To Say that I am a composer of contemporary classical music is to admit that, like the snail darter or the northern spotted owl, I belong to an endangered species.

The Music of the Past
Nowadays, classical music means, almost by definition, music of the past. Our concert halls function like museums, preserving masterpieces of the last three centuries—Bach and Handel, Mozart and Beethoven, Brahms and Wagner. The names of these prodigiously talented, dead white European males form a familiar and unchanging litany; of the music written since 1900, we hear very little, if any. Indeed, the most exciting innovation in repertoire has come from the least likely source: from historically correct,” authentic” performances in which modern instruments are replaced by replicas of their forerunners, injecting new life into old pieces.

Genuinely new music appears infrequently and under only two circumstances: when the conductor or star performer is personally dedicated to furthering the cause of contemporary music and/or when corporate or governmental agencies have given their financial support to new music, often by establishing composer residencies. There seems to be no popular, public demand for new music, and a glance at any concert program reveals that the twentieth-century pieces is safely tucked away between the opening work and the main attraction—which comes only after intermission.