One of today's most performed contemporary composers, Anna Clyne has been commissioned by orchestras around the world to compose concertos for a bevy of exceptional musicians, including pianist Jeremy Denk and cellists Yo-Yo Ma and Inbal Segev. Working with a centuries-old form for soloist and orchestra may appear surprising for someone whose musical background is steeped in popular music, folk, and jazz — Clyne cites Fleetwood Mac and Pink Floyd alongside Beethoven as major influences — but the British composer relishes every one of these opportunities. Why? She sees collaboration as the fuel for her creativity.

 

"I love the interaction that takes me outside of my natural tendencies," Clyne wrote in 2023. "It's a source of inspiration and an opportunity to see my own music and creative process through a different lens."

 

But unlike the concertos she's writen for cello — Clyne's primary instrument before dedicating herself to composition — or the standard orchestral instruments she's become familiar with through her symphonic writing, penning a concerto for soprano saxophone required a field guide, an expert who could familiarize Clyne with the instrument's technical and expressive possibilities. 

 

Enter Jess Gillam, whose unparalleled virtuosity and charisma on the concert stage have made her a global ambassador for the saxophone. In fact, it was during an early meeting between soloist and composer that the concept for Glasslands emerged. As Gillam showcased the dizzying heights of the soprano sax's register, Clyne was immediately reminded of the blood-curdling sound of the banshee — a female spirit in Gaelic Celtic folklore who heralds the impending death of a family member by wailing, shrieking, or keening.

 

In the piercing tones of Gillam's saxophone, Clyne knew she had found a contemporary voice to represent this fabled character. But that's not to say Glasslands only inhabits a landscape of death and mourning. For Clyne, composing for specific soloists means capturing their musical essence. "I was immediately struck by the range of emotions [Gillam] communicates through her playing," she said in a 2023 interview, "so I knew I wanted to write a piece that covers a lot of emotional and sonic territory."

 

By employing the soprano saxophone's technical agility and the wide range of musical colors it conveys, Clyne was not only able to showcase dazzling aspects of Gillam's playing, but also capture the shape-shifting qualities of the banshee — who, depending on variations in local lore, can appear as either a beautiful girl, a shadowy elder shrouded in black, or a mischievous fairy goddess.

 

The banshee's wail in the saxophone opens the first movement, unleashing a violent storm of sound that conjures the fear and anxiety experienced at the news of a loved one's death. The soloist darts across the instrument's vocal range like diving sea birds, finding repose only in moments of quiet mourning, where ethereal, shimmering textures in the orchestral woodwinds amplify and echo the soloist's lament.

 

Leaving behind the first movement's shock and awe, the central movement explores the intersection of sorrow and solace. Beginning with the translucent textures of single winds and solo strings, a tender chorale slowly develops, like a sacred song of Bach, with additional voices entering the fray as the soprano sax floats high above its orchestral counterparts.

 

And in the final movement, Clyne shines light on the banshee's roots in Gaelic Celtic mythology, as one of the gods of Ireland driven underground by invading forces. There, in the words of the Irish poet W. B. Yeats, they "grew smaller and smaller in the popular imagination, until they turned into fairies." After a mysterious opening figure in the percussion and hollow, long-held notes in the saxophone, the strings usher in a puckish dance tune Clyne marks both "playful" and "whimsical" in the score.

 

The music takes on a sinister quality at the movement's center, as the saxophone soars in its stratosphere amid increasing chaos in the orchestra, but turbulence ultimately gives way to the return of the puckish dance music. The banshee's wail, first encountered in the concerto's opening, is heard once again in its final moments, jolting us out of our fairy-inspired reverie — a chilling reminder that death is ever present in our world, and the banshee's urgent work as a messenger of loss is never done.