The Workers' Dreadnought (For Electric Guitar Quartet) Ironclad From each angle Impenetrable- as if the bolts of fabric clothing their frames, a cotton iron, steel- which formed the mightiest wall of both Blossoming and full figures was able to push forward fueled by the steam of their desire and the embers of their hate; The Workers, plowing forward in one movement the waves in their wake throttling the persistent trials of time, knew the war they waged- with white wears woven signaling a faux peace, yet shrouding truth- For their resolve was patient- A lifetime battle for a millennium war. “Hell hath no fury” Live performance performed by Aaron Garcia, Andrew Noseworthy, Oliver Hickman, and Caleb Abner. May 7th, 2017- New York, NY

"The Third Colossus" was written for and premiered by the New York University Orchestra on May 8, 2017 as part of their annual composer competition. Conducted by Eduardo Leandro. Recorded live in Frederick Loewe Theatre, New York, NY.

"Silk" was written for and premiered by Bearthoven at NYU Steinhardt, April 3rd, 2017. Karl Larson, piano Pat Swoboda, upright bass Matt Evans, vibraphone and drum set http://www.bearthoven.com/ Live recording by Aaron Garcia. http://www.aarongarciacomposer.com/

Inspired by some of my favorite licks that Charles Mingus ever wrote, this solo baritone saxophone piece is meant to swing hard. Mingus wrote and performed some of the most influential jazz music in our history, and his colossal library of repertoire spans an enormous breadth and depth of emotions. The passion, the rage, the soul, the fiery energy. Mingus was a man possessed. This piece serves to be my own small reflection in tribute to the "Angry Man of Jazz." Live world premiere performed by the composer herself, Shelley Washington, in November of 2016.

SAY I must have been in 1st grade or Kindergarten when some kid said the “n” word in front of me and I didn’t know what it meant but I wanted to find out It kept rolling around in my head What is it? A name? Is it a good name? I said it out loud at home, and remember my Dad looked sad. I must have been in 4th grade when we had to take the Missouri Assessment Program (MAP) test and to tell the state how smart we were We also had to tell them what race we were “Select One Answer” but I needed two bubbles to be honest I asked my teacher “why can’t I fill in ‘black’ and ‘white’” And she said “just fill in black” and she looked sad. In high school, I was on the swim team My brother was on the swim team We were both really good. We were both varsity swimmers. We both were champions. Someone said, “I didn’t even know black people could swim” Another said, “well, you’re only good athletes because you’re black.” I was sad. I went to college, and was the only mixed student in the music department. I played saxophone in all of the top ensembles- I was first chair bari sax in every group we had. I earned that. A guy I knew made black jokes all the time. “you’re so white though” “haha it’s just because you’re black though isn’t it?” I slapped him across the face at a party once. Hard. I wasn’t even drinking I was just so mad. So mad. I live in New York City now. You can be whoever you want You can be nobody The anonymity of solitude The fame of individuality I love it. Every day I decide to be myself. Just a drop of creamy coffee In the pantone of people here I am comfortable. I am happy. But I read the news I read what the things people I went to high school with are posting And how “all lives matter” though so why are you complaining And “well, he shoulda just listened to the cop and that wouldn’t have happened” And needing to build a wall And needing to take back our country And needing to keep our guns And needing to build up our police force And needing to these thugs I cry a lot when I read the news So much hurting Because of the bubble they’re asked to fill out on an exam form Because someone forgot to use a turn signal Because they “fit the description” I can’t breathe. I am sad. I, for the first time, have found an identity for myself. I am black, I am white. I am both. I get to be both. I can choose. But who cares? What does my mask entitle me to? I’ve been followed around a store before I got a DWB (driving while black) in summer once when I was really tan A coworker said the “n” word a bunch around me but “oh, well I thought she was Mexican” My opinions have been scrutinized It matters to me what I feel But it doesn’t matter. America is a big place. A lot of people live in it. Some people understand everyone’s pain And some people want “the good old days” back. We should be able to choose individually Who we wanna be/what we want to do/how we get to live But as of late we haven’t been able to, and it gets summarized in the headlines: Rich white dude raped a woman and went to jail for like 20 seconds Poor black kid was killed for no real reason. Was killed. So what do we have to say for ourselves, hm? What do you have to say for yourself? What do we even say? “liking” and hash-tagging have helped some so far I don’t even know if God is listening We keep saying all these things over and over But what’s the use? What’s the truth? Dead horse is done beat to death more and here we are kicking away at it so what do we do? What can we say? So what do you have to say for yourself? What do I have to say for myself? What do we even say? Say it Say it Say it Live premiere by the Schiele Quartet (Molly Aronson, Mujan Hosseinzadeh, Adrianne Munden-Dixon, and Michelle Painter) November 4th, 2016 in New York City. All text (lyrics and poetry) written by Shelley Washington.