Photo: Hannah Badeer
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Nicholas Lemme (ˈnik(ə)ləs ˈlemē)
~Writes, plays, and teaches music in the good ol’ midwest; a composer of sacred choral music, quirky chamber ensembles, theater, and other respectable genres.
~Origins: Western South Dakota;
~Schooling: Wyoming, Minneapolis, MN, and Nebraska
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Nicholas Lemme (ˈnik(ə)ləs ˈlemē) —b. 1978—is a composer, singer, and professor of music based in the shire of Lincoln, NE. His works range from sacred choral music to cafe americana. Nicholas has written for, and collaborated with, a number of choirs, most notably The Singers—Minnesota Choral Artists; Schola Cantorum of St. Joseph’s Seminary, Archdiocese of NYC; the Church Music Association of America; and the Polyphonic Choir of Our Lady of Guadalupe Seminary. He has also been privileged to write for church and high school choirs around the country.
Nicholas has written music for stage and theater companies such as Epiphany Studio Productions (Scrutiny Passions), Open Window Theater (Allesandro, Vitae Monologues), Live Action Set (The Percussionist), and choreographer Vanessa Voskuil (The Silents.) Nicholas was composer, mandolinist and a founding member of the Minneapolis-based avant-classical quartet Spaghetti Western String Co. His compositional pen can be heard on their three critically acclaimed albums.
As a musician Nicholas has sung, played, and recorded music with The Dale Warland Singers, The Singers—MN Choral Artists, Jordan Sramek (Rose Ensemble), Abbie Betinis, Haley Bonar, The Pines, Peter Wolf Crier, Fat Kid Wednesdays, and Paul Fonfara (Painted Saints).
Nicholas’ roots are in western South Dakota where the buffalo roam. He holds a degree in music from the University of Wyoming. He lives with his wife and three children amid the cornfields and gravel roads of NE.
A word on what I’m seeking to do when I make music.
I discovered music making late in my youth. Guitars, mandolins, and voice were the doors I used to enter into its mysterious and abstract world. Unlike prose, music allowed me to write what could not be expressed in words; it permitted me to say something when I remained in silence. Music is made of both silence and sound, and I’m persistently searching for their balance.
When I think of the music I seek to make I think of the tree, pine needle, and the single falling leaf, as well as the forest; I think of music that is simple, refined like a good dish that is not large but satiates; a music that is transcendent, with soft hues and is quiet; a music that allows for space and breath, music that speaks to the ancient ear that is in every modern man; a music that is sacred no matter the venue, music that listens for thoughts, music that sounds like a soft morning rain or fog on a winter’s prairie. To me, music is an old friend who shows unto me each day something new.