Haunted Objects (Tsukumogami)

Haunted Objects (Tsukumogami) is cast in two relatively short movements, each of which captures the phantasmagoric nature of these pseudo-creatures. The first movement begins with a wail of terror: clanging percussion and dissonant clusters of notes with an insistent marching rhythm set the stage for the unexpected. Out of this cacophony emerges a gentle, bubbling pointillism that seems far removed from anything unnatural, except for the strange ghostly descent of ethereal trombone glissandi. A dreamy oboe solo feigns a continuation of the musical material, but is almost immediately (and repeatedly) disrupted by loud interjections of fragments of the opening wail. Adding to the foreboding atmosphere, each new phrase finds itself in a shifting harmonic landscape, giving a sense of instability and unease. At the apex of the movement, the two ideas merge, as the dreamy melody takes on the aggressive character and shows that, in reality, the two were the same all along. The movement ends ominously, with the monstrous side of the tsukumogami in full display.

The second movement begins with the contrast of a short, beautiful chorale that emphasizes a rising motif, before bursting forth with a quirky dance in asymmetric mixed meters. In many ways, this movement mirrors the first: the effervescent textures mimic those from the opening movement, and the primary melody is once again stated in a long oboe line before being conjoined with the opening chorale material. One might suggest that the two movements envision the tsukumogami from two different perspectives: in the first movement, we feel the terror and disquiet of a home’s resident suddenly aware that there may be spirits surrounding them, and in the second, we hear the perspective of the tsukumogami themselves, with unassuming love for their home and a playful sense of purpose. The coda of the work, however, spins out of control with velocity and fervor, showing that despite their (mostly) friendly intentions, these kindly spirits sometimes just can’t help sending their human counterparts running for the hills.