Patterns is composed in four sections, each of which is sort of a rhythmic e?tude. The first (“Move Along”) is a perpetual motion machine with staggered and angular rhythms thrown between the pedals and the left hand. The second movement (“Palindromes”) is calmer and is centered around an ide?e fixe in the left hand while the right hand interjects and ornaments. The pedals, here, are a clumsy cousin, constantly upturning the sense of rhythmic stability. The third movement (“Similar”) is all to do with ways to divide up the bar: seven, eight, six, five, four — it’s all there. Then the finale (“Very Fast Music”) is a perpetual motion machine on its highest setting — manic and hyper, with hiccoughs offsetting the regularity of some of the rhythms.

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti,
attingens a fine usque ad finem,
fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia:
veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.

O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel,
qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti,
et ei in Sina legem dedisti:
veni ad redimendum nos in brachio extento.

O Radix Jesse, qui stas insignum populorum,
super quem continebunt reges os suum,
quem Gentes deprecabuntur:
veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.

O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel;
qui aperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo aperit:veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris,
sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

O Oriens,
splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae:
veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum,
lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum:
veni, et salva hominem,
quem de limo formasti.

O Emmanuel, Rex et legifer noster,
exspectatio Gentium, et Salvator earum:
veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.

The opera’s premise is that a sequence of smells guides us through a oblique parable about industrialisation, through short episodic bursts of information. Some smells are dirty, like the rubber of a train in Paris, and others are classically blended harmonically well-rounded scents. Occasionally, a clean, neutral, pure sound arrives as a little flute-scented garden which should have the effect of clearing the chaos of the surrounding music (and, indeed, smells).

Nadia Sirota and Helgi Hrafn Jónsson join us as two of the essential voices that bind the narrative together. The multivalent collaboration yielded many surprising results: a 14-minute score that is funny, aggressive, shape-shifting, electronic, acoustic, and strange.

Performance Note:

The tempo is approximate. Do not worry about aligning perfectly with tape unless otherwise indicated. If you find yourself playing far ahead or behind the tape, simply expand or remove a rest. Keep all note durations relative. Not all tape events have been rendered for the purposes of simplicity. Additional cues should be pencilled in as necessary.

I Know Where Everything Is is a cycle of chords in a pile. Each chord has a series of possible voicings, and a series of possible quick ornamentations. The piece starts with the most moderate of these, works through the slower, more languid variations, and then concludes energetically and aggressively.
—Nico Muhly