Liner Notes

As a graduate of the New England Conservatory, I was around McKinley, though I can’t say I knew him personally. Still, I consider it a privilege to have shared the same time and space, to have experienced many live performances of his music. Now, through archival efforts and newly released albums, I find myself drawn even deeper into his work. It feels like the right moment to reintroduce and re-evaluate his extraordinary output

What do we call the music of William Thomas McKinley? Is it “contemporary”? “Modern”? Simply “20th-century”? Do we even need a label? Any answer is bound to spark debate. However, all I know is this: McKinley’s music always holds my attention. It fascinates me and leaves a powerful emotional impression.

McKinley has a singular ability to capture the listener's attention using relatively simple means. Often, there are not many elements in play—but what is there is always compelling. His music seizes the ear. Isn’t that what we mean by the economy of means? A composer who takes a small amount of material and stretches it across a rich narrative landscape is worthy of admiration.

McKinley didn’t develop his material in the traditional classical sense. Instead, he continually transformed it—like someone who invents games on the fly, adapting to the situation, improvising as required. Think of an impromptu neighborhood baseball game, where a fire hydrant is first base, a manhole cover is second, and a trashcan is third. Home plate? Maybe an old glove. This spirit of invention was no abstraction—McKinley was both a formidable jazz pianist and, in his younger years, a skilled knuckleball pitcher in inter-city leagues. His music reflects this same creative versatility: he could take any musical idea and turn it into something absorbing. It’s not the story that matters most, but the storytelling. And in McKinley’s world, the storyteller is the star—and what a storyteller he was.

Serenata (1989)

Looking at the movement titles, this recalls Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du Soldat, and the instrumentation—especially the use of clarinet and cello—echoes that lineage.

I. Ragtime: At first, this doesn’t sound like a ragtime. It feels more like a waltz—except it’s in duple meter, not triple. But through hemiola, McKinley makes it feel like a waltz regardless. Why the meter mismatch? Because it gives him flexibility. He can shift back and forth—two, three, somewhere in between. Syncopation, a hallmark of ragtime, is ever-present. And in true McKinley fashion, there’s a surprise at the end: after a two-bar silence, the music jolts back with its opening gesture, reminiscent of the first movement of his March Symphony.

II. Waltz: A tongue-in-cheek title—he’s already waltzed us in the previous movement. This one opens with a piano figure evoking Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1, slowed and stretched. The noir sensibility lingers, though it’s less a waltz than a memory of one.

III. March: A feeling of chaotic tension dominates. The piccolo evokes something like a police whistle. A striking unison section in the middle may nod to Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time, just as in the March Symphony. The movement, once again, fades away.

IV. Lullaby: A “film-noir” feeling, this time conveyed through sparse piano and dissonant commentary from flute and cello. There’s a lullaby-like rocking in 6/8, but it’s not for children. It’s for the weary souls of mid-century adulthood.

V. Jig: The jig is present, but never obvious. It’s camouflaged in off-beat accents and misleading gestures. This is not music that gives up its secrets easily. There’s upward motion—buoyancy, even flight—rather than the usual earthbound weight of a jig. And once again, noir shadows haunt the texture. Then—it just stops.

VI. Polka: This might be the most literal of the movements. There’s joy and chaos in equal measure. At one point, the music nearly tumbles over itself, like someone running downhill too fast. It recovers, only to end in an frenzied, almost gleeful collapse.

VII. Finale: The finale begins unexpectedly: a lonely flute cadenza instead of grandeur. A storm begins to gather—momentum builds. Just as something truly monumental seems about to occur…it ends. The gesture is clear. The reason why? That’s the mystery. It’s not strange, just unusual and something truly original.

Piano Quartet (1988)

McKinley’s program note for the Piano Quartet, dedicated to the Los Angeles Piano Quartet, describes the piece as a bold and expansive narrative canvas, rich in harmony and expression. He acknowledges the Brahmsian lineage of the piano quartet form and speaks of his own desire to contribute to that tradition. Piano quartets inherently allow for rich textural possibilities, and here, McKinley often frames the dialogue as two “teams”: the piano (both hands) versus the string trio.

I. Lento dramatico: A stark, massive F minor heard in the piano’s low register recalls the opening of Brahms’ op. 60. The movement contrasts textures between the piano and strings, the latter often maintaining steady rhythms. A thematic transformation occurs as the right-hand piano theme reappears in the viola, then the cello. After turbulent development, the music ends abruptly and catastrophically—perhaps foreshadowing the quartet’s ultimate close.

II. Tempo di valse e elegante: Melancholy and wistful, the music again touches on film noir imagery, though the waltz rhythm feels too cheerful for that comparison to hold. A central section evokes jazz before returning to the waltz, now simplified and syncopated. A coda emerges, with a pizzicato “burp” ending things with dry wit.

III. Allegro e giubilante: Opening with pizzicato unison rhythms, this has the spirit of a primitive dance—Bartók-esque. The piano joins with dotted rhythms and syncopated patterns. Later, triplets battle with duplets. A slower middle section introduces contrasting material, but the pulse remains vital. This is rhythmic playground music—energetic, inventive, and vibrant.

March Symphony (1984)

As heard in the previous works on this album, much of McKinley’s music evokes the atmosphere of film noir—uneasy, melancholy, complex—infused with jazz and layered expression.

I. Allegro appassionato: Dark yet optimistic, this opening feels like a jazz combo where every player takes a turn—but here, the composer improvises everything. The movement seems to conclude before starting over and collapsing into its true ending.

II. Andante grazioso: Texture, more than melody or harmony, drives the music. The music is more minimalist rather than developmental. Yet there are traditional devices too: McKinley’s inversion of textural relationships recalls Brahms. This movement omits the flute, which…

III. Scherzo and Trio: …(the flute) returns with a sudden flare, launching a scherzo filled with virtuosic, fugue-like energy. A midsection evokes Messiaen and Beethoven (Grosse Fuga), full of angular unisons.

IV. Presto, joyous: McKinley hints at his Irish roots with a folk-like melody in the opening. Unisons give way to canons—sometimes in pairs, sometimes solo. He spins over a minute of material from a single, efficient musical idea. This is music of economy and vision, as well as joy and invention. 

Conclusion

What emerges from this recording is a portrait of a composer who was above all a performer—a musical thinker who composed from within the act of playing. McKinley didn’t obsess over his ideas the way Beethoven or Brahms did. Instead, he explored them with curiosity, wit, and an improviser’s instinct. He took pleasure in the unfolding of ideas, revealing them through vivid textures, evocative gestures, and structural surprises. His music never overstays its welcome, always inviting the listener—and performer—into a space of imagination and play. McKinley’s storytelling is always vibrant, deeply human, and, above all, unforgettable. Listening to this music, I find myself thinking: I want to play this.

–Peter C. Chun (April 2025)

About Peter C. Chun:

Chung-Hoon Peter Chun is a violist and conductor who has been performing in various capacities for 35 years.  He has taught at University of Kansas, Park University’s International Center for Music, and in many summer programs.  Taught by many master musicians at New England Conservatory of Music and other institutions, he is proud to carry on musical traditions and values of these masters.