What happens when a piece of music dares to become a manifesto instead of just a melody?
Back in 2019, I received a commission for a new work centered on diversity and divergence. The story behind the commission is shrouded in a bit of myth—layered with anecdotes I was never able to fully verify. What I do know for sure is that I was invited to set a poem to music, a text said to be written by a young person who had faced extraordinary hardship and found the courage to tell their story.
But the commission was more than just a musical project—it was the chance to make a world premiere at the ACDA conference, one of the most prestigious milestones any young choral composer can dream of. At just 29, it was already my third commission for ACDA. To be at the center of the choral world, surrounded by the best, was both an honor and an enormous opportunity.
If I’m honest, my motivation wasn’t purely artistic. Of course, the message and the challenge moved me, but I was also drawn by the prospect of working internationally, collaborating, and discovering what would happen if I put these words into song.
That’s the real story: a blend of mystery, pragmatism, and the hope that music can sometimes give a voice to stories that might otherwise go unheard.
Approaching the poem, I found myself leaning on my most professional instincts. The text wasn’t written by an experienced author—it was raw, uneven, and demanded a lot of work to shape it into something musical. Much of my process was methodical: figuring out which sections should sound bold, where to let the music soften, and how to create energetic peaks to match the poem’s emotional intent.
At one point, I decided to stack as many notes as possible, musically crowding the score so that every voice felt present—creating a collective human shout. That is actually the place where the work says "HUMAN". The structure was unusual: the poem required entire sections to be added for balance, which resulted in odd measures and surprising rhythms. At times, it almost feels like a rap, which amused me. In a way, perhaps it makes sense for a piece with roots in New York and a story about identity and survival.
The process was anything but smooth or sentimental. It was technical, challenging, and full of creative decisions—always with the goal of letting the raw message cut through.
The premiere itself was unforgettable. I arrived in Doylestown, a small town in the middle of Pennsylvania, about a month before the performance, and spent the week leading up to it rehearsing with the choir—an incredible group of singers, all between 15 and 17 years old, whose artistry was genuinely impressive.
Traveling with them by bus across several cities, from Philadelphia to Rochester, was an adventure in itself. Between rehearsals, we shared TikTok challenges, synchronized dances, and even a few playful competitions (I still remember out-pushing one of the school’s athletes in a push-up contest). These moments brought everyone together and dissolved the usual boundaries between composer and singers.
The choir surprised me by organizing a birthday celebration during the trip. They remembered a joke I’d made about enjoying Wawa soup during one of our roadside stops—a cheap, no-frills soup from the famous Pennsylvania convenience store chain that’s a lifesaver on long drives, but absolutely bizarre as birthday party food. So on my birthday, they showed up with buckets of Wawa soup for everyone—a running gag that turned into a memorable, laughter-filled evening.
All these moments—the rehearsals, the jokes, the birthday surprise—made the premiere not just a performance, but a true shared experience, full of music, camaraderie, and unexpected joy.
HUMAN is definitely a piece for choirs seeking a challenge. It’s not intended for a group that’s simply getting by—it demands a high level of precision, both rhythmically and vocally. The rhythms are intricate and relentless; any lapse in synchronization can throw the whole thing off course.
This is a work for singers who want to push themselves, refine their technical skills, and explore the boundaries of contemporary choral music. Each voice part is exposed—there are multiple divisi passages and complex moments that require every singer to be sharp with intonation and ensemble awareness.
I see HUMAN as almost a competition piece: something you program to make a statement, to show what your choir can do, and to spark conversations about risk and artistry. It’s intense, demanding, and a true test for any advanced treble choir.
More than anything, I hope HUMAN sparks conversation—about the ways we treat each other, the conflicts and divisions that persist, and the need to talk honestly about discrimination, inclusion, and our shared humanity. Whether or not a choir chooses to perform this piece, these issues need to be discussed much more within society.
But with this piece, I imagine people leaving the concert and beginning real conversations about how we relate to one another as humans. I want this music to leave listeners a little shaken, moved to reflect on their own experience and our shared responsibilities.
For directors and singers, my wish is that HUMAN opens space for conversations that are sometimes avoided or even taboo—but urgently needed. If we want to build a better, more inclusive world, we have to start by seeing and treating each other as equals, by acknowledging the ways society still makes some voices invisible.
Maybe it’s the younger generations who already understand this instinctively. For the rest of us, it’s time to rethink, rebuild, and have the courage to talk openly—because, in the end, we’re all human, and it’s up to us to make that mean something.
Watch & listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p01cULj04mo
Score available: http://www.santiagoveros.site/producto/human/
Santiago Veros
