About Symphony No. 1: Floating

This work will be about an old friend of mine named Elliott Alrec Runyan. He was 13 years old and we were both approaching the end of our eighth grade year along with everyone else in our class. We had been very close when we were younger, and although we had begun to naturally grow apart into different friend groups as we were entering our teenage years, we still had amiable and warm interactions on a semi-regular basis. I greatly admired him; amongst my entire school population, children and adults alike, Elliott had a well-earned reputation for being a remarkably intelligent and personable individual. His deeply empathetic nature and his passion for shared joy, enshrined in catchphrases like “keep smiling ‘cause YOLO” and “don’t be sad, have an orange”, cemented him as a figure of universal admiration and adoration within our shared community.
On May 11th, 2014, Elliott did not wake up. His sudden passing shook us all to the core. One of the brightest lights of our community had gone out without warning. We mourned heavily, and when I and the rest of my graduating class went on to finish the school year and prepare to begin high school, our shared achievement was poisoned by the sharp ache of knowing that Elliott should have been there too, celebrating with us and with his dear family.
At the time of Elliott’s passing, I had only been composing for a few months—it had been less than a month since the world premiere of my first piece. At the age of 14, in the traumatic shock of losing a friend that I loved and admired, my ability to express what I was feeling through words had disappeared. So, I began to try to write music. Elliott loved rock music. His favorite song was Float On by Modest Mouse. I could do something with that, I thought—I could connect it to the way that he lives on in the hearts and minds of those who love him—like he’s floating on alongside us. Thus, the idea for Floating was born, and I began trying to write it. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t achieve anything close to what I knew Elliott deserved with such limited skill or understanding of what I was doing musically. The work fell into dormancy, but the idea never left my mind.
On May 11th, 2024, I graduated from Texas Christian University with a Bachelor of Music in Composition. I have gained 10 years worth of experience, knowledge, and skill, and I have finally acquired a diploma that cements those 10 years in writing. More importantly, this happened exactly a decade after the day of Elliott’s passing. I believe wholeheartedly that it is time to compose Floating, the work that will express that which I once did not have the ability to express: how much grief I and my community felt for Elliott, how much love we had and will forever have for him, and how much I believe we can all learn from the example Elliott set.
So much can happen in a decade, and I have found myself wondering who Elliott could have become in that time if he were still alive; how much he could have learned and achieved. That said, looking back today, it seems to me as if Elliott understood fundamental truths about our shared existence that many do not learn until long after their teens (if ever). He had such ease with the world, and such passion for love and joy shared amongst us. He was not a spiritual person, and yet he had a sense of having transcended far above the everyday stressors that teenagers are prone to facing. He seemed to know that he was free to choose his own destiny, and that destiny was tied in some way to spreading love to all those whose lives he touched. In a way, he was already a decade ahead of the rest of us.
In this spirit, Floating is intended to be a journey of growth from adolescence to adulthood, a journey from grief to acceptance, and a reflection on how people live on through the lives they’ve impacted far past their own exit from this life. It will be an emotionally intense work, yes, but specifically the kind that leaves people feeling fulfilled and positively changed (as opposed to just feeling exhausted). Floating will be my letter to Elliott about these ten years and all that I wish he could have been here to see; a letter sent with no expectation of reply but with a simple hope that it reaches its destination. And, while I can only speak from my personal experience because I am only me and not all the other people who were devastated by his passing, I intend most of all for Floating to center Elliott and acknowledge the rippling waves of his love and compassion.

I. The Little Tree

The first movement is a vast lamentation that will express shock, disbelief, and sorrow. A small purple leaf plum tree was planted outside my middle school in Elliott’s honor after his passing. As I stood looking at the little tree in my young age, I wondered at how such a thing could be possible. The movement will be characterized by near-silences filled with instrumental murmurs, gently blowing winds, and most importantly, ringing bells that will serve throughout the work as a metaphor for the call from the beyond—as the clock reaches the hour, cycles of life end and begin anew. The movement will feature material that I drafted for this piece at the ages of 14 and 15, both in enhanced forms and in near-exact presentations of my original youthful efforts.

II. Moving Through It

The second movement is a mercurial, dance-like scherzo. Time marches on, and so we must continue moving forward on our paths. A lilting waltz melody represents the work we must do to move through the challenges of grief, of adolescence, and of life in general. Although it begins gently, the melody will be pulled through a vigorous whirlwind in a rondo-like form, eventually coming out the other side triumphant and transformed.

III. On Our Way

The third movement is a reverent, reflective meditation. As we look inward on the path we’ve traveled, we acknowledge the sound of the calling bells through a gentle song. Our movement will slow and become somewhat wayward as we look back, but the bells will remind us to carry on, and we will continue to follow our path. At the end of the movement, ensemble members will sing the final verse of the gentle song:

We’ll walk our final passage on some fast-approaching day

Our brief lives will be lost to the greater things at play

We’ll stop for just a moment and we’ll wish that we could stay

But we’ll never live forever, no; we must be on our way.

IV. And Candles Will Light the Stars

The fourth and final movement is a passionate, rapturous jam session. The path we follow will come close to its end, and as we reach adulthood and acceptance, we will celebrate it all: the arrival, yes, but the struggle to get there as well. It is all part of the journey, each step requiring every other step to be whole. The work’s material will coalesce into a powerful release of emotion and energy, embodying one of Elliott’s famous sayings: “Keep smiling ‘cause YOLO”.