2024-12-18
2025: A YEAR OF HEARtBREAK IN HARMONY.
aybar's culmination of musical love letters.
♥ Mark your calendars! 2025 is looking to be a markedly prolific year for my compositonal output.
My inspiration? Love!—or taking a more rationalist stance, the adolescent angst of handling new emotions and coming to terms with the start of adulthood, as I both nervously and excitedly continue my first year of post-secondary studies at the Glenn Gould School of Music in Toronto's bustling Royal Conservatory. From a documentary, to three trios, to a 2-hour symphony, I definitely will have no trouble keeping myself busy in this year.
The new year will be set off by a premiere of the Telus StoryHIVE documentary "The Sound of a Pandemic" by Victoria-based producer Joseph Boutilier, which explores the transformative power of music as the world was shut down during the COVID-19 pandemic. As always, music was my refuge, and in isolation I produced my first symphony (Op. 14), which has been the highlight of my compositonal endeavours, gaining international attention. This begs the question: can the symphonic form drive me to triumph in other aspects of my life, like my ill-fated love pursuits? (8 rejections and counting!)
Before answering that question, January has one more release in store: my intense Trio No. 2 in C Minor for Clarinet, Viola (or Violin) and Piano. Why viola or violin? The answer is sad but simple. Throughout its lengthy composition starting in September 2021, this trio would switch hands from dedicatees, from two separate violinists (one from the VCM and one from the RCM) to a violist. Ultimately, I decided to dedicate the trio to someone actually significant in my life—my clarinet teacher, Patricia Kostek. To whet your appetite, the trio's first movement is already available on this website, as well as a woodwind arrangement of it as a tribute to my past two teachers.
February has always been the eventful month from year to year within the context of both my musical activities and love pursuits—and 2025 will absolutely be of no exception. As I had learned from the experience of my first symphony, if something seems utterly hopeless and nearly impossible (like humanity's timely recovery from a global catastrophe such as the COVID-19 pandemic), perhaps the symphonic form would allow me to rediscover that sliver of hope, especially as I faced a disasterous romantic rejection in February 2021 which landed me in the VCM Department Head of String's office (who could not be reached for further comment). This idea would eventually come to full fruition in December 2021, where I would base each movement on the dawn of a new love pursuit, only for the mighty Hammer of my orchestral idol, Gustav Mahler, to reign down and crush my hopes. Surely in its 1:55:00 runtime, I could find my way to a triumphant choral finale?
March
♥ PREMIERE of Op. 23 (2024-03-04)
♥ Op 20: Trio No. 3 in E Major for Mezzo-soprano, Clarinet and Piano "Parapluie" (2024-03-30)
In stark contrast to the grandeur of a choral symphony, I bring the juxtaposition of instrumental and vocal forces to close levels of intimacy in my contrastfully impressionistic third trio. The umbrella, a fragile refuge amidst relentless downpour, finds itself suspended between romantic imagery and surrealism—its quiet presence echoing Verlaine’s Romances sans paroles and the curious legacy of Erik Satie, who left behind hundreds of umbrellas at his death. March will also see a world premiere of Op. 23 (to be published in May), yet another trio for the same performing forces, where the heavenly voice of hope entrusted to join me could perhaps be my guide to new horizons.
April
♥ Op. 21: 21 Selections for Violin and Clarinet Duo (2025-04-13)
♥ Op. 22: Concert Aria No. 3 in C Minor "Prometheus" (2025-04-22)
What could top a two-hour symphony? How about more than two hours of arrangements for clarinet-violin duo? Imagine staying up until 5am for two weeks with the hopes of busking with a violinist of your dreams, only for them to get "allergies" for the entire summer months. Then imagine setting your sights on a new violinist in the big city, only for a bubble tea proposal to be thwarted immediately. At least I am not Vivaldi (imagine writing 28 violin concerti for the same girl!). I will stck to my 21 selections instead, which would end up being dedicated to my clarinet professor, Joaquin Valdepeñas at the Glenn Gould School of Music, who (somehow) wedded a violinist. To finish the month, an aria about the dawn of artificial intelligence—who has been my wingman throughout this entire endeavour—takes the stage.
May
♥ Op. 23: Trio No. 4 in E Minor for Mezzo-soprano, Clarinet and Piano (2025-05-05)
♥ Op. 12: Duet for Flute and Alto Saxophone "The Five Stages of Grief" (2025-05-31)
To play me off as I finish my first year of university, a fiery trio (in contrast to Op. 20) paints a hotter picture of love, and to close the heartbreak cycle, I will finally publish a duet which explores the inescapability of death. Coming to terms with mortality, we can finally embrace what little time we ultimately have on this planet.
Through these musical love letters, I aim to look beyond my own experiences with love and attempt to explore the fragility of human connection, the bittersweet lessons of rejection, and the unyielding hope that love—be it romantic, platonic, or artistic—will continue to inspire throughout the centuries. This year, I invite you to join me on this path of discovery. Let every gorgeous, triumphant, tragic, bleak and ugly moment in my music guide us through the intricate dance we call human emotion, reminding us that even when facing heartbreak, there is beauty somewhere to be discovered, and in every finale, the opportunity for a fresh downbeat.
Here’s to a year of music, growth, and the pursuit of harmony—within ourselves and with each other. Stay tuned, and let’s make 2025 unforgettable. ♥
A Squidward meme to close, in full clarinetist fashion.
