People often criticize Mendelssohn for writing too many notes, forcing his performers to saw away for minutes at end in high drama; the same criticism is often leveled at some of the so-called minimalist composers. Like Mendelssohn's work, my own Octet is full of broad gesture, rich textures and narrative sweep, though here combined with a maximalist-minimalist's love of activity, counterpoint, and speed. It also has lots of notes. Central to the work's drama is the combination of a swirling, chromatic flurry with clarion horn calls that pierce the mystery of darkness and, perhaps, herald something more powerful, poignant, and clear.
