The thing about ghost stories-the good ones, anyway-is that they reflect the psychologicalinclinations of the reader. They may surprise, frighten, inspire, or dazzle, but at the end of the tale animpression is made only if we see our own dreams, fears, and hopes in the characters. Sometimes we?frethe protagonists, and sometimes we?fre the ghosts, but the magic happens in the creeping realization thatwhat lurks in the pages might also be right behind us.

Haunted Objects (Tsukumogami) is a musical ghost story; one that aesthetically captures the spirit of aparticular supernatural cultural phenomenon of Japan, as the composer writes:

I love Japanese culture, and wanted to write something that would honor its people?fs traditions from myown perspective. I first visited in 2007 for the premiere of Kingfishers Catch Fire, and have been back severaltimes since including with my wife Abby on our honeymoon.

She?fs the person who first introduced me to the concept of tsukumogami, which are everyday items or toolsthat, after being around for a century, acquire a spirit and take on a life of their own. The idea inspired meto write music that alternated-and danced-between harmless and mischievous. I don?ft consider thetsukumogami to be hurtful; they?fre pranksters! They?fre always reminding us that they have a use, and youshould discard them with caution, as they might end up haunting you...

Haunted Objects (Tsukumogami) is cast in two relatively short movements, each of which captures thephantasmagoric 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 forthe unexpected. Out of this cacophony emerges a gentle, bubbling pointillism that seems far removedfrom anything unnatural, except for the strange ghostly descent of ethereal trombone glissandi. Adreamy oboe solo feigns a continuation of the musical material, but is almost immediately (andrepeatedly) disrupted by loud interjections of fragments of the opening wail. Adding to the forebodingatmosphere, each new phrase finds itself in a shifting harmonic landscape, giving a sense of instabilityand unease. At the apex of the movement, the two ideas merge, as the dreamy melody takes on theaggressive character and shows that, in reality, the two were the same all along. The movement endsominously, 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 risingmotif, before bursting forth with a quirky dance in asymmetric mixed meters. In many ways, thismovement mirrors the first: the effervescent textures mimic those from the opening movement, and theprimary melody is once again stated in a long oboe line before being conjoined with the openingchorale material. One might suggest that the two movements envision the tsukumogami from twodifferent perspectives: in the first movement, we feel the terror and disquiet of a home?fs residentsuddenly aware that there may be spirits surrounding them, and in the second, we hear the perspectiveof the tsukumogami themselves, with unassuming love for their home and a playful sense of purpose. Thecoda 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?ft help sending their humancounterparts running for the hills.
program note by Jake Wallace.