William Vollinger might be a new name to many. I have known his work for years and believe, after much
consideration, that there is genius in it. He generally writes both text and music, each of which seem indissolubly married to the other. There is an alteration within the musical phrase between the spoken and the sung word,
reminding us how words can take flight, and how they were, after all, as linguistic scholars tell us, born out of
music. In his song portraits the lyrics are reminiscent of Gertrude Stein's characterizations in Making of Americans,
or Jane Bowles' description of Christina Goering in Two Serious Ladies. With astonishing depth and clarity, by
means of a few simple words, Vollinger brings his subjects to life, with a sense of the miraculous hovering about
them. In fact the miraculous is the underlying theme of all these works. In his portraits of Bach and Haydn, for
example, he makes no apologies for their being religious people. If he were called to name allies in making such
observations, which are not currently in such good grace, he could depend on Furtwangler, who remarks throughout
his notebooks and essays, that religion is at the heart of Bach, Haydn, Beethoven and Schubert. Furtwangler also
frequently refers to Goethe's remark, "An artist cannot create that which he himself is not." In this regard, the
obvious self-forgetfulness in Vollinger's works makes his own spiritual depth and sense of wonder all the more
apparent. These pieces, performed with much skill and devotion, draw one deftly and forcefully into their own
reality. There is simplicity and honesty here. It is a new musical language not born out of a desire to be new, but
a desire to be clear and to tell the truth. With all its freshness, it is rooted in our past traditions, felicitously
circumventing and the chaos, all the attitudinizing, and intellectualizing, and publicizing, that litter the present
musical horizon.