Elijah and The Wind, for flute ensemble

There is a story in the Book of Kings, in the Old Testament, that tells of the prophet Elijah, and what happened after he killed 450 priests who did not believe in the same God as he did.

He had just proved to them —through extraordinary manifestations— that his God could do things their gods could not. And after proving this, he killed them all, one by one, with his sword.

After this massacre, Elijah was afraid. He who had been able to summon the power of his God through astonishing signs could not face a woman who threatened to kill him. So he fled into the desert and gave up. He asked his God to let him die.

After struggling with the idea of continuing, Elijah finally heard the voice of his God, who asked him:

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Then God told him to go out to a mountain, because there He would appear.

And the text says:

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.
After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire came a gentle whisper.
When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.
Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

The symbolism in this passage has haunted me since the first time I read it. Was it the same God who spoke in a whisper that “made” Elijah kill all those priests? Or was that just another human act committed in the name of some god—one more manifestation of our own darkest desires?

The image of an all-powerful God who is not in the grand displays of power, who does not reveal Himself through spectacle, but instead speaks softly to those willing to listen—even to a murderer—has always captivated me.

This text, and its endless layers of meaning, have accompanied me throughout my creative process. I believe this piece, in some way, tries to express those same contrasts found in the story.

It is not easy for us, as flutists, to explore the extremes of sound —to stretch and distort the idea of “pure tone”— and, in the same work, to play with the utmost softness.
Here, the extended techniques are not “effects,” but essential parts of the work itself.

The task is to seek these extremes together: in each performer, in the chamber dialogue, in the powerful sonic mass we can create—and also in the fragile “clouds” we can reach using the very same instrument.

Victor Somma

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