Born in 1928 in Prague, Zdeněk Lukáš was one of the most prolific composers of the Czech Republic, having written 354 works with opus numbers and several more arrangements of folk music. He composed his Rondo, Op. 70 for the emergent Raschèr Saxophone Quartet in the summer of 1970, and like many of his instrumental works, it makes extensive use of the octatonic scale with its melodies frequently creating tension by pivoting between that scale's two modes. Among saxophonists following in the tradition of the RSQ, it may come as a surprise that I wasn't always enthralled with this piece; in fact, if you asked a certain saxophone professor at Northern Arizona University, there's a decent chance he could confirm that I'm the only student of his to ever openly dislike it. I was young and impatient, and its seven-part rondo form was, at the time, a few parts too many for my taste. But as I began studying Lukáš's other works and as I continued playing this one over the years—with several quartets, but especially with Cobalt—my appreciation for it has only grown, each motif even taking on a well-developed characterization in my mind. It's ironic that my biggest complaint back then was with its repetitiveness, since this rondo in particular sounds more asymmetrical than it actually is due to its deliberate unwinding of both its theme and episodes.

Opening with an expansive tone cluster built by independent leaps of each voice in close succession, the theme swells and bursts into a series of militaristic volleys followed by a unified alternation between Eb and Db and an abrupt halt. The first episode grows out of that silence with a tenor solo that is initially ruminative and then explosive, taking on an air of indignation before ultimately being rendered impotent by the stoic intonation of a perfect fifth from the rest of the quartet. Then, the theme returns without its introductory tone cluster and with an increasingly forceful extension of the closing Eb-Db alternation.

Taking a cue from the end of the theme, an alto and baritone duet begins with metered trills, although they are never aligned as in the alternation figure. This lengthy second episode proceeds with the two vacillating between those uneven blurs and a dry, pensive quasi-hocket, and the other half of the quartet joins only momentarily before the theme reenters at an even later volley than the initial repetition. The Eb-Db alternation evolves into a driving, homophonic passage in this third iteration of the theme. Combining the articulation of the quasi-hocket duet and the triple rhythm of the alternating passage, the lower three voices then become a brutal accompaniment to a lamenting soprano solo, which, after reaching its culmination, is finally revealed to be the first episode's hidden counterpoint! The tenor's anger and the soprano's sorrow come together poignantly before a brief recapitulation of the remaining episodic motifs and the final recurrence of the theme, where the extended alternating passage spins into a coda that leaves the audience with a resounding Eb.

Grand Saxophone Quartet in E-flat minor was born of my desire to hear music for saxophone quartet in the late-Classical/early-Romantic style. Before I began sketching it in 2006, I searched the saxophone quartet repertoire for works in that style and—apart from the great quartets of Singelée and Glazunov—found almost nothing but transcriptions. Though it was invented at the height of the Romantic period, acceptance of the saxophone was slow to come, so it's not surprising that most music written for it should have been in later styles. Furthermore, the new instrument was unfortunately seen by many as an unwelcome addition to the classical instrumental complement, which had by then become quite codified. Still, I couldn't help but ponder the impossible. How much would the Classical-era composers have loved to write for saxophone, especially in chamber groupings? The saxophone is such an inspiring and able instrument, I imagine such writing may have rivaled even the great string quartets of the period!

My Grand Quartet is a highly extended sonata-rondo with a fugal finale. The form and style owe a debt to the string quartets of Brahms, the Violin Concerto of Mendelssohn, and the Cello Concerto of Schumann. A funny thing happened on the way to composing the piece: A strong descending figure kept repeating in my head, one which I was making use of to bring about the close of one of the piece's major thematic areas. I was dubious as to this figure's origin, and so I only used its opening part. Later, when the composition process was well underway, I had to laugh when I finally recognized the figure as being from Mozart's String Quintet in C major, K. 515. Humbled, I kept it in as an homage to the influence of my favorite master composer. I went so far as to complete the Quintet reference upon its third appearance in my development section. I led unmistakably into a quote of Mozart's own development section, but in 3/8 time rather than in his 4/4, adding my own chord progression in an attempt to pass my materials through that Mozartean lens.

The Grand Quartet was premiered at Rosch Recital Hall, SUNY Fredonia, on October 12, 2009, by the Mana Quartet. Earlier that year they became the first saxophone quartet to receive the Alice Coleman Grand Prize of the Coleman International Chamber Competition. I wish to thank composer Richard Brooks and cellist/composer James David Jacobs for their attentive criticism and guidance throughout the realization of this piece. I'm grateful to the members of the Cobalt Quartet for their enthusiastic belief in this piece and recording it for this release.

Cobalt Blue was written for the rip-roaring, virtuosic, New York Metropolitan-based saxophone quartet, Cobalt Quartet. It is organized around the mathematical proportions of the atomic formula for the element Cobalt, and inspired in form and rhythm by the concept of a vibrant (cobalt) version of the blues, the traditional American art form. Thus, it is a kind of battle between two approaches of the same idea—bringing the element of cobalt into musical form. It was premiered with the Long Island Composers Alliance in 2019 at The Church-in-the-Gardens. I am grateful to the Cobalt Quartet for bringing it to life.

While studying at Queens College, I would go to concerts held by the Queens College New Music Group. Although I enjoyed those concerts immensely, I noticed that they tended to write for the same types of instruments, i.e. piano, voice, and strings. When I eventually joined and became president of the organization, I was able to choose which mediums the composers had the option to write for. One of those was the saxophone quartet.

In 2015, I wrote Saxophone Quartet No. 1 for one of the QCNMG concerts. It begins slowly, with the tenor saxophone introducing the main theme. The following fast section is rhythmic and driving, featuring cascading effects, syncopations, and shifting textures. Each saxophone solo throughout the piece is a variation of the opening theme, taking on a different character every time. This work was greatly inspired by Milan Kaderavek's Introduction and Allegro, also for saxophone quartet. Upon playing it, I was awestruck by the textures, harmonies, and the directed use of vibrato. I used it as a guide to help develop the ideas and overall structure in my own composition.

Möbius Loop is a one movement work. It was written in the months directly before and after the death of my mother. That time period was perhaps the most emotional in my life. The slow reflective middle section of this work is a tribute to her. Most of the music in Möbius Loop, however, is upbeat and hard driving, and was directly inspired by my energetic seven-year-old daughter, Sara Rosenblum. In fact, it is from a playful piano improvisation of hers that the opening measures of the piece originate. As a composer, I am fascinated by hybrid musical styles in which widely varying cultures and traditions merge or even clash. I often find myself trying to create such musics. In Möbius Loop, my interest in popular music, freer jazz forms, and Cuban music is reflected. The work also combines two tuning systems: the normal twelve-note equal-tempered system and a twenty-one-note-to-the-octave “just” system I designed to be used in conjunction with the twelve-note equal tempered system. The title, Möbius Loop, refers to the Möbius Strip, a twisted triangular shaped figure that signifies cyclic transformation and life cycles. The work is framed by one big loop; the hard-driving and rhythmic opening material returns at the end. Working in from both ends of the piece brings one to the quiet and still music in the middle. There are also loops within loops. When new musical material is presented in the body of the work, it is almost always contrasted and then repeated to form smaller loops within larger ones. This concept is reflected on many levels within the piece. Möbius Loop is dedicated to the memory of my mother Sonia Rosenblum, my first inspiration, and my daughter Sara Rosenblum, one of my continuing inspirations.