Aaron Copland (Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1900; died in North Tarrytown, New York in 1990)
Appalachian Spring (original version for Chamber Orchestra)
For many, Appalachian Spring has come to represent the “sound of Appalachia” – that ancient chain of low mountains marching up the eastern seaboard, with their dense wilderness, granting views that gently span the horizon through a myriad of brilliant autumnal colors and misty pastels and filled with the folk music of song and fiddles seeming to be as ancient as the mountains themselves. The underlying story of Copland’s ballet is also equally well known: that of a newlywed pioneer family “building a house with joy and love and prayer.” Interestingly, neither the Appalachia theme nor this ballet story appeared in this piece until much later in its creation. Commissioned of Copland in 1942 by the famous American dancer and choreographer, Martha Graham, the grande dame of Modern Dance, together with the Coolidge Foundation, the ballet music that Copland originally conceived of was first titled “Ballet for Martha” and he said that “the music … takes as a point of departure the personality of Martha Graham.” It was only just before the ballet’s premiere in 1944 when Graham herself happened across the lovely phrase that became its title, “Appalachian spring,” finding it in a poem by Hart Crane called The Dance, (from the larger collection titled The Bridge) where the “spring” referred to a water source, not the season. Although a basic outline of the ballet’s story existed from the start, most of the details that we know today were hammered out in the several months prior to its premiere.
Two aspects in the commissioning of Appalachian Spring, however, were essential to its creation from the very beginning: the music had be danceable, and it must be “American” sounding. And these two aspects Copland undeniably achieved in this, his greatest masterpiece. American born and bred, Appalachian Spring has remained peerless as the music that captures the spirit of America. To be sure, its musical canvas conveys a humility and newness that has become easily attached to a nostalgic American perception of itself, and one of its most beloved melodies, the beautiful hymn tune “Simple Gifts*,” gives the musical score a deeply honest and hopeful feel. These characteristics lend themselves wonderfully to any dance interpretation. Originally scored for 13 instruments (1 flute, 1 clarinet, 1 bassoon, piano and strings) to be danced in the small Coolidge Auditorium in the Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Copland revised and condensed the score in 1945 into a suite for full orchestra, now its most well known version. The original version, however, retains its own wonderful charm and is a delight to listen to, especially when accompanied by dance.
The underlying story, according to the original published score, is as follows:
“…a pioneer celebration in spring around a newly-built farmhouse in the Pennsylvania hills in the early part of the last century [1800’s]. The bride-to-be and the young farmer-husband enact the emotions, joyful and apprehensive, their domestic partnership invites. An older neighbor suggests now and then the rocky confidence of experience. A revivalist and his followers remind the new householders of the strange and terrible aspects of human fate. At the end the couple is left quiet and strong in their new house.”
*A note about the tune “Simple Gifts”: The Shakers, a break-off sect from the Quakers, emigrated from England to America in 1774. “Shakers” was a pejorative term for the sect describing their lively and ecstatic form of worship, which involved a lot of their own, original music accompanied by swaying and twirling dance. Music played a part in all aspects of Shaker life, and was thought of, dually, as utilitarian and spiritual in essence, and these songs were referred to as work-song-hymns. In 1875, Shaker member Elder Joseph Brackett composed “Simple Gifts.” It was published in a compendium not long afterwards called The Gift to Be Simple: Shaker Rituals and Songs, which is where Copland found it. The song’s lilting, sweet melody and its humble, yet joyful, lyrics seem to capture the essence of Appalachian Spring as well as any description. They are:
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ‘tis the gift to be free;
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be;
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we sha’n’t be asham’d
To turn, turn will be our delight,
‘Til by turning, turning we come round right.
Antonio Vivaldi
(Born in Venice, Italy in 1678; died in Vienna, Austria in 1741)
The Four Seasons, Four Concertos for Violin, Op. 8, Nos. 1-4 I. “Spring” Concerto in E-major
1. Allegro
2. Largo e pianissimo sempre
3. Allegro
II. “Summer” Concerto in G-minor
1. Allegro non molto
2. Adagio
3. Presto
III. “Autumn” Concerto in F-major
1. Allegro
2. Adagio molto
3. Allegro
IV. “Winter” Concerto in F-minor
1. Allegro non molto
2. Largo
3. Allegro
In Venice, just down the quayside from St. Mark’s Square, stands a building called Ospedale della Pieta on whose outer walls there is a hole just big enough to stick a bowling pin through. Underneath reads a plaque which damns to hell the person who slips any infant other than a true orphan through the small passage to the indoors. It was within this orphanage that Vivaldi worked for most of his life, where he taught the girls who had been slipped through as newborns how to play music. And it was here that he composed his incomparable The Four Seasons.
Besides teaching, Vivaldi was a virtuoso violinist as well as composer, and of his 500-plus concertos, 221 are for violin written most likely for himself. Although it’s unknown when the concertos of The Four Seasons were composed, they were first published in 1725 in a larger set titled The Test of Harmony and Invention. Since then, they have become so famous as to almost eclipse the composer himself – so rich in tunefulness and inventiveness, so exceptional in their virtuoso violin solos – indeed, their inspired beauty nearly defy time, place and composer.
One lesser known aspect of the Seasons is that the orchestral parts are accompanied by detailed programs (storylines) which explain many of this timeless masterpiece’s ingeniously clever musical moments. In the original 1725 publication Vivaldi even provided four of his own seasonally-inspired sonnets. As an example of this program-music, the sonnet for Spring describes, in part: bird song, then the babbling brooks of Spring, followed by a storm and then a return of the birds. Once this is known, the musical imitation is almost impossible to miss (the trilling of the strings representing birdsong, the undulating string motives echoing the running brooks, and so on).
Antonio Vivaldi’s Sonnets to the Four Seasons
Spring
1. Spring has come and joyfully the birds greet it with happy song, and the brooks, while the streams flow along with gentle murmur as the zephyrs blow. There come, shrouding the air with a black cloak, lighting and thunder chosen to herald [the storm]; then, when these are silent, the little birds return to their melodious incantations.
2. And now, in the pleasant, flowery meadow, to the soft murmur of leaves and plants, the goatherd sleeps with his faithful dog at his side.
3. To the festive sound of a pastoral bagpipe, nymphs and shepherds dance under their beloved roof, greeting the glittering arrival of the spring.
Summer
1. In the harsh season scorched by the sun, man and flock languish, and the pine is on fire; the cuckoo begins to call and soon after, the turtledove and the goldfinch are heard singing. Zephyr [the west wind] gently blows, but Boreas [the north wind] suddenly enters into a contest with its neighbor, and the little shepherd weeps for he hears the awesome threatening storm and his fate.
2. To his tired limbs rest is denied by the fear of lightning, awesome thunder, and the furious swarm of flies and hornets!
3. Alas, his fears are justified. The sky is filled with thunder and lightning and hail cuts down the proud grain.
Autumn
1. The peasant celebrates the pleasure of the happy harvest with dances and songs; and inflamed by the liquor of Bacchus, many end their rejoicing with sleep.
2. The mild pleasant air makes all abandon dance and song; this is the season that invites all to the sweet delights of peaceful sleep.
3. The hunters, at the break of dawn, set forth with horns, guns, and hounds. The animal flees, and they follow its tracks. Already frightened and tired by the great noise of guns and hounds, the wounded animal makes a weak attempt at fleeing, but is overcome and dies.
Winter
1. Trembling with cold amidst the freezing snow, while a frightful wind harshly blows, running and stamping one’s feet every minute, and feeling one’s teeth chatter from the extreme cold;
2. Spending quiet contented days by the fire while the rain outside drenches people by the hundreds;
3. Walking on ice, and moving cautiously, with slow steps, for fear of falling, spinning around, slipping, falling down, again walking on ice and running fast until the ice cracks and splits; hearing Sirocco, Boreas, and all the winds at war burst forth from the bolted doors – this is winter, but it also brings joy!
https://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpg00Jen Rolstonhttps://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpgJen Rolston2016-03-14 11:41:442016-07-13 11:22:33Pushing the Season: March 12, 2016
Panamanian Dances (Danzas de Panama) for String Quartet
William Grant Still
(Born in Woodville, Missouri in 1895; died in Los Angeles in 1978)
Tamborito – (“Little drum”)
Mejorana y Socavón – (2 Dances: “Marjoram” and “Tunnel [where an image of the Virgin Mary was reported in an old mineshaft in Panama in 1756]”)
Punto – (“Point[ing]”) – Allegretto con grazia
Cumbia y Congo – (2 Dance names)
In 1955, when most African-American citizens in the South couldn’t even drink out of the same water fountain as their white neighbors, composer William Grant Still achieved a breakthrough – he was the first African-American to conduct the New Orleans Philharmonic. It was only one of the many steps toward racial equality (in that same year, Rosa Parks was arrested in Alabama for refusing to obey bus segregation), but in the Deep South in 1955 Still’s accomplishment was extraordinary. That 1955 concert highlighted several of Still’s own works, including his Afro-American Symphony (Symphony No. 1, 1930), in which Still was just mastering the technique of giving voice to African-American song and rhythm in the “classical” Neo-Romantic style. If George Gershwin started that idea in 1924 with his Rhapsody in Blue, then Still carried it further into the concert hall and perfected it. Such is the case with his marvelous Panamanian Dances for string quartet which he premiered in 1948. Still incorporated not only African-American elements, but as the title’s “Panama” suggests, also Spanish and Native Central American Indian elements as well. These Dances are filled with ingenious details, such as the actual percussive elements of the folk dances throughout, where the performers knock on their instruments in the first and last movements. And then there are the evocations of Panamanian folk instruments – the guitars called mejoraneros and the three-stringed violin, the Rabel – during the Mejorana y Socavón (2nd movement), as well as the shoe-tapping portion in the Punto (3rd dance) from the Panamanian dance, the Zapateo. In the final dance, Still brings to life the joyous Afro-Latin dances, the Cumbia and the Congo, evoking women dancing sensuously in the streets during the Congo with candles held high as the men swirl around them in ecstatic abandon.
Lullaby for Strings
George Gershwin
(Born in Brooklyn, NY in 1898; died in Hollywood, CA in 1937)
George Gershwin’s life is one of those great and inspirational American stories. The son of a poor immigrant family in Brooklyn, he worked his way up from nowhere to becoming one of the most famous musicians in the world and having his music hailed as representing America itself. Even in his fame, however, Gershwin continued studying music as his lifelong pursuit. Thus was born his wonderful Lullaby for Strings in 1919, which was composed as an assignment in harmony and counterpoint during his studies. Aside from Lullaby’s gentle hues, its sweet and lazy habanera/swing-like rhythms, and its two infectious and utterly unpretentious themes, one senses a real glow in this work that emerges from these almost hidden harmonies and counterpoint underneath the melodies. Although Gershwin adapted Lullaby into a song in a new show Blue Monday (a one act “jazz-opera,” Gershwin called it, as well as Opera à la Afro-American, 1922), the show flopped. Nonetheless, the famous jazz band leader Paul Whiteman heard Gershwin’s talent, and commissioned him to write a new piece, which turned out to be Rhapsody in Blue. And thus it was that the gentle Lullaby fathered the edgy Rhapsody that transformed American music.
String Quartet No. 12
in F Major, Op. 96, B. 179, “American”
Antonin Dvořák
(Born near Prague, Bohemia (now Czech Republic) in 1841; died in Prague in 1904)
Allegro ma non troppo
Lento
Molto vivace
Vivace ma non troppo
In 1892 the American philanthropist Jeanette Thurber persuaded Czech composer Antonin Dvořák to head her newly formed National Conservatory of Music in New York City for three years. The idea was to foster grassroots classical music training, help grow a Nationalist American music, and be open to all races – most important, to African-Americans. Within a year, Dvořák had composed his Symphony in E-Minor “from the New World,” which according to the composer was influenced by the African-American spirituals (then called “Negro music”) he had been exposed to. Ignoring the racial barriers of the time, Dvořák insisted that in “. . . the Negro melodies of America I discover all that is needed for a great and noble school of music.” Directly after composing the “New World” Symphony, Dvořák took a long summer holiday in 1893 in Spillville, Iowa. This small, country town was everything that the bustling New York City he’d spent the year in was not, including a large community of Czech immigrants. Amidst nature and his countrymen, Dvořák overflowed with musical ideas. Within 3 days he sketched out his entire String Quartet No. 12, later nicknamed the “American,” and finished it in another 13 days. Probably the most beloved String Quartet in the repertoire, the American is beautiful and robust, folksy and sophisticated. There is no movement without a gorgeous melody, and equally enticing are their delightful accompaniments, with syncopated ostinatos on par with Joplin’s and chock full of inventiveness. Especially enchanting is the magical second movement (Lento), where a sorrowful tune wafts above the soft undulations of the other strings, and where the harmonies could melt sunsets. The American is unreservedly a masterpiece and crowd pleaser.
But what of the folk songs and African-American influences so often mentioned as sources for these “American” pieces? The only confirmed American “song” comes in the third movement of this Quartet, the bird song of the beautiful Scarlet Tanager, whose insistent singing apparently annoyed Dvořák during his work, and so he transcribed it and memorialized it in the third movement (Molto vivace). All the same, Dvořák felt that just by being in America and hearing a new type of music was enough to inspire him to write in a different way – as if he were hearing with different ears. And so two of Western music’s great masterpieces were created during Dvořák’s tenure in America, and thanks to him and Jeanette Thurber, a serious interest in African-American music began to take root, helping to pave the way for other composers to plumb African-American music to its fullest in the popular as well as the classical vein.
Three Rags by
Scott Joplin
(arranged for String Quartet)
Scott Joplin
(Born in Texarkana, Texas (uncertain) in 1867 or 1868; died in New York City in 1917)
The Entertainer
Solace
Maple Leaf Rag
As popular as it is today, it seems almost impossible that anyone in the western world could never have heard Joplin’s magnificent classic rag The Entertainer (c. 1900). This perfect little piece of music is both jazzy and classical, upbeat and melancholy, and features that rarest of all musical occurrences — an almost instantly memorable main theme. It is as melodiously perfect as a Souza March or a Rossini Overture. Such is the genius of America’s greatest ragtime composer, Scott Joplin, but his fame only really began a half century after his death when his rags were featured in the 1973 classic film The Sting (starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford). In his own lifetime, Joplin’s popularity was sporadic, ending in poverty and an early death. He was buried in an unmarked grave in 1917 at the age of 49, and by the 1920’s he was all but forgotten. But his 1897 rag, the Maple Leaf Rag (the closing piece in this arrangement), had brought Joplin some brief fame. This piece more than any other perfected the ragtime genre – which previously was known condescendingly as “bordello music” – and became the most important influence on the musical form that soon blossomed into Jazz. What was so inspiring about Maple Leaf was its catchy melodic lines and its delightfully infectious character, but also its sophisticated harmonies and intelligent syncopations. As musicologist Bill Ryerson explained it, Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag did for ragtime (and soon Jazz) what Chopin did for the Polish mazurka. Quite different in tone, however, is Solace (also subtitled “Mexican Serenade,” the second rag in this arrangement), which Joplin wrote in 1909. Here the rich harmonies and melancholic sentiment are the true gems – the syncopated top line saunters almost like an afterthought to a remarkably moving and tuneful piece. Joplin wrote his rags as classical pieces of music informed strongly by African-American influences, and their exceptional quality played a tremendous role in shaping the direction of American music.
https://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpg00Jen Rolstonhttps://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpgJen Rolston2016-01-21 17:35:182016-07-13 11:22:33Martin Luther King Holiday Concert: January 16, 2016
Friends of Music Member Program Notes Brilliant Beginnings, November 7, 2015
Oswaldo Golijov (Born in La Plata, Argentina in 1960)
Last Round 1. Movido, Urgente – Macho, Cool and Dangerous 2. Lentissimo – Death of Angels
Oswaldo Golijov’s Last Round is a wonderfully quirky chamber work that honors the tango, Argentina’s beloved song and dance. It also serves as an elegy for two of tango’s greatest composers –- Astor Piazzolla and Carlos Gardel. Last Round represents the tango as it has always been –- a multi-cultural, always-evolving form of music.
The tango itself came about as amazing amalgamation of influences. By the 1890’s, tango had reached Buenos Aires, Argentina, but not before first stopping in Uruguay and Cuba. In Uruguay tango began as a West African slave-trade musical form called candombe. The word itself designated a set of drums, but the drums became a part of a spiritual dance and song, under the same name, which was only preformed during carnival — a splendid blend of West African and Catholic influences. The song and dance form then moved with the active slave trade to Cuba, and there it began to take on a new, sensual kind of dance shape.
Before long, tango found its way to Argentina, and into that country’s streets and dance halls. In the dance halls, now imbued with African and Cuban influences, it was blended in with salon music brought from the huge influx of European immigrants, and soon became solidly known as the tango. Where first needing the salon-type orchestra as its accompaniment in the Buenos Aires dance halls, the common folks needed an orchestral substitute. This was soon found in the bandoneón, a button accordion which was brought to South America by German immigrants as a substitute for the organ in makeshift churches. By the early 1900’s, the tango as we generally know it today had morphed in Buenos Aires into the overtly sensual form of singer, bandoneónista, and two dancers. It has since become one of Argentina’s most prized cultural icons –- and as diversely invested with influences and change as perhaps any song and dance form ever has been.
Golijov is himself one of the world’s most sought-after new composers, and he brings his own cosmopolitanism to Last Round. But he comes by the tango honestly: born and raised in Argentina to Eastern European Jewish immigrants, Golijov grew up immersed in Jewish, Classical, South American pop music, and of course, the tango. He went on to study music first in Israel and then finished his doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania. During his childhood in Argentina, it was the “tango of the old guard,” as epitomized by the actor and performer Carlos Gardel (1890 – 1935), who essentially won the hearts of the world to the beauties of tango, especially with his famous tango song My Beloved Buenos Aires in the 1930’s. Along the way, Golijov fell in love with the tangos of Astor Piazzolla (1921 – 1992), especially with his first set of tangos in the 1960’s, which challenged the “old guard” tangos with his new approach – the “nuevo tango.”
Said Piazzolla: “Nuevo tango = tango + tragedy + comedy + whorehouse.” One tango in particular in his early 1960’s set, which truly epitomized Piazzolla’s philosophy, was titled La muerte del ángel, which, with its highly syncopated rhythms and its complex harmonies, defied tango tradition. Having achieved National Hero status in Argentina, and fame around the world, Piazzolla’s death in 1992 prompted Golijov to begin his elegy to his tango guru by writing the second movement of what would later become Last Round – Lentissimo – Death of Angels. A few years later he was commissioned to expand the work and Golijov added the first movement. It premiered in 1996 to high acclaim.
Last Round’s orchestration is wonderfully unique. Two small string ensembles oppose each other on stage, and they are moderated and anchored by a double bass in the middle. Golijov’s objective was to create a string version of the bandoneón and it works remarkably well. The first movement is a tango of the rough and tumble street musicians of the underbelly of Buenos Aires, circa early 1900’s. Wheezing and snapping, the “string-bandoneón” creates a very untidy, and altogether joyful, roughneck tango straight off the streets. Occasional increases in tempo call into play the machismo of the vying tango dancers, and the jaunty, almost chaotic, rhythms testify to the love of rhythm that Piazzolla adored and exploited in over 300 tangos.
The second movement is a fittingly somber threnody of the two great tango men. Its subtitle, of course, is named in homage to Piazzolla’s groundbreaking tango La muerte del ángel, but only in name. Here it serves both as literal reference and as an elegy about the influence and death of Piazzolla, one of tango’s great champions. In this movement, Golijov wanted to create the sensation of what a bandoneón could do if it never had to change between compression and expansion –- one gigantic, long pull. Bits of a tune are implied at first, but melancholic and atmospheric music pervade, evoking mourning and sadness. Not until near the middle do we understand from where the bits of melody arise, as Golijov finally quotes
outright the famous Gardel refrain from My Beloved Buenos Aires. Heard clearly and somberly –- this refrain is the first true melody to invade the movement.
From then on, the movement rhapsodizes on Gardel’s refrain and Golijov’s “endless pull” idea, with delicate beauty and bitter sweetness. The result of both movements together creates the kind of spiritual, earthy, sexy and ecstatic music of the tango in a completely fresh and heartfelt way, much in keeping with tango’s multi-cultural roots, and delightfully new and engaging for today.
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Born in Hamburg, Germany in 1809; died in Leipzig, Germany in 1847)
Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in E-minor, Op. 64 1. Allegro molto appasionato 2. Andante 3. Allegretto non troppo – Allegro molto vivace
In 1825 and 1826, the 16 year-old Mendelssohn wrote two of Westerns Music’s greatest jewels: the String Octet in E-flat Major, Op. 20, followed by A Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture, Op 21. After being stunned and delighted by these great works, all of Europe was expecting a string of masterpieces to follow. Although Mendelssohn composed many excellent works in the years that followed – most notably his Symphonies No. 2 through 5 and his two Oratorios – none seemed to achieve the inspiration that he had displayed with these two early, giant masterpieces.
But during these seemingly quiescent years, Mendelssohn wasn’t resting on his young laurels. He had become a revivalist of Bach’s great choral works and was a first-rate Bach scholar; he founded and directed the Leipzig Conservatory; he conducted professionally and made some significant reforms in that field; and he concertized at an exhausting pace. Nevertheless, the music-going audiences of the day came to believe that his former masterpiece-well had gone dry.
The 1845 Violin Concerto would prove them wrong. It was only Mendelssohn’s hectic life that had kept him from finishing and premiering it. Its first notes had in fact been conjured up in 1838, when he told his friend and violinist, Ferdinand David, that he wanted to write him a concerto. The life-long collaboration between Mendelssohn and David is famous, and in this Concerto, David became an indispensable technical advisor. Despite that first inspiration in 1838, Mendelssohn couldn’t sit down to work on his Concerto without distraction until 1844. It was premiered in 1845 with David as soloist. It was immediately recognized as a masterpiece worthy of Mendelssohn’s early successes, and his critics were converted into his greatest admirers.
By Mendelssohn’s day –- hardly a generation since the towering violin concertos of Beethoven and Mozart –- Europe was becoming infatuated with concertos filled with musical fluff, often more flash than musical merit. Mendelssohn’s Concerto had something much more serious and lasting to say, surely in keeping with the tradition of the great Masters before him. This is clear from its opening theme. That first theme, sweeping, haunting and wonderfully lyrical, had been lurking in Mendelssohn’s mind ever since he wrote David in 1838 that it “gave [him] no peace” until he gave it voice in the Concerto. The entire concerto is filled with beautiful melodies, concise expression and those hallmark Mendelssohnian charms –- all aspects that would make this a masterpiece on their own.
But three unusual compositional techniques add an aspect of wholeness, of seamless flow and drama that make this Concerto stand above most others. First, the violin and orchestra are immediately thrown together to play at the outset, contrary to the typical orchestra-only introduction followed by a spotlight on the soloist. This fusion makes for a very dramatic beginning, as though there is little time to waste on trifles. Mendelssohn also placed the cadenza in an unusual place – instead of customarily placing it near the end, it occurs much sooner, heightening the sense of drama. Lastly, to keep an organic flow, Mendelssohn calls for no breaks between movements, but rather links them with musical bridges.
The link between the intense first movement and the second is a magical moment. The bassoon holds out a prolonged pitch after the final chords die off from the first movement, suspending time. And then a change of a half step occurs, followed by a quiet gathering of flutes and strings, liquefying like clouds into pitches of a new key, and then a new movement emerges. The Andante that follows is a sweet musing, one of Mendelssohn’s most beautiful songs. As this second movement ends, another magical bridge follows, this time like a recitative from a Rossini opera, with statements from the soloist and responses from the orchestra. All the while the tempo is quickening, and then, unexpectedly, a new movement launches forth.
The Finale is a quick-silver affair, introduced with a fanfare, followed by the soloist catapulting into revelry. One delightful detail of its main theme is that, as mercurial as it is, the upper woodwinds play along, creating an aurally 3-dimensional effect. Not without its own special charms, the Finale dashes through to a rousing ending.
Almost instantly famous, Mendelssohn’s Concerto became a mainstay in the repertoire. As the renowned violinist Joseph Joachim (1831 – 1907) said of it in 1906:
“The Germans have four violin concertos … [Beethoven, Brahms, Bruch and Mendelssohn’s]. But the dearest one of them all, the heart’s jewel, is Mendelssohn’s.”
Ludwig van Beethoven (Born in Bonn in 1770; died in Vienna in 1827)
Symphony No. 1 in C Major, Op. 21 1. Adagio molto – Allegro con brio 2. Andante cantabile con moto 3. Menuetto, Allegro molto e vivace 4. Finale, Adagio – Allegro molto e vivace
Beethoven began sketching his First Symphony in 1795, but Haydn and Mozart’s symphonic legacy cast a daunting shadow over the young composer, not to mention the demands posed by composing his piano concertos and his performing career. But in 1800 this First Symphony was finally completed and premiered in a concert where he also premiered his Piano Concerto No. 2. The Symphony received generally good reviews, and some even called it a masterpiece. Though the First may not be the masterpiece of Beethoven’s even greater symphonies yet to come – his Third and Fifth through Ninth Symphonies –- it is robust and energetic, filled with Classical charm, and containing more than a few renegade surprises. It’s a wonderful creation by a genius during the happiest days of his life, when he was on top of the world.
It’s important to note, however, that Beethoven felt a tremendous need to write a symphony that could stand alongside those of Mozart and Haydn, and perhaps even surpass them. To do so meant that he had to show intelligence in key relationships, counterpoint, symphonic structure and orchestration –- and it meant that his Symphonic debut needed to turn some heads. This First Symphony in C Major begins with one of those head turners –- a series of chords not in C Major and that don’t seem to be going anywhere near their ostensible “home” key. These introductory chords sound almost like a small musical “bridge,” which is a customary technique for linking main themes or sections, but not as an introduction to a “proper” symphony. These chords soon lead into a harmonically rich adagio introduction that does indeed bring us to the main key and a very buoyant first theme, leaving these mysterious chords behind. The rest of the movement is lively and bright, rather like Haydn in its overall lightness, but with a greater use of woodwinds than was common in 1800.
The second movement stretches the symphonic conventions a little further. Its lyrical themes are fashioned into quasi-fugues, although slow and meandering ones, which was something normally saved for a finale. This is Beethoven perhaps flexing his youthful muscles and challenging norms. All the same this Andante with its variations is delightful in its nearness to singing. Two other surprises greet us here. After the easy-going fugal work, Beethoven begins solving the mystery chords from the first movement by using them in their traditional role as a “bridge” to the next section. That next section, then, delivers the second surprise by giving the timpani a prominent part, an important role that the timpani will play even more aggressively as the Symphony continues.
The third movement also breaks with tradition by turning the typical menuetto-dance movement into a break-neck speed concert piece, completely unsuitable for dance and completely exhilarating for the orchestra and listener alike. This would become one of Beethoven’s many contributions to the symphonic form –- that of introducing the lively scherzo in the place of the dance movement.
The Finale starts with a section that resolves the musical mystery of the Symphony’s opening chords, by, in essence, recreating that chordal conundrum again. In this uncharacteristically slow introductory section for a finale, fractured bits of a scale creep upwards in the “wrong” key, wonderfully ambiguous and creating great anticipation. And, then, the Finale breaks out in full force and in the home C Major key. It’s a wonderful finale, filled with energy and vigorous joy. For the listener, it’s a jubilant end to a terrifically enjoyable symphony. For Beethoven, it was just the beginning of even greater things to come.
Pushing the Season: March 12, 2016
Program NotesAaron Copland
(Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1900; died in North Tarrytown, New York in 1990)
Appalachian Spring (original version for Chamber Orchestra)
For many, Appalachian Spring has come to represent the “sound of Appalachia” – that ancient chain of low mountains marching up the eastern seaboard, with their dense wilderness, granting views that gently span the horizon through a myriad of brilliant autumnal colors and misty pastels and filled with the folk music of song and fiddles seeming to be as ancient as the mountains themselves. The underlying story of Copland’s ballet is also equally well known: that of a newlywed pioneer family “building a house with joy and love and prayer.” Interestingly, neither the Appalachia theme nor this ballet story appeared in this piece until much later in its creation. Commissioned of Copland in 1942 by the famous American dancer and choreographer, Martha Graham, the grande dame of Modern Dance, together with the Coolidge Foundation, the ballet music that Copland originally conceived of was first titled “Ballet for Martha” and he said that “the music … takes as a point of departure the personality of Martha Graham.” It was only just before the ballet’s premiere in 1944 when Graham herself happened across the lovely phrase that became its title, “Appalachian spring,” finding it in a poem by Hart Crane called The Dance, (from the larger collection titled The Bridge) where the “spring” referred to a water source, not the season. Although a basic outline of the ballet’s story existed from the start, most of the details that we know today were hammered out in the several months prior to its premiere.
Two aspects in the commissioning of Appalachian Spring, however, were essential to its creation from the very beginning: the music had be danceable, and it must be “American” sounding. And these two aspects Copland undeniably achieved in this, his greatest masterpiece. American born and bred, Appalachian Spring has remained peerless as the music that captures the spirit of America. To be sure, its musical canvas conveys a humility and newness that has become easily attached to a nostalgic American perception of itself, and one of its most beloved melodies, the beautiful hymn tune “Simple Gifts*,” gives the musical score a deeply honest and hopeful feel. These characteristics lend themselves wonderfully to any dance interpretation. Originally scored for 13 instruments (1 flute, 1 clarinet, 1 bassoon, piano and strings) to be danced in the small Coolidge Auditorium in the Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Copland revised and condensed the score in 1945 into a suite for full orchestra, now its most well known version. The original version, however, retains its own wonderful charm and is a delight to listen to, especially when accompanied by dance.
The underlying story, according to the original published score, is as follows:
“…a pioneer celebration in spring around a newly-built farmhouse in the Pennsylvania hills in the early part of the last century [1800’s]. The bride-to-be and the young farmer-husband enact the emotions, joyful and apprehensive, their domestic partnership invites. An older neighbor suggests now and then the rocky confidence of experience. A revivalist and his followers remind the new householders of the strange and terrible aspects of human fate. At the end the couple is left quiet and strong in their new house.”
*A note about the tune “Simple Gifts”: The Shakers, a break-off sect from the Quakers, emigrated from England to America in 1774. “Shakers” was a pejorative term for the sect describing their lively and ecstatic form of worship, which involved a lot of their own, original music accompanied by swaying and twirling dance. Music played a part in all aspects of Shaker life, and was thought of, dually, as utilitarian and spiritual in essence, and these songs were referred to as work-song-hymns. In 1875, Shaker member Elder Joseph Brackett composed “Simple Gifts.” It was published in a compendium not long afterwards called The Gift to Be Simple: Shaker Rituals and Songs, which is where Copland found it. The song’s lilting, sweet melody and its humble, yet joyful, lyrics seem to capture the essence of Appalachian Spring as well as any description. They are:
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ‘tis the gift to be free;
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be;
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we sha’n’t be asham’d
To turn, turn will be our delight,
‘Til by turning, turning we come round right.
Antonio Vivaldi
(Born in Venice, Italy in 1678; died in Vienna, Austria in 1741)
The Four Seasons, Four Concertos for Violin, Op. 8, Nos. 1-4
I. “Spring” Concerto in E-major
1. Allegro
2. Largo e pianissimo sempre
3. Allegro
II. “Summer” Concerto in G-minor
1. Allegro non molto
2. Adagio
3. Presto
III. “Autumn” Concerto in F-major
1. Allegro
2. Adagio molto
3. Allegro
IV. “Winter” Concerto in F-minor
1. Allegro non molto
2. Largo
3. Allegro
In Venice, just down the quayside from St. Mark’s Square, stands a building called Ospedale della Pieta on whose outer walls there is a hole just big enough to stick a bowling pin through. Underneath reads a plaque which damns to hell the person who slips any infant other than a true orphan through the small passage to the indoors. It was within this orphanage that Vivaldi worked for most of his life, where he taught the girls who had been slipped through as newborns how to play music. And it was here that he composed his incomparable The Four Seasons.
Besides teaching, Vivaldi was a virtuoso violinist as well as composer, and of his 500-plus concertos, 221 are for violin written most likely for himself. Although it’s unknown when the concertos of The Four Seasons were composed, they were first published in 1725 in a larger set titled The Test of Harmony and Invention. Since then, they have become so famous as to almost eclipse the composer himself – so rich in tunefulness and inventiveness, so exceptional in their virtuoso violin solos – indeed, their inspired beauty nearly defy time, place and composer.
One lesser known aspect of the Seasons is that the orchestral parts are accompanied by detailed programs (storylines) which explain many of this timeless masterpiece’s ingeniously clever musical moments. In the original 1725 publication Vivaldi even provided four of his own seasonally-inspired sonnets. As an example of this program-music, the sonnet for Spring describes, in part: bird song, then the babbling brooks of Spring, followed by a storm and then a return of the birds. Once this is known, the musical imitation is almost impossible to miss (the trilling of the strings representing birdsong, the undulating string motives echoing the running brooks, and so on).
Antonio Vivaldi’s Sonnets to the Four Seasons
Spring
1. Spring has come and joyfully the birds greet it with happy song, and the brooks, while the streams flow along with gentle murmur as the zephyrs blow. There come, shrouding the air with a black cloak, lighting and thunder chosen to herald [the storm]; then, when these are silent, the little birds return to their melodious incantations.
2. And now, in the pleasant, flowery meadow, to the soft murmur of leaves and plants, the goatherd sleeps with his faithful dog at his side.
3. To the festive sound of a pastoral bagpipe, nymphs and shepherds dance under their beloved roof, greeting the glittering arrival of the spring.
Summer
1. In the harsh season scorched by the sun, man and flock languish, and the pine is on fire; the cuckoo begins to call and soon after, the turtledove and the goldfinch are heard singing. Zephyr [the west wind] gently blows, but Boreas [the north wind] suddenly enters into a contest with its neighbor, and the little shepherd weeps for he hears the awesome threatening storm and his fate.
2. To his tired limbs rest is denied by the fear of lightning, awesome thunder, and the furious swarm of flies and hornets!
3. Alas, his fears are justified. The sky is filled with thunder and lightning and hail cuts down the proud grain.
Autumn
1. The peasant celebrates the pleasure of the happy harvest with dances and songs; and inflamed by the liquor of Bacchus, many end their rejoicing with sleep.
2. The mild pleasant air makes all abandon dance and song; this is the season that invites all to the sweet delights of peaceful sleep.
3. The hunters, at the break of dawn, set forth with horns, guns, and hounds. The animal flees, and they follow its tracks. Already frightened and tired by the great noise of guns and hounds, the wounded animal makes a weak attempt at fleeing, but is overcome and dies.
Winter
1. Trembling with cold amidst the freezing snow, while a frightful wind harshly blows, running and stamping one’s feet every minute, and feeling one’s teeth chatter from the extreme cold;
2. Spending quiet contented days by the fire while the rain outside drenches people by the hundreds;
3. Walking on ice, and moving cautiously, with slow steps, for fear of falling, spinning around, slipping, falling down, again walking on ice and running fast until the ice cracks and splits; hearing Sirocco, Boreas, and all the winds at war burst forth from the bolted doors – this is winter, but it also brings joy!
Program notes © Max Derrickson
Martin Luther King Holiday Concert: January 16, 2016
Program NotesPanamanian Dances
(Danzas de Panama) for String Quartet
William Grant Still
(Born in Woodville, Missouri in 1895; died in Los Angeles in 1978)
In 1955, when most African-American citizens in the South couldn’t even drink out of the same water fountain as their white neighbors, composer William Grant Still achieved a breakthrough – he was the first African-American to conduct the New Orleans Philharmonic. It was only one of the many steps toward racial equality (in that same year, Rosa Parks was arrested in Alabama for refusing to obey bus segregation), but in the Deep South in 1955 Still’s accomplishment was extraordinary. That 1955 concert highlighted several of Still’s own works, including his Afro-American Symphony (Symphony No. 1, 1930), in which Still was just mastering the technique of giving voice to African-American song and rhythm in the “classical” Neo-Romantic style. If George Gershwin started that idea in 1924 with his Rhapsody in Blue, then Still carried it further into the concert hall and perfected it. Such is the case with his marvelous Panamanian Dances for string quartet which he premiered in 1948. Still incorporated not only African-American elements, but as the title’s “Panama” suggests, also Spanish and Native Central American Indian elements as well. These Dances are filled with ingenious details, such as the actual percussive elements of the folk dances throughout, where the performers knock on their instruments in the first and last movements. And then there are the evocations of Panamanian folk instruments – the guitars called mejoraneros and the three-stringed violin, the Rabel – during the Mejorana y Socavón (2nd movement), as well as the shoe-tapping portion in the Punto (3rd dance) from the Panamanian dance, the Zapateo. In the final dance, Still brings to life the joyous Afro-Latin dances, the Cumbia and the Congo, evoking women dancing sensuously in the streets during the Congo with candles held high as the men swirl around them in ecstatic abandon.
Lullaby for Strings
George Gershwin
(Born in Brooklyn, NY in 1898; died in Hollywood, CA in 1937)
George Gershwin’s life is one of those great and inspirational American stories. The son of a poor immigrant family in Brooklyn, he worked his way up from nowhere to becoming one of the most famous musicians in the world and having his music hailed as representing America itself. Even in his fame, however, Gershwin continued studying music as his lifelong pursuit. Thus was born his wonderful Lullaby for Strings in 1919, which was composed as an assignment in harmony and counterpoint during his studies. Aside from Lullaby’s gentle hues, its sweet and lazy habanera/swing-like rhythms, and its two infectious and utterly unpretentious themes, one senses a real glow in this work that emerges from these almost hidden harmonies and counterpoint underneath the melodies. Although Gershwin adapted Lullaby into a song in a new show Blue Monday (a one act “jazz-opera,” Gershwin called it, as well as Opera à la Afro-American, 1922), the show flopped. Nonetheless, the famous jazz band leader Paul Whiteman heard Gershwin’s talent, and commissioned him to write a new piece, which turned out to be Rhapsody in Blue. And thus it was that the gentle Lullaby fathered the edgy Rhapsody that transformed American music.
String Quartet No. 12
in F Major, Op. 96, B. 179, “American”
Antonin Dvořák
(Born near Prague, Bohemia (now Czech Republic) in 1841; died in Prague in 1904)
In 1892 the American philanthropist Jeanette Thurber persuaded Czech composer Antonin Dvořák to head her newly formed National Conservatory of Music in New York City for three years. The idea was to foster grassroots classical music training, help grow a Nationalist American music, and be open to all races – most important, to African-Americans. Within a year, Dvořák had composed his Symphony in E-Minor “from the New World,” which according to the composer was influenced by the African-American spirituals (then called “Negro music”) he had been exposed to. Ignoring the racial barriers of the time, Dvořák insisted that in “. . . the Negro melodies of America I discover all that is needed for a great and noble school of music.” Directly after composing the “New World” Symphony, Dvořák took a long summer holiday in 1893 in Spillville, Iowa. This small, country town was everything that the bustling New York City he’d spent the year in was not, including a large community of Czech immigrants. Amidst nature and his countrymen, Dvořák overflowed with musical ideas. Within 3 days he sketched out his entire String Quartet No. 12, later nicknamed the “American,” and finished it in another 13 days. Probably the most beloved String Quartet in the repertoire, the American is beautiful and robust, folksy and sophisticated. There is no movement without a gorgeous melody, and equally enticing are their delightful accompaniments, with syncopated ostinatos on par with Joplin’s and chock full of inventiveness. Especially enchanting is the magical second movement (Lento), where a sorrowful tune wafts above the soft undulations of the other strings, and where the harmonies could melt sunsets. The American is unreservedly a masterpiece and crowd pleaser.
But what of the folk songs and African-American influences so often mentioned as sources for these “American” pieces? The only confirmed American “song” comes in the third movement of this Quartet, the bird song of the beautiful Scarlet Tanager, whose insistent singing apparently annoyed Dvořák during his work, and so he transcribed it and memorialized it in the third movement (Molto vivace). All the same, Dvořák felt that just by being in America and hearing a new type of music was enough to inspire him to write in a different way – as if he were hearing with different ears. And so two of Western music’s great masterpieces were created during Dvořák’s tenure in America, and thanks to him and Jeanette Thurber, a serious interest in African-American music began to take root, helping to pave the way for other composers to plumb African-American music to its fullest in the popular as well as the classical vein.
Three Rags by
Scott Joplin
(arranged for String Quartet)
Scott Joplin
(Born in Texarkana, Texas (uncertain) in 1867 or 1868; died in New York City in 1917)
As popular as it is today, it seems almost impossible that anyone in the western world could never have heard Joplin’s magnificent classic rag The Entertainer (c. 1900). This perfect little piece of music is both jazzy and classical, upbeat and melancholy, and features that rarest of all musical occurrences — an almost instantly memorable main theme. It is as melodiously perfect as a Souza March or a Rossini Overture. Such is the genius of America’s greatest ragtime composer, Scott Joplin, but his fame only really began a half century after his death when his rags were featured in the 1973 classic film The Sting (starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford). In his own lifetime, Joplin’s popularity was sporadic, ending in poverty and an early death. He was buried in an unmarked grave in 1917 at the age of 49, and by the 1920’s he was all but forgotten. But his 1897 rag, the Maple Leaf Rag (the closing piece in this arrangement), had brought Joplin some brief fame. This piece more than any other perfected the ragtime genre – which previously was known condescendingly as “bordello music” – and became the most important influence on the musical form that soon blossomed into Jazz. What was so inspiring about Maple Leaf was its catchy melodic lines and its delightfully infectious character, but also its sophisticated harmonies and intelligent syncopations. As musicologist Bill Ryerson explained it, Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag did for ragtime (and soon Jazz) what Chopin did for the Polish mazurka. Quite different in tone, however, is Solace (also subtitled “Mexican Serenade,” the second rag in this arrangement), which Joplin wrote in 1909. Here the rich harmonies and melancholic sentiment are the true gems – the syncopated top line saunters almost like an afterthought to a remarkably moving and tuneful piece. Joplin wrote his rags as classical pieces of music informed strongly by African-American influences, and their exceptional quality played a tremendous role in shaping the direction of American music.
Brilliant Beginnings, November 7, 2015
Program NotesFriends of Music Member Program Notes
Brilliant Beginnings, November 7, 2015
Oswaldo Golijov
(Born in La Plata, Argentina in 1960)
Last Round
1. Movido, Urgente – Macho, Cool and Dangerous
2. Lentissimo – Death of Angels
Oswaldo Golijov’s Last Round is a wonderfully quirky chamber work that honors the tango, Argentina’s beloved song and dance. It also serves as an elegy for two of tango’s greatest composers –- Astor Piazzolla and Carlos Gardel. Last Round represents the tango as it has always been –- a multi-cultural, always-evolving form of music.
The tango itself came about as amazing amalgamation of influences. By the 1890’s, tango had reached Buenos Aires, Argentina, but not before first stopping in Uruguay and Cuba. In Uruguay tango began as a West African slave-trade musical form called candombe. The word itself designated a set of drums, but the drums became a part of a spiritual dance and song, under the same name, which was only preformed during carnival — a splendid blend of West African and Catholic influences. The song and dance form then moved with the active slave trade to Cuba, and there it began to take on a new, sensual kind of dance shape.
Before long, tango found its way to Argentina, and into that country’s streets and dance halls. In the dance halls, now imbued with African and Cuban influences, it was blended in with salon music brought from the huge influx of European immigrants, and soon became solidly known as the tango. Where first needing the salon-type orchestra as its accompaniment in the Buenos Aires dance halls, the common folks needed an orchestral substitute. This was soon found in the bandoneón, a button accordion which was brought to South America by German immigrants as a substitute for the organ in makeshift churches. By the early 1900’s, the tango as we generally know it today had morphed in Buenos Aires into the overtly sensual form of singer, bandoneónista, and two dancers. It has since become one of Argentina’s most prized cultural icons –- and as diversely invested with influences and change as perhaps any song and dance form ever has been.
Golijov is himself one of the world’s most sought-after new composers, and he brings his own cosmopolitanism to Last Round. But he comes by the tango honestly: born and raised in Argentina to Eastern European Jewish immigrants, Golijov grew up immersed in Jewish, Classical, South American pop music, and of course, the tango. He went on to study music first in Israel and then finished his doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania. During his childhood in Argentina, it was the “tango of the old guard,” as epitomized by the actor and performer Carlos Gardel (1890 – 1935), who essentially won the hearts of the world to the beauties of tango, especially with his famous tango song My Beloved Buenos Aires in the 1930’s. Along the way, Golijov fell in love with the tangos of Astor Piazzolla (1921 – 1992), especially with his first set of tangos in the 1960’s, which challenged the “old guard” tangos with his new approach – the “nuevo tango.”
Said Piazzolla: “Nuevo tango = tango + tragedy + comedy + whorehouse.” One tango in particular in his early 1960’s set, which truly epitomized Piazzolla’s philosophy, was titled La muerte del ángel, which, with its highly syncopated rhythms and its complex harmonies, defied tango tradition. Having achieved National Hero status in Argentina, and fame around the world, Piazzolla’s death in 1992 prompted Golijov to begin his elegy to his tango guru by writing the second movement of what would later become Last Round – Lentissimo – Death of Angels. A few years later he was commissioned to expand the work and Golijov added the first movement. It premiered in 1996 to high acclaim.
Last Round’s orchestration is wonderfully unique. Two small string ensembles oppose each other on stage, and they are moderated and anchored by a double bass in the middle. Golijov’s objective was to create a string version of the bandoneón and it works remarkably well. The first movement is a tango of the rough and tumble street musicians of the underbelly of Buenos Aires, circa early 1900’s. Wheezing and snapping, the “string-bandoneón” creates a very untidy, and altogether joyful, roughneck tango straight off the streets. Occasional increases in tempo call into play the machismo of the vying tango dancers, and the jaunty, almost chaotic, rhythms testify to the love of rhythm that Piazzolla adored and exploited in over 300 tangos.
The second movement is a fittingly somber threnody of the two great tango men. Its subtitle, of course, is named in homage to Piazzolla’s groundbreaking tango La muerte del ángel, but only in name. Here it serves both as literal reference and as an elegy about the influence and death of Piazzolla, one of tango’s great champions. In this movement, Golijov wanted to create the sensation of what a bandoneón could do if it never had to change between compression and expansion –- one gigantic, long pull. Bits of a tune are implied at first, but melancholic and atmospheric music pervade, evoking mourning and sadness. Not until near the middle do we understand from where the bits of melody arise, as Golijov finally quotes
outright the famous Gardel refrain from My Beloved Buenos Aires. Heard clearly and somberly –- this refrain is the first true melody to invade the movement.
From then on, the movement rhapsodizes on Gardel’s refrain and Golijov’s “endless pull” idea, with delicate beauty and bitter sweetness. The result of both movements together creates the kind of spiritual, earthy, sexy and ecstatic music of the tango in a completely fresh and heartfelt way, much in keeping with tango’s multi-cultural roots, and delightfully new and engaging for today.
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy
(Born in Hamburg, Germany in 1809; died in Leipzig, Germany in 1847)
Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in E-minor, Op. 64
1. Allegro molto appasionato
2. Andante
3. Allegretto non troppo – Allegro molto vivace
In 1825 and 1826, the 16 year-old Mendelssohn wrote two of Westerns Music’s greatest jewels: the String Octet in E-flat Major, Op. 20, followed by A Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture, Op 21. After being stunned and delighted by these great works, all of Europe was expecting a string of masterpieces to follow. Although Mendelssohn composed many excellent works in the years that followed – most notably his Symphonies No. 2 through 5 and his two Oratorios – none seemed to achieve the inspiration that he had displayed with these two early, giant masterpieces.
But during these seemingly quiescent years, Mendelssohn wasn’t resting on his young laurels. He had become a revivalist of Bach’s great choral works and was a first-rate Bach scholar; he founded and directed the Leipzig Conservatory; he conducted professionally and made some significant reforms in that field; and he concertized at an exhausting pace. Nevertheless, the music-going audiences of the day came to believe that his former masterpiece-well had gone dry.
The 1845 Violin Concerto would prove them wrong. It was only Mendelssohn’s hectic life that had kept him from finishing and premiering it. Its first notes had in fact been conjured up in 1838, when he told his friend and violinist, Ferdinand David, that he wanted to write him a concerto. The life-long collaboration between Mendelssohn and David is famous, and in this Concerto, David became an indispensable technical advisor. Despite that first inspiration in 1838, Mendelssohn couldn’t sit down to work on his Concerto without distraction until 1844. It was premiered in 1845 with David as soloist. It was immediately recognized as a masterpiece worthy of Mendelssohn’s early successes, and his critics were converted into his greatest admirers.
By Mendelssohn’s day –- hardly a generation since the towering violin concertos of Beethoven and Mozart –- Europe was becoming infatuated with concertos filled with musical fluff, often more flash than musical merit. Mendelssohn’s Concerto had something much more serious and lasting to say, surely in keeping with the tradition of the great Masters before him. This is clear from its opening theme. That first theme, sweeping, haunting and wonderfully lyrical, had been lurking in Mendelssohn’s mind ever since he wrote David in 1838 that it “gave [him] no peace” until he gave it voice in the Concerto. The entire concerto is filled with beautiful melodies, concise expression and those hallmark Mendelssohnian charms –- all aspects that would make this a masterpiece on their own.
But three unusual compositional techniques add an aspect of wholeness, of seamless flow and drama that make this Concerto stand above most others. First, the violin and orchestra are immediately thrown together to play at the outset, contrary to the typical orchestra-only introduction followed by a spotlight on the soloist. This fusion makes for a very dramatic beginning, as though there is little time to waste on trifles. Mendelssohn also placed the cadenza in an unusual place – instead of customarily placing it near the end, it occurs much sooner, heightening the sense of drama. Lastly, to keep an organic flow, Mendelssohn calls for no breaks between movements, but rather links them with musical bridges.
The link between the intense first movement and the second is a magical moment. The bassoon holds out a prolonged pitch after the final chords die off from the first movement, suspending time. And then a change of a half step occurs, followed by a quiet gathering of flutes and strings, liquefying like clouds into pitches of a new key, and then a new movement emerges. The Andante that follows is a sweet musing, one of Mendelssohn’s most beautiful songs. As this second movement ends, another magical bridge follows, this time like a recitative from a Rossini opera, with statements from the soloist and responses from the orchestra. All the while the tempo is quickening, and then, unexpectedly, a new movement launches forth.
The Finale is a quick-silver affair, introduced with a fanfare, followed by the soloist catapulting into revelry. One delightful detail of its main theme is that, as mercurial as it is, the upper woodwinds play along, creating an aurally 3-dimensional effect. Not without its own special charms, the Finale dashes through to a rousing ending.
Almost instantly famous, Mendelssohn’s Concerto became a mainstay in the repertoire. As the renowned violinist Joseph Joachim (1831 – 1907) said of it in 1906:
“The Germans have four violin concertos … [Beethoven, Brahms, Bruch and Mendelssohn’s]. But the dearest one of them all, the heart’s jewel, is Mendelssohn’s.”
Ludwig van Beethoven
(Born in Bonn in 1770; died in Vienna in 1827)
Symphony No. 1 in C Major, Op. 21
1. Adagio molto – Allegro con brio
2. Andante cantabile con moto
3. Menuetto, Allegro molto e vivace
4. Finale, Adagio – Allegro molto e vivace
Beethoven began sketching his First Symphony in 1795, but Haydn and Mozart’s symphonic legacy cast a daunting shadow over the young composer, not to mention the demands posed by composing his piano concertos and his performing career. But in 1800 this First Symphony was finally completed and premiered in a concert where he also premiered his Piano Concerto No. 2. The Symphony received generally good reviews, and some even called it a masterpiece. Though the First may not be the masterpiece of Beethoven’s even greater symphonies yet to come – his Third and Fifth through Ninth Symphonies –- it is robust and energetic, filled with Classical charm, and containing more than a few renegade surprises. It’s a wonderful creation by a genius during the happiest days of his life, when he was on top of the world.
It’s important to note, however, that Beethoven felt a tremendous need to write a symphony that could stand alongside those of Mozart and Haydn, and perhaps even surpass them. To do so meant that he had to show intelligence in key relationships, counterpoint, symphonic structure and orchestration –- and it meant that his Symphonic debut needed to turn some heads. This First Symphony in C Major begins with one of those head turners –- a series of chords not in C Major and that don’t seem to be going anywhere near their ostensible “home” key. These introductory chords sound almost like a small musical “bridge,” which is a customary technique for linking main themes or sections, but not as an introduction to a “proper” symphony. These chords soon lead into a harmonically rich adagio introduction that does indeed bring us to the main key and a very buoyant first theme, leaving these mysterious chords behind. The rest of the movement is lively and bright, rather like Haydn in its overall lightness, but with a greater use of woodwinds than was common in 1800.
The second movement stretches the symphonic conventions a little further. Its lyrical themes are fashioned into quasi-fugues, although slow and meandering ones, which was something normally saved for a finale. This is Beethoven perhaps flexing his youthful muscles and challenging norms. All the same this Andante with its variations is delightful in its nearness to singing. Two other surprises greet us here. After the easy-going fugal work, Beethoven begins solving the mystery chords from the first movement by using them in their traditional role as a “bridge” to the next section. That next section, then, delivers the second surprise by giving the timpani a prominent part, an important role that the timpani will play even more aggressively as the Symphony continues.
The third movement also breaks with tradition by turning the typical menuetto-dance movement into a break-neck speed concert piece, completely unsuitable for dance and completely exhilarating for the orchestra and listener alike. This would become one of Beethoven’s many contributions to the symphonic form –- that of introducing the lively scherzo in the place of the dance movement.
The Finale starts with a section that resolves the musical mystery of the Symphony’s opening chords, by, in essence, recreating that chordal conundrum again. In this uncharacteristically slow introductory section for a finale, fractured bits of a scale creep upwards in the “wrong” key, wonderfully ambiguous and creating great anticipation. And, then, the Finale breaks out in full force and in the home C Major key. It’s a wonderful finale, filled with energy and vigorous joy. For the listener, it’s a jubilant end to a terrifically enjoyable symphony. For Beethoven, it was just the beginning of even greater things to come.
Program notes © Max Derrickson