CROSSROADS
Daniel Möllås
Throughout history, music-making has often been associated with almost supernatural talents - sometimes to the point of accusing musicians of striking Faustian bargains, simply as a way for others to comprehend such extraordinary abilities. The astonishing Niccolò Paganini, for instance, has often been linked to the legend of him making a pact with the Devil to become the most virtuosic violinists of all time, much like Robert Johnson, who was said to have met Death at a crossroads and traded his soul to become the world’s greatest guitarist.

Although such legends may offer their own kind of mysterious entertainment, ambitious musicians know that true skills can only be achieved through time and dedicated practice. For brass bands this is especially true: regardless of level, band playing offers both fellowship and the opportunity for young musicians to sit beside the most experienced players. Together, through making music, they can inspire and learn from one another.

These kinds of meetings and dialogues between generations is what inspired me to write this piece, and they can be heard in various contrasting ways throughout the composition. While written as a single movement, the work essentially unfolds in three parts, much like a traditional contest piece: an energetic opening; a slow, lamenting middle section with some variations; and finally, a long build-up into a quick, rhythmical passage that culminates in a grand finale. Across these sections, the music shifts back and fourth between contrasting harmonic languages, while also weaving together musical styles from different centuries: a fugue-like theme recalling the 1700s; the driving, energetic textures of big band jazz, pop and rock from the 1900s; and above all, this syntax is tied together with material derived from a folk melody dating back to the early 1800s.

First documented in 1819, this folk tune originates from a small village in the southern Swedish highlands - the very place where my father and grandfather grew up, joined the local Salvation Army band, and became part of a musical legacy that was later passed on to me. In this piece, a new context forms a meeting point between classical, folk and spiritual traditions. This is especially clear in the central section of the piece, where a slow, sensitive ostinato evokes distant church bells alongside an organ, playing a gentle lullaby. Yet the organ’s sound could just as easily be heard as an accordion - not only a hallmark of Nordic folk music, but also a subtle nod to my grandfather’s playing from beyond. In the same passage, echoes of my father (a baritone player) and grandfather (also a tenor horn player) can be heard, as if the memory of them returns once more on stage, joining a lyrical Flugelhorn in a trio.

The folk melody itself is a polska - a moderately slow dance in 3/4. Unlike a traditional waltz, however, its pulse often emphasizes both the first and third beats. As a genre, the polska has shaped Swedish culture since the 16th century, and in 2024 it was officially recognized as a cultural heritage. Despite its strength as a tradition, much of this music has been passed down and preserved only by ear. This particular melody, known as Komstadpolskan after the parish where it originated, is one of few that was transcribed by the historian J. H. Wallman. Yet today it remains virtually unknown - not only because of its regional ties, but also because very few fiddlers ever dared to play it.

Legend has it that in order to learn Komstadpolskan, a fiddler had to receive it directly from Näcken (the Nix), a deceptive and dangerous figure in Nordic folklore. If the fiddler passed one of Näcken’s tests, they would be granted the skills to play the melody. However, if they were to play more than ten bars of it, they would become addictive and unable to stop, while those who listened would dance more and more frantically - until they collapsed dead from exhaustion.

This escalating frenzy is mirrored in the music when the melody appears in its entirety during the build-up to the final section. It leaves us wondering: does the mounting tension forces us further into the devastatingly growing darkness of today’s world? Or does it reminds us of the legacy we must cherish - ensuring that violence never drowns out dialogue and the spirit of compassion?
//Daniel Möllås
Malmö, Sweden 2025