In January 2024 a catastrophic winter storm laid down layers of snow and ice, bringing an unsettling wind. One of the last evenings, the storm also brought a glimmer of hope in the stars shining brightly above us. Throughout our region, animals, birds and people lost their homes in part due to the weight of the ice on the trees and downed power lines. Seeing our ancestors, heritage trees, lying on the ground was—and remains— heartbreaking. I wondered about the falling and the ensuing felling of the trees. Perhaps the unprecedented heat dome we experienced in June of 2021 and the stress on the trees had an impact on this winter storm? We lost many lives to that heat dome. I wonder about the on-going impact on animals, humans and the network of plants and tree species. What happens to a tree when it falls? What happens to a tree when it has fallen before its time? What happens to a tree when it is voluntarily felled before its time for profit or gain? What happens? Who is affected and what is the lasting impact of the actions that have been taken? In writing this triptych, I don’t answer the question as I don’t know the answer. In writing this piece, I honor all of the natural world which is affected by the events of climate change. The lasting impact of this storm, we will never know. We may hopefully understand at some level, someday, that we are all affected and connected to all the earth, to the constellations of the wind, moon, trees and the rising stars.

An original song from Ringdown. Learn more about this work from the musicians themselves on show night!

An original work by Cecille Elliott. Learn more about this work from the composer herself on show night!

Commissioned by Voices of Ascension, Astronautica was a concert event of music and video by women, inspired by and based on the words of women astronauts. This movement, set by Renée Favand-See, sets the words of astronaut Mae Jemison from an interview in which she reflects on our relationship with the planet.

This piece made possible thanks to generous support from Laurie Flint, Allison Ellsworth, Jerry Fong, Shohei Kobayashi, Nancy Ives, and Classic Pianos.

We look to the intersections between those in the margins for humanity’s nerve endings—our vastest source for empathy and nuanced outrage. There we find Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, holding the door open for “the forgotten ones, the discarded, and misunderstood,” asking us all to stay “strong and delicate.”

A former grass roots organizer and lifelong transgender and intersex rights activist from coast to coast, Miss Major is a “veteran” of the Stonewall Riots. Hearing her speak today, you would not perceive within her voice the years of surviving our historically transphobic, racist, and often violent systems of oppression. And, her fight to liberate her trans and queer descendants continues. At age 78, she has opened the House of GG, the Griffin-Gracy Educational Retreat and Historical Center for the transgender and gender non-conforming community, in Little Rock, Arkansas. For more information please visit: https://HouseOfGG.org.

“When the Dust Settles” is a culmination of trans stories brought to life through singing written in homage to Miss Major. Amir Rabiyah’s original poem, created only for this song, synthesizes themes of intersectional identity, survival, and humanity, striving to share a bit of Miss Major’s perspective. They note, “Phrases such as ‘when the dust settles,’ and ‘we are still here,’ are direct quotes, while other statements and themes are paraphrased.” Their words furthermore point toward a trans woman’s right to life and to pleasure.

The choice of Db major, the key of the earth, hearkens back to “Our Phoenix,” my first collaboration with Rabiyah, memorializing the lives of our trans siblings who are murdered across America every year. But now, we celebrate trans lives and mold the relative minor into its parallel major—Bb—carrying along tones of Db major as badges for what we have survived to get to our “honeyed” days. #WeAreStillHere #StaySoft

World Premiere
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so quietly was written for the Brooklyn Youth Chorus in the summer of 2016. I wanted to make something that reflects the experience of being a quiet person in the room, wanting to express an opinion or idea, but lacking the courage to speak up and take up space. It is an experience I often had in school growing up, and it is something I have observed in other people (often young women) in a group setting where the discourse is dominated by just one or a few. Writing the piece was part of my own reckoning with the responsibility to participate more actively, to be just a little louder, to speak up for myself and others, and to contribute joy and music, even when it feels difficult.