Scott Ordway

PREMIERE

Composed for Min Kwon and the America / Beautiful Project

Premiere: 28 May 2025 at Symphony Space (New York, NY)

MEDIA

NOTE

In the 1840s, before California was an American state, some of my ancestors immigrated from France to Northern California. Their descendants have been there ever since. In the 1910s, some different ancestors of mine immigrated from Sicily to Western Pennsylvania. Their descendants have also been there ever since.

In addition to these, I have ancestors from Tuscany, England, Germany, Slovakia, and probably many other places besides. I have no cultural connection to any of these places. At some undefined point between the time my people left their countries of origin and the time I was born, they became American. I have no ethnic or cultural identity beyond that of "Californian” that is significant to me in any way. When I travel in France, England, Germany, or Italy—which I do as often as I can—I am acutely aware of the fact that these are not my people. I am culturally different than them.

In these comments, I speak only to the aspect of the American experience which is mine to describe: that of white Americans with diffuse enough ethnic heritage that they have no particular connection to any culture other than that of the United States.

What, then, are the defining cultural characteristics of my country that differentiate it from the places where my ancestors once lived? Let’s define by the negative. Americans are not exceptional because of our cuisine, our physiques, our intellectual culture, our propensity for second languages, our love of travel, or our symphonists (with apologies to Messrs. Harris, Piston, Sessions, et al). We are not exceptional because of our philosophical tradition, our folk songs and dances, our language, our national costume, or our religious traditions, most of which have their origins outside our borders.

The United States has made significant contributions to global music, art, literature, and popular culture, but these contributions (e.g. jazz, hip-hop, abstract impressionism, basketball, the well-crafted short story, and so forth) represent subcultures within the broader American cultural landscape. They are distinctly American products, but they do not constitute a cultural patrimony which all Americans are either raised or taught to admire.

What then, makes us different than our cousins in the places we once were from? Because surely we are different. We are distinct as a culture. There is something that is essentially American.

When, as a young man, I first spent time in Europe and among Europeans, I noticed things about myself that I had always taken for granted. Relative to my counterparts in those cultures from which I am descended (France, England, Italy, Germany), I was less guarded, more naive, more credulous, more optimistic, more welcoming, more trusting, less dogmatic, more iconoclastic, less reverent, more innocent, and more open. I felt uninhibited by virtue of being slightly less sophisticated. That seemed a worthwhile trade at the time and it still does.

This lack of sophistication is, paradoxically, the same quality that makes fine dining in America so interesting: we don’t particularly care about any one tradition enough to feel bound by it; this gives us the freedom to experiment in ways that traditional practices would otherwise proscribe, leading to unexpected and often delightful results. It is for this same reason that California, Oregon, and Washington are continually among the most interesting and innovative—if not always the best—wine regions in the world. It is for this reason that New York is the most dynamic, economically productive, and energetic city in the world. As Americans, we don’t mind throwing things against the wall to see what might stick.

For me, though, the most essentially American characteristic is our openness. This is what makes us who we are. This is what defines us. This is what distinguishes us from the cultures from which we originated. Without it, we might have become simply a mediocre, acquisitive, and marginally literate former Anglo-European colony. But that’s not what we are. I believe that there is something specific and beautiful and distinctive about the American cultural project. There is something more than economic and military might which justifies at least part of our centrality to the global narrative of the past century.

And there is no more powerful expression of this openness than the fact that our culture is comprised of, defined by, and continually nourished by immigrants from other parts of the world. This characteristic, when practiced at continental scale, is what makes us different than other places. This is what makes us exceptional. This is what makes us who we are as a people.

If not this, then what else?

There are arguments to be made for effectively managing our national borders and our immigration process. There are arguments for making strategic and self-interested choices about our national immigration policy. There are arguments for and against the idea known as “birthright citizenship.” There are arguments for and against the idea that the right to immigrate should come with obligations of language, culture, and behavior.

These arguments, though, are technical and beside the point. I cannot see any real argument against the basic idea that immigration and its attendant continual refreshment of our national stockpile of ideas and energy is fundamental to that which makes America different from the other countries in the global West and North which it otherwise superficially resembles. Immigration is the defining characteristic of the American political experiment.

The fact that I and a great preponderance of my countrymen are comprised of five or six or seven or who knows or who cares how many cultural backgrounds is exactly why we are more optimistic, more naive, more ambitious, more innovative, less sophisticated, more trusting, more economically productive, and more open than our counterparts in other advanced democracies. If you discontinue the inflow of people, you take away the idea of America.

After all, without that, what remains?

And so, with this and many other works which I am creating in the early days of what may be a fundamental transformation of our American political experiment, I am focused on the idea of the United States in a way that I never have before.

Many ideas do not immediately lend themselves to sonic interpretation: they are complex, abstract, and nuanced. But, in addition to to expressing or portraying ideas in music, a piece can be an opportunity to raise an issue which I believe should matter to us all, and which deserves a kind of contemplation that is different than the way it is currently contemplated in public. A short piece of music can create a space for discussion in public, in person, and unmediated by technology.

Written as part of Min Kwon’s fantastically ambitious America/Beautiful project, You are welcome here is an expression of my belief that immigration is central to the idea of America. It is also an expression of my belief that Americans must continue the difficult work of defining a set of values which we all share and which we feel comfortable expecting of those who would join us in our ongoing national experiment.

The piece is short, energetic, uncomplicated, and offers the pianist an unusual degree of freedom and flexibility with regard to tempo and dynamics. A short, bright toccata leads to a chorale on the tune “America the Beautiful”, which in turn disintegrates as the piece ends with an unresolved, rising scale. With this piece, I urge us to consider several questions:

What is the role of immigration in our own cultural backgrounds? How do immigrants currently support us in seen or unseen ways? What is the immigration system we would like for us follow as a country? If a system of this kind is not supported by our elected officials, why not? If we imagine the argument against this system, can we formulate the best version of that argument and understand why someone might subscribe to it? Why has the status quo prevailed for so long?

Everyday Americans must relearn to discuss ideas that matter in public and in person. Live music is a space where we still gather to listen quietly as a group and, as such, might lend itself to this kind of discussion. I hope to use my small platform as a musician to encourage this by bringing the ideas that matter the most to me to the center of each work I present.

Philadelphia—Boston, Winter 2025