Introduction to the 2012 Edition, by Carol Kimball:

Echo’s Songs is a collection of eleven songs on texts by a variety of poets. Despite a wide range of poetic styles, the collection is consistently engaging, displaying Hagen’s innate skill in text setting and his ease in creating an effortless ensemble for voice and piano. Daron Hagen began studies with Ned Rorem at Curtis Institute in 1981; many of these songs date from that time, and some might even have been assignments. Some of the texts are familiar by virtue of settings by other composers, including Rorem.

Although these are his earliest published songs, one still sees Hagen’s attention to detail—the “tiniest brush strokes” required to create a well-crafted song are there. Dramatic momentum is built in; the eleven songs seem carefully ordered, and at specific junctures the composer specifies an immediate segué into the next song. French composer Francis Poulenc placed great importance on the placement of songs in a recital group, comparing it to the presentation of paintings in an art museum: “It is all a question of ‘the hanging,’ as essential in music as in painting.” Echo’s Songs seem to pass by quickly—the longest song is three minutes long, the shortest takes a mere twenty-one seconds to perform. The kaleidoscopic parade of texts passes by, seemingly unconnected, yet if we take Poulenc’s statement at face value and look closely, Hagen has positioned each song for optimum musical-dramatic effect. 

Of course, brevity is commensurate with poetic content; however, even in the smallest of songs we grasp the following: the vocal lines are always grounded in lyricism; Hagen’s writing for the piano partners the voice and is always text-oriented; and his easy, spot-on skill with prosody is always apparent.

Hagen has often said that he strives for simplicity in his musical approach to setting poems and Echo’s Songs is a case in point. Text and musical setting complement each other, but always with an elegant economy of means. Hagen specifies segués between Songs 3 and 4; 7, 8, and 9; and 10 and 11. These songs are linked by similarity of textual images and their couplings carry the thrust of the cycle forward. 

The cycle opens with Never Pain to Tell Thy Love which introduces the mood of the first four songs of the cycle, which all deal with the wish for a secure and happy love. Hagen underscores the vocal line with a chordal figure in the piano that continues for most of the song, bending into bitonal harmonies as the emotional mood builds.

In I Am Not Yours, Hagen indulges in a little free-form counterpoint between the piano and voice; A Dream Within a Dream germinates from a simple piano gesture that grows in intensity in voice and piano to the words “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” Here, the opening piano figure blossoms into arpeggios that bind voice and piano into a romantic duet that moves forward until the dream dissipates (“O God! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp?”), then reverts to the idealized mood of the opening measures. 

Echo’s Song follows quickly, Ben Jonson’s Renaissance poetry linked to Edgar Allen Poe’s Romantic nineteenth century words. The juxtaposition works. The liquid vocal line is blended with piano writing of equally flexible texture, resulting in a sophisticated elegant setting for Jonson’s verse. Hagen sets Gertrude Stein’s inimitable quatrain I Am Rose as a delectable little toccata that flies by quickly in the blink of an eye, stunning in its simplicity.

Lost seems to divide the collection, ushering in the last group of songs, all of which share more tragic poetic moods. Voice and piano move slowly and deliberately, creating a sparse, lonely atmosphere. There is word painting here: Sandburg’s phrase “like a lost child” is mirrored in a vocal line that repeats over a piano bass line of four quarter notes that continues to drop ever lower until the end of the piece.

why did you go? (e.e. cummings) is a charming lament for unaccompanied voice. The last word in cummings’s poem, “looking” is split between the end of this song and the one that follows. A segué connects the two songs into one; the piano joins the voice with a simple one-line accompaniment to initiate “Since You Went Away.”

Hagen has acknowledged Thou Wouldst Be Loved to be his first song, composed as a junior in high school.5 It is charming, yet not overstated. Clearly, the young Hagen was drawn to the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe—both Poe texts in this cycle are early ones in his compositional output.

The last two songs in the cycle present two scenes of death, linked by the anguish of the onlookers. In Hagen’s hands, Walt Whitman’s familiar poem Look Down, Fair Moon, takes on an Oriental sound quality, exquisite in sparse musical texture. The gestural piano figures could be played on a Japanese koto or samisen. The vocal line is declamatory, using reverse dotted rhythms that give it a piercing character reminiscent of a stylized Kabuki drama. The final song of the collection, The Mild Mother is an evocative setting of another Whitman poem, picturing the crucifixion of Christ. Recurring rhythmic patterns in the piano throughout the song throw the somber text into high relief. 

—© Carol Kimball, December, 2010

Liner Note for the Premiere Recording

by Russell Platt

Echo’s Songs is a collection of eleven songs on texts by a variety of poets. Despite a wide range of poetic styles, the collection is consistently engaging, displaying Hagen’s innate skill in text setting and his ease in creating an effortless ensemble for voice and piano. Daron Hagen began studies with Ned Rorem at Curtis Institute in 1981; many of these songs date from that time, and some might even have been assignments. Some of the texts are familiar by virtue of settings by other composers, including Rorem.

Although these are his earliest published songs, one still sees Hagen’s attention to detail—the “tiniest brush strokes” required to create a well-crafted song are there. Dramatic momentum is built in; the eleven songs seem carefully ordered, and at specific junctures the composer specifies an immediate segué into the next song. French composer Francis Poulenc placed great importance on the placement of songs in a recital group, comparing it to the presentation of paintings in an art museum: “It is all a question of ‘the hanging,’ as essential in music as in painting.”4 Echo’s Songs seem to pass by quickly—the longest song is three minutes long, the shortest takes a mere twenty-one seconds to perform. The kaleidoscopic parade of texts passes by, seemingly unconnected, yet if we take Poulenc’s statement at face value and look closely, Hagen has positioned each song for optimum musical-dramatic effect. 

Of course, brevity is commensurate with poetic content; however, even in the smallest of songs we grasp the following: the vocal lines are always grounded in lyricism; Hagen’s writing for the piano partners the voice and is always text-oriented; and his easy, spot-on skill with prosody is always apparent.

Hagen has often said that he strives for simplicity in his musical approach to setting poems and Echo’s Songs is a case in point. Text and musical setting complement each other, but always with an elegant economy of means. Hagen specifies segués between Songs 3 and 4; 7, 8, and 9; and 10 and 11. These songs are linked by similarity of textual images and their couplings carry the thrust of the cycle forward. 

The cycle opens with “Never Pain to Tell Thy Love” which introduces the mood of the first four songs of the cycle, which all deal with the wish for a secure and happy love. Hagen underscores the vocal line with a chordal figure in the piano that continues for most of the song, bending into bitonal harmonies as the emotional mood builds.

In “I Am Not Yours,” Hagen indulges in a little free-form counterpoint between the piano and voice; “A Dream Within a Dream” germinates from a simple piano gesture that grows in intensity in voice and piano to the words “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” Here, the opening piano figure blossoms into arpeggios that bind voice and piano into a romantic duet that moves forward until the dream dissipates (“O God! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp?”), then reverts to the idealized mood of the opening measures.  

“Echo’s Song” follows quickly, Ben Jonson’s Renaissance poetry linked to Edgar Allen Poe’s Romantic nineteenth century words. The juxtaposition works. The liquid vocal line is blended with piano writing of equally flexible texture, resulting in a sophisticated elegant setting for Jonson’s verse. Hagen sets Gertrude Stein’s inimitable quatrain “I Am Rose” as a delectable little toccata that flies by quickly in the blink of an eye, stunning in its simplicity.

“Lost” seems to divide the collection, ushering in the last group of songs, all of which share more tragic poetic moods. Voice and piano move slowly and deliberately, creating a sparse, lonely atmosphere. There is word painting here: Sandburg’s phrase “like a lost child” is mirrored in a vocal line that repeats over a piano bass line of four quarter notes that continues to drop ever lower until the end of the piece.

“why did you go?” (e.e. cummings) is a charming lament for unaccompanied voice. The last word in cummings’s poem, “looking” is split between the end of this song and the one that follows. A segué connects the two songs into one; the piano joins the voice with a simple one-line accompaniment to initiate “Since You Went Away.”

Hagen has acknowledged “Thou Wouldst Be Loved” to be his first song, composed as a junior in high school.5 It is charming, yet not overstated. Clearly, the young Hagen was drawn to the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe—both Poe texts in this cycle are early ones in his compositional output.

The last two songs in the cycle present two scenes of death, linked by the anguish of the onlookers. In Hagen’s hands, Walt Whitman’s familiar poem “Look Down, Fair Moon,” takes on an Oriental sound quality, exquisite in sparse musical texture. The gestural piano figures could be played on a Japanese koto or samisen. The vocal line is declamatory, using reverse dotted rhythms that give it a piercing character reminiscent of a stylized Kabuki drama. The final song of the collection, “The Mild Mother” is an evocative setting of another Whitman poem, picturing the crucifixion of Christ. Recurring rhythmic patterns in the piano throughout the song throw the somber text into high relief. 

— Russell Platt, 1997