in the skin (2025) – fl/picc, ob/musette, clarinets, bsn/cforte, vln, vc, prep. hp, piano w/ bluetooth speaker, electronics (31′)
*Commissioned by Ensemble Proton Bern with support from the New Music USA Creator Fund
—————————–
“You cross a border, like you cross something that cuts you into a lot of pieces, and then after […], you have to put together those pieces again, and you might not have the same shape that you had before—you might have a…slightly different shape.”

in the skin is a work that explores the stories & memories of Iranian immigrants, examining what sticks within you when you move across oceans & borders, as well as what is lost in the process of this crossing.

The four large movements are framed by audio clips from interviews I conducted with friends and family living in Germany & the USA—smells, tastes, sounds, and tender feelings rustle at the heart of this work. The Scent of Oil & Chenār (Home) blossoms from the smells of sycamore trees and oil that remind Mina & Mahmoud of Abadan and Tehran, no matter where they are in the world. Cries of the Singing Well (Song of a New Self) finds its roots from wells in Oman, which are made to sing & creak while in use, paired with a reflection from Mina on remaking yourself in a new place. The Touch of a Mother (Lālāī) emerges from a lullaby from the city of Bushehr—a balm for Alireza’s long separation from his mother. Vibrations of a Party (Bandarī) sprouts from various Bandarī tunes from southern Iran, basking in the nostalgia of Mina’s memory of sleeping while a party continues downstairs.

Binding together these stories of immigration is a sonic unpacking of the ney anbān: a bagpipe instrument native to Southern Iran made of traditional goatskin, particularly focusing on the sounds of virtuoso player Saeid Shanbehzadeh. A rotating collection of oboes and clarinets are at the core of this exploration, with the two players facing one another, the rest of the ensemble creating a shell (skin) around them.

Smells that float you home.
Sounds that ring within your new body.
The memory of your mother’s hands.
The whirl of people dancing downstairs.

All that remains
i n
t h e
s k i n

---