Prequiem Dream

On Wednesday, May 16, Timothy McVeigh will be executed at Terre Haute Federal Prison in Terre Haute, Indiana, for his role in the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City six years ago. Only a few of the 168 victims' families will be able to fit in the witnesses' room for McVeigh's execution, and a federal judge still has not decided whether he will allow them to view it by closed-circuit television. But Lawrence/Los Angeles composer David Woodard (no relation to any involved) wants to make sure he and 29 fellow musicians can be there to perform a song of comfort. Not for the grieving families of the victims, and not for the grieving family of the dying, either (none of McVeigh's relatives will be in attendance), but for McVeigh himself.

With little more than a month left until McVeigh's execution, Woodard is running out of time to convince unmoved officials that the prison grounds provide an appropriate venue for the premiere of his latest project, "Ave Atque Vale." On March 16, Terre Haute Public Affairs Officer James Cross announced that no chamber orchestra of any size would be permitted to perform at the site, despite Woodard's score instructions, which indicate that McVeigh's presence immediately prior to the execution is "a component to the general requiem's initial performance." On his Web site(http://davidwoodard.com), Woodard provides contact information for the people he feels are unjustly censoring his expression, urging readers to preserve "the integrity of American music" by preventing his piece from becoming "America's first banned orchestral score since 1941, when Stravinsky's nondiatonic arrangement of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' was ordered physically removed from music stands by policemen." Such propaganda has had little effect -- at press time, Gregory Hershberger, the Kansas City, Kansas-based regional director of the Bureau of Prisons, maintained that Woodard would not be able to perform on site -- but in this recent e-mail interview, the beleaguered composer explains his unyielding stance:

Pitch: You did something similar in Los Angeles for the victims of a February 1 funicular railway accident. What made you decide to compose that piece?

Woodard: I observed from my office the horrific spectacle involving the Angels Flight funicular. A failing gear caused the trolley to crash, killing Holocaust survivor Leon Praport and critically injuring his wife, Lola. Because I am in the habit of composing requiems, I attempted to pay Lola Praport a visit in the hospital the following day and discuss with her possible details of a custom requiem. While briskly striding into the hospital, I recall feeling like Crispin Glover's ambulance-chasing hearse driver in What's Eating Gilbert Grape and was appalled to find that city-appointed guards protected Lola's privacy. I returned to the office and began studying the accident and composing the piece I would eventually title "An Elegy for Two Angels," thinking Lola was on her way out. Ideally, I would perform the elegy for Lola while she was still in a condition to appreciate the music -- as a "prequiem," my coinage for a requiem performed for the nearly dead. Weeks later, shortly before I completed the elegy, Mayor Richard Riordan granted Lola the unusual permission to fly home despite laws restricting interstate transit of patients listed in critical or serious condition. Six weeks after the accident, at the scene of the horrific death, I premiered "An Elegy for Two Angels" with members of the Los Angeles Marching Band. The Angels Flight block of Hill Street was partially closed, and Lola's attorney, Gary Dordick, who ceremonially received the score on her behalf and flew to New Jersey the following morning to personally deliver the gift, represented her. Adam Parfrey emceed the event, introducing various civic, religious and cultural leaders (e.g., Rabbi Cooper of Simon Wiesenthal Center, Leonard Jackson of First AME Church, Deputy Mayor Rocky Delgadillo, council member Rita Walters, all-retardate rock group Hi Hopes and others), who gave brief encomiums and eulogies. By a bizarre coincidence, my favorite movie star, Crispin Glover, was present and said that he loved the music. He needs someone to score the movie he's now directing, which stars Margit Carstensen, of Fassbinder fame, so perhaps he'll come to his senses.

Pitch: Why did you decide to pay a similar tribute on this occasion (McVeigh's execution)?

Woodard: One link between "An Elegy for Two Angels" and "Ave Atque Vale" is the prevalence of the number 33 in these deaths. In the case of Angels Flight, the funicular's incline was 33 degrees. Also, the building at the top of the world's shortest railway was at one time Elks Lodge 99. In Timothy McVeigh's case, 33 is everywhere. The post office box for inmate correspondence at Terre Haute is 33. The size of Terre Haute penitentiary is 33 acres. McVeigh's final attempt to appeal last year was procedure 33. Moreover, like Christ, McVeigh will be 33 and nearly universally despised at the time of his execution.

Pitch: How do the two pieces differ, both in their intent and composition?

Woodard: "Elegy" is a melancholic brass fanfare. Though fairly diatonic, it is intended to yield a suspended-in-animation feeling in the listener. It is slow, chordal and makes heavy use of accidentals until the end, which is extremely climactic, as though someone just arrived at a lovely place. "Ave Atque Vale," on the other hand, begins pointilistically and atonally. Amused by Penderecki's notation habits, I have invented some new symbols here, such as the increasingly hypertensive-looking chicken-scratch bassoon and contrabassoon lines in the first two-and-a-half-minute measure. However, after three and a half minutes, the strings and winds join harmonically with the baritone, which intones the only lyrics in "Ave Atque Vale." This is a line I heard from the lips of James Grauerholz. After attempting to eulogize the passing of William Burroughs and choking up, he closed his contribution to Burroughs' funeral with "Ave Atque Vale" -- onward, valiant soldier. "Ave Atque Vale" ends with a massive, long-held tone cluster played by all strings and winds, accompanied by a triangle (played by the baritone). This represents the entire universe being placed at the disposal of the dying subject. After the tone cluster has concluded, the triangle continues, mezzo piano, for three minutes and 33 seconds, attenuating in speed.