BY STEPHANIE ESLAKE
As Australian composer-pianist Sarah Elise Thompson releases her newest music, the moment is bittersweet. Her five-track EP, filled with original works for piano and string quartet, reveals her innermost feelings of grief and love.
Written in the wake of her friends’ deaths, Sarah sat down at the piano and used texture and tone to connect with the people she loved and lost, finding moments of joy that can still shine through in their absences.
Sarah — whose past music has been premiered at the Sydney Opera House, Melbourne Recital Centre, and Carnegie Hall — tells CutCommon readers about the story of her latest release, eternal light.
Sarah, thank you for sharing the story of your new EP with us. I’d love to know how the music came to be, which I understand emerged from a difficult time.
The eternal light EP came totally unexpected for me. I did not set out with the intention of composing or creating a new album but after events occurred in my personal life, I found my way back to the recording studio and created these pieces.
I released my debut album self centre in 2021, and the album was my way of introducing me and my musical voice to the world. It was my first time sharing pieces that were truly vulnerable and personal rather than simply writing works on commission for other groups to play.
Shortly after the album came out, a tragic series of events took place in my life.
In April 2022, two of my close friends passed away, two days apart from each other. They were both musicians in their 30s who sadly passed away due to cancer.
When I found out the news of their passing, I was in total shock. I could not process what had happened or comprehend that my friends were no longer here. My body became chronically ill and in pain, and I stopped making music all together.
Eventually the music flowed out of me. I felt strong enough to come back to the piano, and I channelled my emotions into this EP from this new vulnerable place in order to process the grief I was feeling.
I was looking for signs of hope and a reminder of the love of my friends, and the EP is my way of keeping their spirit and love of music alive.
Each of us will experience grief in different ways, whether in solitary or drawn to people we feel safe with. You were drawn toward music. Why did you feel moved to connect with your feelings in this way?
At first, I couldn’t go to the piano at all as it was too painful, but eventually music became the way I channelled my grief. Music was the common language spoken between my friends and I, and music felt like the best way to communicate how I was feeling.
Before they passed, I was composing a new piece for my friend, a countertenor, to sing and perform in a recital tour that would go around the country. The other friend, a percussionist/multi-instrumentalist/composer, and I had recently completed a composition of our own which we collaborated on. That collaboration is on this EP, a piece titled moonchild rearranged for solo piano.
Our last text thread was us excitedly planning to write more music, maybe even making a collaborative album, and saying how much we loved creating together. There are so many voice recordings in my phone from the first workshops of the pieces, and hearing us laughing and chatting in the background. I still haven’t brought myself to listen to those as it’s still quite raw.
In the early days after their passing, I would listen to music all day long, playing albums and the artists that they loved — like The Smiths, Stevie Wonder, Kate Bush and Tame Impala — and I would play their songs on repeat. Music gave me a chance to give myself permission to grieve and remember them. In particular, the song There is a light that never goes out by The Smiths is very special to me, and is where the EP’s title eternal light is directly inspired.
When I finally felt ready, I started to revisit the works we had started as well as beginning to improvise, thinking of what I wanted to say to them. It was initially hard but the more I kept coming back to the instrument, the more I felt connected to my friends. The pain eased and became joy. I began looking forward to composing as it gave me so much comfort and release, having a place I could process and think about my friends and the fun we had creating music together.
Thank you for sharing that history, Sarah. Grief is a confronting experience — one that can be painful to process. How did you support yourself while experiencing this intense emotion during your composition process?
I think I needed to sit with the grief and process all of the emotions. I needed a place that I could go to that made me feel safe to feel how I was feeling and all of the memories that kept flooding back. The period of grief can create a feeling of hopelessness, loss and confusion. But in small moments, I found that light can break through.
Hope came in the little signs — a dream, a memory, a photo, a hug, a special place or room, or listening to a song. When these signs came, it filled my heart with love and warmth again.
I have so many memories of the fun times we spent laughing and creating in a practice room together, and when I finally came back to the room, it was a cathartic experience. I could replay memories in my mind and allow those feelings to flow through the piano.
I started thinking about the little signs that brought me comfort during grief, and writing pieces about what those signs brought me. I made this EP because I thought if my friends can’t play their music anymore, it’s our job to keep the music going and share their stories.
I want the light to continue on, even if our loved ones aren’t physically present anymore.
How did you choose musical themes or textures in your tracks that represented the emotions, or memories, that came to you at that time?
I was looking for how to compose the emotions of both the deep sadness I was feeling but also hope, comfort, and strength — and I found that while writing the music.
The five pieces were written either for solo piano, or for piano and string quartet. I really felt drawn to composing for the strings as they have this warm, gentle quality that I could capture the emotions I was feeling. I would layer them over the piano parts, and create these textures that were closely woven together with voices flowing in and out.
I wanted the music to feel very intimate like you were sitting in the room with me. The chamber ensemble of strings and piano created the perfect setting for this sound world, and in pieces like saw you in a dream, I wrote string parts full of momentum and vibrancy that would dance above the piano to capture the joy of seeing a friend again.
There are very powerful moments like in wings, with the building piano layers paired with soaring melodies, that feel like the building up of courage and strength. But also, there are moments that are very still and sparse in moonchild where I have intentionally left space for the notes to ring for reflection.
I aimed to capture not only the sadness of grief, but the joy and peace that came after sitting and processing those emotions.
Can you talk us through the names of the tracks, and what they represent to you?
I wrote wings originally as a slow, stripped-back piano piece. I had the idea of writing a memorial song, with the opening chords sounding as a quiet reflective moment to call to mind past memories of those we have lost. However, as I continued to write, the piece kept finding a new strength and building in momentum throughout.
wings is about rising up from the ashes, and finding inner courage and strength to keep going after grief and hardship. It captures the feeling of resilience and overcoming hard times. The music is a peaceful, meditative solo piano work, culminating with energetic, emotional soaring melodies and deep resonating chords.
church on the hill was inspired by a trip to the UK I took back in early 2023. I went back to the ancestral hometown on my mum’s side of the family — St Ives, Cornwall — and spent a few days there. St Ives is a small coastal town, and right up on the top of the hill overlooking the whole village is St Nicholas’ Chapel.
The church has been there since the 1300s and has been a place of solace and prayer for centuries. As I sat inside the chapel, I thought of the hundreds of ancestors of mine that had been in my shoes and sat there before me. I thought of how families would have visited the church in times of their own grief, and visited it as a place to reconnect with inner peace among the chaos and everyday life in the town. The piece is a reminder to step back, reflect and appreciate the world around you. Even in difficult times, you can find a little space that can be a sanctuary.
I wrote embrace to capture the idea of being united in person again with a loved one and how it would feel to see them again. Even though they are no longer with us, the memory is as warm as being in their presence. It is a reminder that our memories are precious, and the intimate moments we share are beautiful.
saw you in a dream was written in the days after my friends passed away. I had a dream that I saw them again and rather than waking with sadness, I was overcome with an extraordinary feeling of joy and relief. saw you in a dream transforms an experience of grief into something beautiful and uplifting — a piece about the enduring nature of love, and the belief that the people we have lost continue to shine through us. I wanted to create a piece that evoked an emotional release from the pain and sadness, and captured the joy of receiving a clear sign of hope and comfort.
moonchild is a solo piano piece born from a collaboration with one of my close friends, who passed away in 2022. Originally written for a mixed ensemble, it explores our ‘moonchild’ bond as we were born one day apart from each other, and the moon’s phases and cycles. When my friend passed away, I knew that we could never play the piece live together, but I wanted the music we made to continue to be heard. I rearranged the piece for solo piano, and kept in all the pauses and gaps where he would have played his parts, emphasising the space that he has now left us with his absence. I’d like to think that in the silences, when you listen closely, he is still there.
The moon and its cycles have a way of connecting all of us together, pulling us like magnets and leading the way. The minimalist piano part is meant to represent that cyclical nature of the moon and its phases, interspersed with melodies and timbres of space and the supernatural. The melodies bring the piece together, just like how when special people come into our lives and impact us, even if they are here just for a moment.
What impact did this EP leave with you, after you’d completed these original compositions — whether that may be closure, or a transient moment in an ongoing journey?
eternal light has given me some closure and peace of mind. Grieving is an ongoing process, and I think you never truly get over losing someone you love. The more that time has passed, I have had more of a chance to reflect on what I have created. I feel a lot less sadness now. I feel stronger knowing that others will listen to these pieces, and have their own stories to share and connect the music.
I never would have [prepared to play this music live] prior to the EP, and bringing them to audiences. I keep telling myself I can do it and to not be afraid, and that when I perform, I’m doing it for my friends who loved to play music and cannot perform anymore.
I hope I make them proud, and that they would be happy that I am keeping the music going, and doing my best to share their stories and putting this music out.
What do you hope this will give to your listeners?
I hope that eternal light can be a source of comfort, healing, and strength to rise from the ashes after grief and loss.
I hope when you listen, you give yourself permission to stop, feel your emotions, and remember your loved ones who you love and have lost.
Sarah Elise Thompson’s EP eternal light is out now on your preferred platform.
Sarah performs the music at 4pm November 8 in Tempo Rubato, and 8pm November 28 in Church Street Studios.
Images supplied.
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