Aaron Copland. Samuel Barber. John Adams. And now, Caroline Shaw. Shaw, 30, today joined the elite fraternity of American composers to win the Pulitzer Prize for Music for her Partita for 8 Voices, which she wrote for vocal group Roomful of Teeth, of which she's a member. In doing so, she became only the fifth woman and the youngest-ever recipient of the award since its debut in 1943. It's also, happily, the first-ever Pulitzer for New Amsterdam Records, which put out the album the day before Sandy wreaked havoc on its Red Hook studio. 

For those with short memories, the Pulitzer Prize—long considered this country's most prestigious composition prize —was hijacked for decades by a cabal of white men, all from the school of difficult music better appreciated than heard. Things had gotten so bad that by the time Adams won the award in 2003 for On the Transmigration of Souls, he expressed "ambivalence bordering on contempt," because "most of the country's greatest musical minds" have been ignored in favor of academic music.

Much like when Bang on a Can's David Lang won his Pulitzer in 2008 for the little match girl passion, or Steve Reich the following year for Double Sextet, Caroline's prize signals that its a new day for American music. I mean, this is a composition that was premiered not in a concert hall, but at a contemporary-art museum. And, it's damned tasty, too.

Congrats, Caroline. Hope you're able to squeeze in a little celebration after your ACME rehearsal tonight. 

by David Artavia

West Texas was alive and well Saturday night at Carnegie Hall, with The Flatlanders performing as part of WFUV’s Live at Zankel concert series. Before the show even started, the energy was palpable with excitement, as the trio imported loyal fans unlike I’ve ever seen lately at a concert. With decades of experience in the industry between them, the group welcomed the Carnegie audience like first timers—grateful and enthusiastic.

Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock, and Joe Ely walked out on stage to roaring applause, and just by listening to the tone of their voices, you knew that The Flatlanders had experienced life and all its virtues. One might not think that this grassroots acoustic band would be able to make the prestigious Zankel Hall into something country, but they absolutely did. And, although each member has achieved success in their own right as pioneers in country music, the night was an homage to growing up in Texas together as childhood friends—a great reminder of how the genre was born.

The audience knew every word that they sang, and it wasn't long before Zankel became a county fair, full of “yeehaws” and screaming requests. During their first set they sang audience favorites like "Julia," "Not That Much Has Changed," and "Hopes Up High" with tremendous response. Afterwards, they came downstage and sat on bar stools—each with their guitars, of course. One by one, they told stories of the old days and played a number of their newly recorded songs.

by Michael Cirigliano II

Despite being only two hours away on the Metro-North Railroad, the Yale School of Music is often glossed over by its Manhattan-based brethren when it comes to recognizing the best music programs of the Metro NYC area. Thankfully, the Yale in New York series strives to rectify that problem, importing the finest of the school's students, faculty, and alumni to Carnegie Hall's Zankel Hall four times per season. 

Friday night's program focused on the strength of Yale's string program, bringing together an orchestra led by faculty member and noted violinist Ani Kavafian. The program itself was a study in incredibly contrasting moods, with the death-laden premiere of Matthew Barnson's The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying and Richard Strauss' Metamorphosen ultimately giving way to the second half's presentation of Tchaikovsky's ebullient and light-hearted Serenade for Strings.

The Strauss received a rich and varied reading, blossoming from the cello section's somber opening and into a cohesive testament to the sorrow and despair felt by the composer after the ravages of World War II. Hinging on the fragment of a direct quote from the funeral march of Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, the ensemble provided varied interpretations of the well-known melody's many iterations: sometimes triumphant, sometimes exploratory, but overwhelmingly morose. Although heavier articulations and a greater presence during the most tragic climaxes were lacking, there was flawless communication between all of the players, who performed without a conductor.