I’m writing this on my 35th birthday. I’ve felt that age coming for a while, and it has scared me. There’s a part of me that thinks at 35 I should be more _____ , or should have achieved _____ . Now, though? I’m just grateful to be here. And the older I get, the more I find my fear to be a boring and small little thing. And I’m compelled to do the vulnerable things, the scary things. 

Last year I finally read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I was struck by something delightful: Hobbits give gifts on their birthdays, as well as receiving them. These gifts are seen as a token of love and thanks for the friendship and kindness shown to them in the past year. 

So, here’s this: A reverse birthday gift to mark my 35th trip around the sun. A vulnerable thing that both excites and scares me, to thank you all. An album of solo piano music.

I’ve always been self-conscious about my piano playing. I started late, and never had lessons. I never really knew about classical music, and taught myself by listening to singer-songwriters. Joni Mitchell, Ben Folds, Regina Spektor, and Tori Amos were my piano teachers. 

As technique has never been on my side, I don’t find myself able to write particularly athletic music. Instead, the piano has held for me a space of patience, of quiet; a space in which to pay attention to the movement of my heart. 

In compiling these piano solos into an album, I chose the title Satis House. I thought of this house — the legendary broken down mansion in Dickens’ Great Expectations — for several reasons. One of the pieces, “In Satis”, was composed for Ms. Havisham, who resides there. But the more I thought about it, the more the house felt familiar to me. Satis House, a symbol of frustration, decay, and the dissolution of once-great dreams, felt like a place so many of us could identify with. A place we may have called home over the last year. 

Most of these pieces were composed during the last year. As the pandemic kept me at home, the piano was a cherished companion. I hope this album can be the same for you.

- Alex Bechtel
Philadelphia
1.24.21

Liner Notes

Shimmer I • Part of my piano practice during the Pandemic has been focused on the notion of sustain. This piece began as this piece begins: these bright cluster chords showed up. Striking them lightly and letting them ring out, listening as the notes in the sustain shimmer and fade. Then expanding them and letting them move in tempo, before returning to the shimmer. 

Schuylkill River Trail • This piece was part of a musical project I created for myself during the initial lock-downs of the pandemic. I called the project I Imagine They’re Still There. From my home in South Philly, I settled my mind on spaces throughout the city that I wasn’t able to visit. Spaces that I loved, and missed. As I dreamed of those beloved spaces, I answered the memories with music. I love the Schuylkill River Trail. This is a long, lazy bike ride down that trail on a summer’s day. 

The Errand Boy • At this point during the pandemic, the goal was: Capture feelings of frustration without giving in to doom. The metronomic nature of this piece drives that frustration home, but the reach back up to the major tonality keeps the head above water. 

For Esther • This piece is from my score to the world premier of James Ijames’ play Moon Man Walk. It underscored the lead character’s eulogy for his mother, Esther. It’s one of the pieces I return to most often at the piano. This may be because I’m proud of it; I am. It may be because it’s very satisfying to play; it is. But I also think it’s because playing this music puts me in contact with James’ mind and heart. Composing music to coexist with James’ words was a blessing, and a memory I dearly cherish. 

Crane Old School • This installment of the I Imagine They’re Still There project was written for The Crane Old School, where Pig Iron Theatre Company has their offices, studios, and school. I went to grad school at Pig Iron, and the studios in this building hold magic for me that is difficult to describe. It will never fade. 

Out the Screen Door • I’ve been thinking a lot about the house I grew up in, in Reading, PA. This piece is a memory fragment from that house. Sitting in the living room, looking out the screen door to our back yard; snow slowly covering the grass. 

A Map of the Sky • This is another piece from Moon Man Walk. It’s the chord progression/melody that I consider the Main Theme from that score. When I receive an offer to make new music for a play, I read the script and then right away — without thinking about it in an organized way — I sit down to see if any music shows up. This was the first piece that did. 

Time-lapse • This piece was composed mid-summer 2020. A lot of frustration and anger was building. A lot of fear. I wanted to lean into the piano. 

In Satis • I wrote this piece for Ms. Havisham, the mysterious recluse lurking in the shadowy corners of Dickens’ Great Expectations. I would love to make music for an adaptation of this novel one day. 

Decomposition • God forgive me: In the 16 years I’ve lived in Philadelphia, it’s taken me until this year to hike in the Wissahickon Valley Park. I began exploring the trails of this beautiful piece of land this summer. Since then, I’ve had the pleasure of returning to the same spot and noting the movement of the seasons on the trees, plants, and creatures that live there. Summer, Autumn, Winter. This piece reflects that. A melody is taken down through descending modulations, returning ultimately to its starting point, but not quite the same. I can’t wait ’til Spring. 

Shimmer II • I couldn’t decide on a in-tempo movement of Shimmer. So I decided to write it twice. Now the two pieces function as a diptych, which feels right. 

South St. Bridge • This is another piece from I Imagine They’re Still There. At night, standing on the West Philly side of the South St Bridge, looking East. The view of the city and the traffic below, with lights glancing off the river. Taking the harmonic structure of ‘Time Lapse’, I stretched out the chords and tightened them against the high register of the piano. It’s a long deep sigh. 

The Lark • Since 2014, I’ve composed original music for the plays of William Shakespeare in collaboration with the director Matt Pfeiffer. It’s impossible to overstate how valuable our work has been to my growth as a composer. This brief solo was part of my score for our production of Shakespeare in Love: The Play. It underscored the lovers’ parting as the morning light steals in through the window. Keeping the sustain pedal down for the entire first movement, the overtones and resonance of the melody’s slow decay vibrate and echo in a way that reminds me of a dizzy early morning goodbye after love’s first night spent together. 

The House • This is a four-part nocturne for a sleeping theater. If I could, I would wheel a piano into the darkened houses of all the world’s theaters and play this for the empty seats. The heartbreak of the pandemic shutdowns has made these spaces lonely and sad to imagine. I wanted to write a piece of music to function as a prayer for them. An acknowledgement of the heartache, and a prayer of hope for a better future. 

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Recorded at
Rittenhouse Soundworks, 1.18.21

Engineered by
Michael Cumming

Photography by
Emilie Krause, Glass Canary Photography