Composer Adolphus Hailstork’s “Tulsa 1921: Pity These Ashes, Pity This Dust” is an operatic work marking the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre.
But composer Adolphus Hailstork doesn’t want us to look away. He doesn’t want us to cover our ears, no matter how piercing the truth may be. There is art in this pain. And, if you listen, there is triumph, too. In his latest work, “Tulsa 1921: Pity These Ashes, Pity This Dust” with libretto by Herbert Woodward Martin, the story of those dark days is told by a young girl, picking through the destruction and lamenting the extinguished hopes of a thriving, industrious Black community. O, pity this dust, she sings. This work of man Laid low in the abstract earth. This emotional aria — an operatic piece — will premiere on June 19 during an online musical event commemorating the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre, organized by the Harlem Chamber Players, Harlem Stage and Harlem School of the Arts. Along with Hailstork’s work, the event features other works from Black composers, brought to life by diverse ensembles of musicians and artists. Together, they give voice to a truth that has long been denied in the exclusive, often hostile world of classical music: Black stories are a necessary, immortal part of the American musical tradition. Building cathedrals of sound Hailstork considers himself a student of two worlds. On one hand, he is a deeply accomplished denizen of the lofty European classical tradition (He once studied with Nadia Boulanger at the American Conservatory at Fontainebleau — a detail that should send any enthusiast into fits). On the other, the Rochester, New York native feels a duty to commemorate the history of Black Americans through his music. “The survival of African Americans in this country is a story of survival. It deserves to be honored in the arts. On stage. In music,” he says. “It’s a noble story and it needs to be told.” His telling is not always pleasant. In “American Guernica,” composed in memory of the victims of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in 1963, flutes and horns blare in an unrelenting churn. An almost biblical sorrow infuses Hailstork’s numerous meditations on slavery. Right now, he’s working on piece in honor of George Floyd, titled “A Knee on the Neck.” Many of Hailstork’s works are shaped by pride, spirituality or a sense of historical import. “And sometimes,” he says, “It’s fury.” But even his most solemn works are balanced with a counterweight of hope. It’s there in “Pity These Ashes,” amid the tears of a child seeing the achievements of her Black neighbors burnt to the ground. Do not allow ashes to be the end of my days. Do not let this dust be the only memory of my work. “While it is a lament on behalf of those who died,” he says, “It is also a proclamation, that as long as we live in this land, we will continue to strive.
