'Quartet for The End of a Time' by Thad DeVassie

Notice the dichotomy, a musicality with no words, wordless though screaming to be heard. It is a music of the ages, like old rustic hymns that many refuse to acknowledge, dismiss, they being out of step with the times, minor notes in a stream of major keys. The Quartet has composed its End of a Time movement as an elegy so sad, expecting to be forgotten, yet here we are marching in a street named Unison, the echoing tremolos of the crowd, the growing crescendo, the heightened fortissimo. This is no longer an elegy. It is an exodus of elegy, a deliberate walk toward the promise. Some are questioning: Who is this quartet? What are their names? They are many, and they are rolling off tongues like stones being rolled away as quartets of the disfigured rise. Something has died in this time, something unexpected, and almost too late.