On Friday, February 21, students, family members, and professors alike all gathered in Chatlos Chapel for an evening of Sergei Prokofiev’s War Sonatas performed by Cairn’s own Caleb Trezise, Rebekah Stiles, Caleb Kite, and Micah Leary.

At 7:30, Caleb Trezise begins with Sonata No. 3 in A minor, Op. 28 (written in 1917). The piece starts brightly, some parts of it cheerful, like the beginnings of glory; the glory a soldier might have thought was war until the first World War began, giving the word a darker meaning to change the face of it forever. The piece remains lively and vibrant. Then, the music weaves with something darker and more complex. The sound builds upon itself, growing louder into almost a shouted word.  Now, I feel like it’s shouting at me, a demand, right a wrong! It ends, briefly. Caleb himself leans over the instrument, and carefully puts his hands back on the keys, growing fast once more, shifting between a harsh whisper and a precise, determined yell, as if settling an argument. Then it’s over. He bows with a proud smile.

Rebekah Styles is next with Sonata No. 6 in A major, Op. 82 (written between 1939-1940), the first of the War Sonatas. This begins loud and rowdy, like one might hear at during a Newsreel in a theater of old. Growing slower, it moves in a more mysterious tone as Rebekah picks her way across the keys with a graceful air. Then, rapid-fire notes scatter across the piano—frantic. She pounds the keys with the power of a general, calling for all the sound possible. She pauses, moving to the next section…a slower melody arises, with a slight dissonance I can’t quite place…something is wrong, a poison within the music (or the world) that builds into a powerful swell of sound. This piece is an ever-flowing river—sometimes peaceful, sometimes so chaotic that you can barely hang on. This is the complexity of wartime – only snatches of happiness in the shifting notes of darker deeds.

During intermission, I talk with a few of my peers about what they’ve heard so far.

“I’ve been listening to these pieces since last semester!” says Erin Cummings, a music major. “It’s really cool to see them in concert, finally.”

I ask my friend Katie, who exclaims, “It’s more intense then I’m used to – different from the traditional, like Beethoven or Chopin. ‘It breaks the rules,’ that’s what I kept thinking.”

We all settle again for the next set: Caleb Kite, who performs Sonata No.7 in B-flat major, Op. 83 (written during 1939-1942). Directly, I am thrown into the heat of battle, a malevolent march towards uncertainty. He continues on, dissonant and confusing; now there’s the enemy approaching and I need to grab my rifle before it’s too late. This melody is sharp, high, piercing. Caleb rises slightly from his chair, lost in the intensity of the piece. Then, slows… the music grows mournful, almost emotionless and numbing as the notes roll and billow from the instrument. Then, when the high notes shriek again, it’s not disjointed, but part of something. It’s now part of this shifting narrative of rage and silence. Then, it flows louder as more notes join the fight, this heat-stopping, never ending fight against—

It’s over.

He ends suddenly, a huge smile brimming across his face.

The next is Sonata No. 8 in B-flat major, Op. 84 (written from 1939-1944). Micah Leary’s piece begins somberly—the war is winding down. Most of the danger is past, but the smattering of notes that quickly diminish proves that fires still need to be put out. This melody is more free-forming, like a disjointed quilt of light and darkness, struggling to be at peace with itself. Perhaps it will never be at peace. As the music slowly rises into a tumultuous storm, and becomes a continued shattered puzzle, I have the feeling that this is yet another cry. However, this is not a cry for justice or victory or even triumph. It is a cry to remember. Pain demanding to be felt. Chasms deserving to be remembered.

I am struck once again by the talent of these students, that they are able to get the timing just right to make the audience feel both the tragedy and victory of this war in a way I’ve never heard it before. It’s incredible to behold.

We’re still clapping long after they all take to the stage and bow together.

“So good!” Erin exclaim to her friends.

Rebekah’s friends surround her and clap joyfully.

“Outstanding,” Dr. Hurst says when I ask the Bible professor what he thinks. “Micah had me on the edge of my seat!”

Mercedes, a pre-med major, described the performances as “Musically sophisticated!”

“Wonderful,” echoes history/ed major Silas. “Moving…some to the point of tears.”

Indeed, a night filled with music of times past—music that remains just as complex and moving today as it did all that time ago.