PIPE DREAMS – March 24, 2018

George Frideric Handel
(Born in Halle, Germany in 1685; died in London in 1759)

Handel was born in the same year as Johann Sebastian Bach and Domenico Scarlatti, and along with his friend and contemporary, Georg Philipp Telemann, the four share honors as several of the greatest of the Baroque composers. Unique among these four is Handel’s British expatriate career. Baroque musicians and composers always depended on the patronage of the wealthy. Handel, a Saxon from Germany, was no exception. After he made a name for himself as a virtuoso musician and a composer, he was asked in 1710 by German Prince George, the Elector of Hanover, to be his Kapellmeister (Court music director). But then in 1714 Prince George became King George I of Great Britain and Ireland. Handel followed his patron and made London his home for the rest of his life.

Handel had mastered every genre from opera to chamber music, but his most lasting fame came from his contributions to the English Oratorio genre. He wrote 27 oratorios in all. His Messiah of 1742 is the best known and arguably his greatest work. However, the inspired genius of the Messiah by no means eclipses the merits of his other 26 oratorios.

Overture to Theodora, HVW 68

1. Maestoso
2. Allegro
3. Trio – Larghetto e piano
4. Courante

Though Handel began his long and extremely lucrative London career writing Italian operas, he soon moved into experimenting with and perfecting the English-language Oratorio. These oratorios were essentially un-staged operas, stripped-down and simplified for the Lenten season when religious authorities frowned on elaborate theatrical spectacles. Handel chose Biblical themes for his oratorios, but exploited these stories for their drama, intrigue and emotion. Without the lavish excesses of costume, props and staging typical of operas, God-fearing Londoners could attend Biblically-based oratorios during Lent and get their quotient of great operatic-like music with a clean conscience. Handel’s Messiah of 1742, of course, was an instant success and was repeated often, but the insatiable desires of Londoners for more and different pieces of music kept him writing new oratorios every year

In 1750 he asked the great librettist, Reverend Thomas Morell, to write an Oratorio based on the life of Theodora, the Fourth Century Christian martyr. The result wasn’t an instant success for reasons unrelated to the piece’s musical worth (among other things, there was an earthquake), but it has since become “discovered” as one of Handel’s finest works. It was Handel’s favorite libretto, and he was clearly proud of his musical contributions. According to one account, when he was asked whether he considered the grand [Hallelujah] chorus of The Messiah as his masterpiece, he said: “No, I think the chorus … at the end of the second part in Theodora far beyond it.” Indeed, the final duet in Theodora, “Thither let our hearts aspire,” is surely one of Handel’s finest passages, and the Oratorio’s deeply anguished closing chorus rivals any of its peers from any era.

Theodora’s Overture is different from today’s operatic conventions. Overtures in Handel’s time were still taking shape as a genre, but in England Henry Purcell had begun using what was called the French Overture that took precisely the shape that Handel uses here for Theodora: a two-part work, comprised of a slow introduction followed by a fast fugue-like movement. As the curtain rises, the orchestra then plays two or more dance forms from the French suite style. In this form, the Theodora Overture clearly was one of the precursors to the symphonic form – indeed, it sounds much like a short symphony, and its riches run as deep as the entire cantata.

In true French Overture form, Handel begins his Overture with a slow introduction that paints a scene of earnestness and gravity, followed by a brilliant fugue that is reminiscent of his Messiah’s Hallelujah chorus (no doubt a clever marketing tactic by Handel). Then follows a graceful Trio. The Overture concludes with a bright and quick-stepped Courante (a triple-beat dance meaning “running”), which here sparkles as an exuberant, yet urgent musical offering. The entire Overture is a great work in its own right, and as Theodora gains more attention in modern times, the Overture will find its deserved a place in the repertoire.

Handel the Great Organist

Between 1735 and 1736 Handel composed four English Oratorios: Esther, Deborah, and Athalia in 1735, and Alexander’s Feast in 1736. Each of these works was given its premiere in the newly designed Covent Gardens, and each was a great success despite facing stiff competition in London. Indeed, that city’s new and wildly popular “Opera of the Nobility” theatre had been set up deliberately to steal Handel’s audiences. In addition, that theater’s company included one of the greatest singers of the age, the castrato Farinelli, whose performances created hysteria with audiences and won him the epithet “One God, One Farinelli!” For Handel and Covent Gardens, oratorios weren’t going to be enough to lure audiences back, and so Handel, widely celebrated as the greatest organist of his day, created several concertos for “Chamber Organ and Orchestra.” All of these works were to be played as interludes between various Parts (sections) of his four 1735-1736 oratorios. All were intended to show off Handel’s own prowess on the organ.

Handel’s contemporaries were awed by his skill as an organist. The most famous account reads as follows:

“… Handel had an uncommon brilliancy and command of finger; but what distinguished him from all other players who possessed these same qualities, was that amazing fullness, force and energy, which he joined with them. And this observation may be applied with as much justice to his compositions as to his playing.”
- John Mainwaring, Memoirs of the Life of the late G. F. Handel, 1760

Handel’s virtuoso talents certainly came in handy to help promote sales at Covent Gardens, but the music that Handel wrote for himself to perform has much more lasting value as some of the greatest music of the Baroque. This set of six concerti was first published for solo organ. The concerti in their original form, for the “chamber” organ (a small organ with relatively few registers) and chamber orchestra, were made available later on and are the versions heard tonight. True to Handel’s talent as an organist and composer, the solo parts are exquisite and the orchestra parts completely delightful, and as far as we know, Handel invented this pairing of organ with chamber orchestra in the concerto form.

Organ Concerto Op. 4, No. 1 in G minor, HWV 289

1. Larghetto, e staccato
2. Allegro
3. Adagio
4. Andante

Handel had few rivals for what seems to be an inexhaustible supply of beautiful themes and works of exceptional invention, and this Concerto was written to show off his abilities as both an organist and composer. It premiered in 1736 as an interlude for the Oratorio called Alexander’s Feast, which was based on a famous ode written by the British poet John Dryden in honor of St. Cecilia, the patron Saint of music (who, because of a mistaken Latin translation, was thought to be an organist). The solo organ parts were meant to show off specifically Handel’s virtuosity, but “Oratorio-concerti” like this one were nonetheless constrained by the smaller organs (with only a few registers) and smaller chamber orchestras typically used for Oratorios. As a result, these works of Handel’s are not “barn burners” like Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Nevertheless, they are testaments to a time when the organ was just beginning to become the king of instruments.

Immediately intriguing in this first organ Concerto is Handel’s atypical choice of tempo markings, which are predominately slow. The melodramatic opening of the work by the orchestra is understandable as an interlude during the larger Oratorio, as much a work for stage as it is for the concert hall, and which recalled the gruesome martyrdom of the beloved St. Cecilia. The organ’s entrance is enchanting and ethereal, and in a subtle way is set against the mood of the opening orchestral theme. This contrast between the organist and the orchestra plays out through the entire Concerto and allows for lots of lively organ virtuosity.

The only fast movement, Allegro, comes next and is spritely and light. The following Adagio is mostly for organ alone and brings out more of the singing beauty of the instrument rather than Handel’s virtuosic technique. All the same, it’s a sublime moment in the best Baroque tradition and demands true musical artistry from the soloist. The finale, though marked in a slow tempo (Andante), is written in such a way that it feels as though it clips briskly along. The exchanges between organ and orchestra are lively and fun and Handel’s main theme here is joyful. The organ writing, too, is extremely challenging and showy, bringing this wonderful and brief Concerto to a delightful close.

Organ Concerto Op. 4, No. 4 in F Major, HWV 292

1. Allegro
2. Andante
3. Adagio
4. Allegro

This Concerto may be one of the most exquisite pieces from Handel’s long and storied career. It was written as an interlude for his 1735 Oratorio, Athalia, which was a revision of a much earlier Oratorio that Handel had written in Italy in 1708. Athalia is based on the Biblical story of a Baal Queen (Athalia) who is hell-bent on murdering all of King David’s heirs, and the triumph of the true believers in deposing her tyranny. Interestingly, in 1730’s England, the Jacobites had championed the story’s theme to support the restoration of the Stuart monarchy; Handel clearly understood his English audience and his Athalia was a wild success.

When you listen to the organ Concerto you can hear right away how it mirrors the grandeur of the story. The first movement is majestic and brilliant and gives the organist lots of virtuosic passages that dazzle audiences. The work was well-received; one reviewer praised it thusly in the poetic and grand fashion of the day:

“When lo! the mighty man essay’d
The organ’s heavenly breathing sound,
Things that inanimate were made,
Strait mov’d, and as inform’d were found.
Thus ORPHEUS, when the numbers flow’d,
Sweetly descanting from his lyre,
Mountains and hills confess’d the God,
Nature look’d up, and did admire.”

The orchestra is mostly the accompanist in this Concerto, but Handel’s writing for it is rich and meaningful. The second movement is a true gem, beginning with a beautifully haunting theme, then gently exploring variations where the organ is allowed to express a great deal of emotional depth. The final refrain, with full orchestra and organ, is powerfully moving.

The Adagio is an evanescent introduction to the finale, but in its short bars, Handel captures a searing poignancy. And then comes the finale in a flood of light and lightness. In its context in the Oratorio, it is the exact music of a Hallelujah chorus that follows without break. Alone, it’s a flying fugue that shows off Handel as a composer and as virtuoso organist, and as one of great composers in Western music.

Ottorino Respighi
(Born in Bologna, Italy in 1879; died in Rome in 1936)

Respighi is known the world over as the composer of two gigantic orchestral tone poems, The Fountains of Rome (1916) and The Pines of Rome (1924). But few know that those amazing orchestral colors that make Respighi’s masterpieces sparkle and explode were a direct result of his time in Russia, as the principal violist of the Russian Imperial Theatre in Saint Petersburg, during their 1900 season of performing Italian opera. While there he met and studied with Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, spending five months studying composition and specifically orchestration. Equally important in his musical formation was the fact that Respighi was an avid early music scholar and published in that genre. His initial experiments in composing for early music forms, like his Suite for Strings, P. 41, are a fascinating early look into one of Italy’s greatest and most unique 20th Century composers.

By the late 19th Century, a considerable interest was directed at older music, and a fair amount of music from the Baroque and before had been rediscovered. Respighi was in the avant-garde of composers who took a keen interest in early music, and he used these discovered melodies from his ancient forbears, or made up melodies inspired by these old forms, all the while recasting them in a more modern instrumental and harmonic guise. His work came years before Stravinsky and Diaghilev began the widespread interest in Neo-Classicism with the 1920 Ballet Russe production of Pulcinella Ballet and Suite (after Pergolesi’s Baroque music).

But especially as an Italian who was born in the glowing aftermath of Italy’s Risorgimento – its birth as a unified nation – Respighi was also deeply proud of his country’s extraordinary influence in the development of modern Western music; from the plainchant of the Roman Catholic Church and Gregorian Chant of Medieval times to the exquisite music by Baroque composers Scarlatti, Corelli, and Pergolesi, Italian composers were always at the fore. Respighi’s fascination with early music, therefore, turned into a combination of Italian pride mixed with Russian influence and 20th Century orchestral techniques. The results were rich and wonderful compositions.

Suite for Strings, P. 41

1. Ciaccona
2. Siciliana
3. Giga
4. Sarabanda
5. Burlesca
6. Rigaudon

Respighi’s most popular forays into recasting “antique” music culminated in his three Ancient Airs and Dances Suites of 1917, 1923, and 1932. Our concert’s Suite for Strings was composed much earlier, in 1902. At that time. Respighi was just beginning his musical experiments, and his Suite was inspired by Edvard Grieg’s Holberg Suite of 1884. Like Grieg’s, Respighi’s Suite was based entirely on musical forms and dances from the Baroque period.

The Chaconne (Ciaconna) is a beautiful movement and may well be Respighi’s most convincing fusion of Baroque and late-Romantic music. True to Baroque form, Respighi presents a chordal bass line and then creates a set of variations over its continuing repetition. It works musically, with lush string writing and rich, dark-hued chords making it melt in the air. But most delightful is its lyricism, which is a hallmark of each of the movements.

The Siciliana was typically a pastorale-type music often used for arias in Baroque opera. Here, Respighi seems to luxuriate in the string colors he creates and his Siciliana is lyrical and graceful. The Giga (gigue) is a lively dance that derives from the English/Irish jig, and which migrated to France and Italy. Respighi’s jig is full of charm and syncopations. The Sarabanda has a Spanish/Mexican musical history and its reputation was that it should be notoriously wild and erotic. Ironically, when it became assimilated into French, German and Italian court musical making, it often became a stately and somber affair. Respighi chooses its Italian usage and creates one of his most poignant musical wonders, turning a stately dance into a pathos-laden elegy.

The Burlesca is a spritely but complicated movement. “Burlesca” derives from the Italian burlesco, which is a derivative of the Italian burla, meaning a joke or ridicule. Equally at home in all the arts, in music a Burlesca typically creates comedic effects or exaggerates serious music to the point of mockery and buffoonery. Respighi appears to be doing this to himself in this movement, by mashing up bits of the somber themes of his previous movements with exaggerated syncopation and juxtaposed techniques – such as bowing and plucking.

And finally, the Rigaudon is a spirited two-step dance of French folk origin. Assimilated into the courtly suite of Baroque dances, it becomes an affable couples’ dance. Respighi uses it here to morph many of the previous themes into a delightful musical pageant to end one of his finest forays into “antique” music.

––Program notes © Max Derrickson