Turia (Agua salvaje)

After several days of heavy rainfall in 1957, Spain's Turia River unleashed 300 million cubic meters of water into the city of Valencia. The flood devastated the city, destroyed thousands of homes, and took many lives. Four years later, the Spanish government unanimously approved a monumental plan to reroute the Turia River out of the city and transform the riverbed into an urban green space. Today, the Jardin de Turia, is a magnificent sunken public park spanning 8.5 kilometers. From the orange and palm tree lined pathways, to the surreal Parc Gulliver, and neo-futuristic Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias, a concerted effort has been made to give the space a new identity. However, as you traverse the city on foot through the Turia, the spirit of the exiled waters is ever-present like a phantom limb. A pervasive apprehension that your presence is unwelcome slices through the park's beauty as if impending doom is looming around the bend. An errant puddle or pooling of rainwater prompts park goers to question if the waters are eager to return. Turia (Agua salvaje) draws inspiration from suspenseful film scores of the late 1950s and 60s to bring the treacherous floodwaters to the listener. The unrelenting churning of the violas and stampeding cellos and basses keep the audience on edge as the violins soar overhead in the glassy upper register. Each section of the orchestra showcases its agility by aggressively trading ascending and descending runs in rapid succession, reflecting the turbulent waters cascading over the centuries-old cobblestone streets. As quickly as Turia (Agaua salvaje) escalates tension and angst, the piece concludes with a sudden and climactic finish, leaving the listener weary that the threat has truly subsided.