clarinet quickly begins altering the theme, making it more playful and cartoonish. A struggle ensues between the horns and the bass clarinet, with the bass clarinet catapulting the piece into a latin-inspired section. The struggle continues through to the end of the movement. The third movement, Calm, is exactly what the title suggests. A sectional form distinguishes this movement from the second movement. Throughout Calm, the bass clarinet behaves with decorum, except for very large melodic leaps. The seed of anarchy planted by the bass clarinet in the second movement comes to fruition in the final movement, The Beguiling Builds. Here, the bass clarinet sends the work into chaos with sections recalling Looney Tunes cartoons, Hollywood western music, and children's folk songs.

Sonic Movie Memories: Sound, Childhood, and American Cinema

Though the trend rarely receives attention, since the 1970s many American filmmakers have been taking sound and music tropes from children’s films, television shows, and other forms of media and incorporating those sounds into films intended for adult audiences. Initially, these references might seem like regressive attempts at targeting some nostalgic desire to relive childhood. However, this dissertation asserts that these children’s sounds are instead designed to reconnect audience members with the multi-faceted fantasies and coping mechanisms that once, through children’s media, helped these audience members manage life’s anxieties. Because sound is the sense that Western audiences most associate with emotion and memory, it offers audiences immediate connection with these barely conscious longings. The first chapter turns to children’s media itself and analyzes Disney’s 1950s forays into television. The chapter argues that by selectively repurposing the gentlest sonic devices from the studio’s films, television shows like Disneyland created the studio’s signature sentimental “Disney sound.” As a result, a generation of baby boomers like Steven Spielberg comes of age and longs to recreate that comforting sound world. The second chapter thus focuses on Spielberg, who incorporates Disney music in films like Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977). Rather than recreate Disney’s sound world, Spielberg uses this music as a springboard into a new realm I refer to as “sublime refuge” - an acoustic haven that combines overpowering sublimity and soothing comfort into one fantastical experience. The second half of the dissertation pivots into more experimental children’s cartoons like Gerald McBoing-Boing (1951) - cartoons that embrace audio-visual dissonance in ways that soothe even as they create tension through a phenomenon I call “comfortable discord.” In the final chapter, director Wes Anderson reveals that these sonic tensions have just as much appeal to adults. In films like The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), Anderson demonstrates that comfortable discord can simultaneously provide a balm for anxiety and create an open-ended space that makes empathetic connections between characters possible. The dissertation closes with a call to rethink nostalgia, not as a romanticization of the past, but rather as a reconnection with forgotten affective channels.