Junior Composition Recital, Miranda Duarte

JUNIOR COMPOSITION RECITAL

Miranda Duarte

Performers are listed inside the program.

Sunday, April 6, 2025

7:30 pm

Recital Hall

Oil Slick (2025)

Miranda Duarte (b. 2004)

Miranda Duarte, recording producer

Casey Kim, Hunter Campbell, Pete Norman, Ryan Eads, percussion

Roommate’s Lament (2025)

Ian Orejana, guitar and vocals

Miranda Duarte, piano and vocals

Hunter Campbell, guitar

Miranda Duarte, vocals

Miranda Duarte, guitar and vocals

Entranced (2024)

Miranda Duarte, recording producer

Miranda Duarte, Jordan Hendrickson, Leo Hearl, Ian Orejana, vocals

Aimee MacDonald, alto saxophone

Alex Maldonado, trumpet

Bergen Finley, guitar

Kyle Saelee, bass

Joe Evans, drums

Miranda Duarte, vocals

Alex Maldonado, trumpet

Bergen Finley, guitar

Kyle Saelee, bass

Joe Evans, drums

Duarte

Bergen Finley (b. 2003)

PROGRAM NOTES

Miranda Duarte is in her junior year as a music composition major studying under Eric Wood, Andrew Conklin, and Hendel Almetus at University of the Pacific. She is a blossoming vocalist currently working with Heidi Moss Erickson. In addition to writing music, Duarte is music director for Pacific’s a cappella group, Stocktones. Her goal is to move to New York City to get involved in television scoring. She also loves photography and creating multimedia art.

Notes by the composer

Oil Slick

The human experience is littered with hardship and disaster. In difficult times, art becomes a safe haven for many, and a place for true expression. In a country ruled by the rich, we drown in a world spiraling out of control. Oil Slick was born out of frustration. Use such anger to propel yourself into a space where you are adding to the collective good. Whether it’s through art or kindness, be the change you want to see and the person you want to find.

Bird Song

Male penguins search their beaches for the perfect rock to build a nest with their mate for life; black sicklebills attract females by creating a spotless dancefloor to woo a mate. Every species of bird has its unique mating ritual. Humans have a unique mating ritual too, sharing a wide expanse of experiences with potential partners before choosing one for life. Bird Song showcases some different interactions you have while learning what you’re looking for.

Roommate’s Lament

Based on a true story, Roommate’s Lament is filled with the joys of college apartment living. I love my roommates, so thank you for letting me throw us all under the bus. I willingly accept full responsibility for any and all chores I may have “forgotten” to finish. For those who are worried, our chore chart is in full working order, and only lightly graffitied.

Fingertips

Every song is a journal entry, an outlet for the tension I hold in my shoulders. As a songwriter, writing “happy” songs has been a challenge. Fingertips is no exception. Learning how to let people in, I spend hours with my grandpa’s guitar in repetitive reflection. Music fills the gaps in my thinking, brings peace to my soul, and creates blisters where my fingers press the strings.

Busted Seams

Embroidery is a tedious practice. Hours are poured into a single project, and needles can sting. There is much to learn about sewing properly: how to fix tangles and

PROGRAM NOTES

snags, allow imperfection, and untangle what came undone. Embroidery is a tedious practice and so is love.

Entranced

What started as a theory assignment for Music Theory III (Advanced Chromaticism) with Dr. Hendel Almetus became a well-loved project. Entranced was a final focused on utilizing techniques we spent an entire semester learning, analyzing, and internalizing. I present this piece as encouragement to enjoy academia in a way you resonate with.

Waltzes Unconscious

How many drinks before a woman becomes a spectacle? We push through the glass ceiling with advocacy, protest, and strength. Feminism remains an ongoing battle for all to be equal, but we are still fighting for basic rights: the right to our own bodies and the right to our own lives. Waltzes Unconscious is a commentary regarding the effect of party culture on feminism. She is intoxicated for you to enjoy, so enjoy her.

Spy Song

A recent submission to audition for a summer institute in Tennessee, Spy Song pays homage to my years in musical theater. I was always drawn to the witty lyricism of contemporary musicals; this was an early attempt.

Teddy Bear

Brought back from the archives, Teddy Bear was originally written in high school as Door, but rearranged multiple times throughout my time at UOP for different groups. As such, Laminated List has seen many iterations, first as an indie rock band, then a jazz group, then a jazz/R&B group. Music making is a fluid process often changing from performance to performance. A testament to my constant growth, here is the most recent arrangement.

Picnic

Dedicated to my parents, Jamee and Ed, I am grateful for the constant support. I would not be as ambitious and successful without your encouragement. Thank you for pushing me to be the best version of myself. Picnic is my mom’s favorite, described as “psychedelic *mushroom emoji* *caterpillar emoji*.” Also known as the forest goblin song, this piece is moldy and grimy in the best way possible.

Solo Samba

This was a collaborative work written with Bergen Finley (guitarist/roommate). Composition is collaborative, and such a rewarding experience. Solo Samba is our band’s most requested song, a crowd pleaser, and a great song to close a set. If you see this, please get up and dance! Thank you for being here and enjoying my music.

*All Lyrics Written by Miranda Duarte

Oil Slick

Flesh and tears are null; Swerve obsession.

The tree has the worm.

How do I tell you

The game is rigged?

No matter,

Weigh the factors. It’s all the same.

Roommate’s Lament

Our candy bowl’s filled up with chips, and a necklace, and the uneaten end of a roach.

The mirror is sprinkled with litter, and trash, and impractical Sal as a joke.

I’ve been collecting some Polaroid pictures on a cork board with miniature ducks.

But, something’s infecting what little is left of how little that I give a damn.

I can’t complain ‘cause the shower curtain’s held up by binder clips. What would remain if the whiteboard chore chart was all erased?

I’m not around to wipe down, so vacuum duty has to wait.

If I could bargain sweeps for dishes, Would the pile keep growing with new additions? If I watch another movie scored by your guitar, Who's putting Lincolns in the goddamn jar?

I can’t complain ‘cause the wall art’s held up by nonstick tape. How to explain that recycle isn’t for compost waste?

I’m not around to vacuum, so swiffer duty has to wait. If I could bargain sweeps for dishes, Would the pile keep growing with new additions? If I watch another movie scored by your guitar, Who's putting Lincolns in the goddamn jar?

I can’t complain ‘cause the downstairs break-in was quite the trip. All the restraint to pretend the trash bags were all replaced; I'm not around to swiffer, so wipe down duty has to wait.

Our counter is sticky and so is the floor, But you can’t stick jack shit to the walls. Each day it smells different like garlic or cheese, But I promise we don’t have the mold.

I’ve been collecting some Polaroid pictures to remember it all with some luck. I’m going crazy, but one day I'll miss it, and I’ll tell you that this was all fun.

Fingertips

I still smell our morning on my bed spread, Even taste your perfume on my tongue. Wonder if you left it with intention

To make me think of you When you’re gone.

I still feel your kisses in the evening, How you held me like we never stood a chance. Mark me and behold me. Don’t say sorry.

You make me feel so deeply.

I’d slice my fingertips to bleed, To understand your thinking in the least. I’d do anything to please, To promise you I'd never want to leave. I still hear your quiet affirmations, Even though you wouldn’t even sigh. Listen when I tell you I’m decided.

I don’t mean to cry When you’re gone.

I still feel the pressure in my shoulders, But you’re working out what’s held there nonetheless. Honey-sweetened traces down my forehead, You make me feel so deeply.

I’d slice my fingertips to bleed, To understand your thinking in the least.

I’d do anything to please, To promise you I'd never want to leave.

Busted Seams

Busted seams, Are holding back nothing. Loose leaf strings, Buttons, eyes and ripping out what’s left of things. How can I give it back?

I don’t wanna tell you that the back stitch was ignored. I don’t wanna tell you that the scraps have torn.

Knotted threads, Like your fickle indifference. Where’s the end?

Tangled in the tapestry of what’s unsaid, How can I take it back?

Why’d you go disguise that there’s a needle in the folds? Why’d you keep on hiding when her lips found yours?

Wound-up ties

Are sewn in and matted.

Intertwined, Gathered, hemmed and somehow still in short supply. Why can’t I give it back?

I don’t wanna tell you that the shears are in the drawer. I don’t wanna tell you what I’d use them for.

Raveled strands, As if I could handle All the snags, Pinned up to a pattern I can’t understand. Why can’t I take it back?

How did you disguise that there’s a needle in the folds? How did you keep hiding when her lips found yours? I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you anymore.

Entranced

If he brought it into fruition, Would you tell him that you’re scared? (scared, scared)

If he said it isn’t an issue, But I miss you. (can’t deny it)

Don’t need to say, Anything anyways.

No magic could manifest this gaze, The little bits of sparkle, and the spell he might have hazed.

Entrancing, but dangerous, I swear, It’s cursed or enchanted, but I don’t really care.

Waltzes Unconscious

Two steps into the bathroom, don’t ask how she’s feeling you. If the tiles were spinning fast enough, would she have to hold the railing? Two hands, are they gripping tight enough on the porcelain?

Waltzes unconscious, Halted, haunted, Will you watch her dance?

Fingertips are trailing slowly down your shoulders. Hold her, hold her, hold her.

Two shots, plastered, and free to view, don’t fall ‘cause the runways skewed. If she wasn’t drinking quite as much, would you hear the armor failing, Two steps from the ceiling, shattered glass on the porcelain?

Waltzes unconscious, Halted, haunted, Will you watch her dance?

Two nos doesn’t mean shit to you. Don’t ask ‘cause she’s here to use. If she wasn’t drinking quite as much, would you think about the nailing? If she wasn’t drinking, but still laid flat on the porcelain…

TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS

Spy Song

Underneath red scarves, below bedsheets and blankets, you won’t find the scars. Don’t start.

“Baby just trust me, I’ll give you everything” only to take it all away, The saint you couldn’t save.

Under the radar, dozens of red darts are pointed at my heart.

Sending off red flares, inside purses and cases you’ll see how I cared. You don’t dare.

“Baby I miss you.” Sorries are overdue. “Honey, I promise that I changed.” You just shaved.

Under the radar, dozens of red darts are pointed at my heart.

Check the paper, say prayer, prep your will and don’t be scared, before the martyr comes and you’re unaware.

Bite back the bullet for the one I took for you.

Swear through the taser ‘cause I’m shocked you never knew. Jumped off the cliff because you said you had a parachute, But not one for me, just you.

“I got your back.”

What happened to that?

I spy no partner in crime. Backstabbed so fast, fuse lit like a match, I spy an assailant, no alibi.

Bite back the bullet for the one I took for you.

Swear through the taser ‘cause I’m shocked you never knew. Jumped off the cliff because you said you had a parachute, But not one for me, just you.

Under the radar, dozens of red darts are pointed at my heart.

Bite back the bullet for the one I took for you.

Swear through the taser ‘cause I’m shocked you never knew. Jumped off the cliff because you said you had a parachute, But not one for me, just you.

Teddy Bear

Knock down the door. Hide under pillows. I’ll just pretend I can’t hear you any longer.

The way you brush my hair and say my name, Giving me the most but not the same.

Am I just a teddy bear you ignore once tears are dry, Another paper doll laying crumpled on the side? The house of cards blew over, So now I coincide.

Another kind of toy, You’ve tossed aside.

Picnic

Let’s lay down a blanket. Here’s the fuzz that I’ve procured. A checkerboard of fungi overlays the sandwich board, but I never said,

I’ve been growing mushrooms Out my eyes, my mouth, and ears. We could have a picnic With the mold spores I grow here, and I’m asking you:

“Would you like to come over? What if we threw a party?

And nobody came.”

Rotten apples littered. Only earwigs get a say. Pigs won’t even visit, If I asked for one to stay ‘cause I didn’t know

Picnics are for givers, and the apples choke and die: Suffocated, strangled. How can decomposers lie?

Set me free Set me free

I won’t ask. Please don’t tell. If I wished you as well, would you still wanna see? If your pinky was broken, would you then start hoping the same thing would happen to me? Would you like to come over? What if we threw a party?

I’d love to invite you. The sludge is for dinner. If we had a picnic, Would you be disappointed, If nobody came?

Solo Samba

Don’t tell me, “Baby, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

She lingers on my lips, on my hands, my hands. I’m giving up on dancing the samba solo When she's looking, and I’m weaker by her demand.

I feel her when we’re close and we dance, we dance. Her breath and her scent has me in a trance. Oh, she was dancing the samba solo, And I fell in her hands.

Dancing on moonlight, She fits right, Fits right in my hands. I can’t stand

Wasting the night. Let’s make it, Make it worth the time.

I’ll give her mine.

Don’t tell me baby “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

She lingers on my lips, on my hands, my hands. We’re moving on from samba into a tango, Now her hand’s inside my pants.