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Newark
The creative process manifests in many ways. Beethoven struggled over every note, while Mozart composed whole symphonies in his head and then copied out the parts from memory while enjoying billiards with his friends. Rossini was of Mozart's type. Musical poetry and invention would flow from his pen, seemingly without effort. One story relates that as Rossini was composing in his upstairs studio, a friend burst in with a bottle of wine and shouted, "Hey, Rossini! Let us drink!" With that, a gust of wind blew Rossini's manuscript out the window and onto the street. The friend cried, "I'll go down and fetch it!" Rossini replied calmly, while reaching for the glasses-"Don't bother; I'll just write another." Indeed, by the age of 37 (really by the age of 9, since he was born on Leap Day), Rossini had composed 40 operas! Italian opera was the source of his incredible fame and fortune and represented a major influence on the world of music henceforth. Though he lived for another 39 years, he did not write another opera. The mystery as to Why Not? has fueled speculation and theory. Rossini often quipped to friends that he was "too lazy to write any more," and "You have a passion for industry; I have a passion for idleness."
Some have felt, however, that Rossini's anger over mutilations to William Tell, his final opera, doused the fire of his creativity with the waters of disgust. An example of this kind of de-composition was the tradition of singers ornamenting the vocal line with trills, turns and roulades that often had no artistic purpose other than showing off. Rossini meticulously notated exactly what the performer should sing. Yet, on the occasion of an informal gathering, Rossini was persuaded to accompany at the piano a diva of the day in one of his arias. After she finished encrusting the line with her tasteless liberties, Rossini stood up with a sour expression and grunted, "Madam, who, may I ask, wrote this music?" Rossini's early retirement was probably due to his health. His nature embraced extreme sensitiveness, nervousness and a proneness to worry, making it impossible for him to continue working.
The opera The Italian Girl in Algiers was one of Rossini's early successes. It is not often presented these days, but the overture remains a staple on symphonic concerts. Its popularity is easily understood. It is filled with vitality and good humor, catchy tunes, colorful orchestration and dynamic surprises, including the famous Rossini crescendo - a gradual rise in volume from the softest murmurings to a torrent of exuberant outbursts. What more needs to be said? You'll love it!
Our concert theme From the Heart is the perfect pronouncement for the genius of Mendelssohn. One of the early Romantics, he was friends with Schumann, Chopin, Liszt and Berlioz. Mendelssohn firmly believed in the capacity of music to express feeling. He held that words can only mislead, since they have many interpretations, while music has only one: "music can communicate what no words can speak-the inexpressible." The perfect marriage in his music between exquisite formal structure and sublimely inspired melodic and harmonic elements gave birth to a number of immortal works, including the final three symphonies, incidental music for A Midsummer Night's Dream, the Hebrides Overture, the oratorio Elijah, and above all, the Violin Concerto.
With lucid elegance, the Violin Concerto has won our love through its profoundly expressive writing for the solo instrument. Lyrical, though with ample opportunity for virtuoso display, it is in the view of musicologist Curt Sachs the creation of a loving, not a bleeding, heart-sunny, happy and pure.
Mendelssohn did not think of himself as a revolutionary. He was thoroughly grounded in the classic traditions, yet this concerto contains some very original features. Instead of the usual long orchestral exposition in the first movement, where the primary themes are presented by the orchestra before the soloist enters, Mendelssohn has the violin begin immediately with a theme of such magnetism that there is no doubt as to who is going to lead the ensuing dialogues with the orchestra. The cadenza which occurs at the end of the development section in the first movement is fully written out, rather than being left to the improvisational whims of the performer. Not only does this maintain an expressive continuity that was often sacrificed, but it allows a moment of extraordinary brilliance: before the cadenza is finished and while the violin is heroically presenting a series of rapid rolling arpeggios, the orchestra enters "prematurely" with the main theme, providing a climax of such intensity that I tremble as I write this. Then the first movement is connected to the second by a long held bassoon note. At first it seems like a mistake, but when we realize it's intentional, an overwhelming sigh of delight greets the new, almost painfully beautiful violin melody. Eventually the soloist defers to a passionate surge from the orchestra, which at that time introduces a new rippling accompaniment figure. When the solo violin re-enters, it takes up the new pattern simultaneously with the melodic line resulting in a moment of quietly thrilling virtuosity.
The soloist leads the way as the third movement is commenced, again without pause. In this way, the whole concerto takes on the mantle of an epic poem, with the violin narrating a series of adventures and the orchestra replying as a Greek chorus. The concerto concludes with playful contrasts, heroic statements, and a headlong rush to meet destiny. A masterpiece for all time.
From the heart? Or, heart on the sleeve? Believe it or not, Tchaikovsky has often been criticized for being too expressive! Academics of this stripe would concede his gift for melody and spectacular orchestration, but go on to assert that he had no sense of form or the discipline to refine his compositions. Baloney! When one looks at Tchaikovsky's scores, the evidence is in plain view that he has mastered the most complex structures of musical grammar without losing sight of his expressive goal. Another grievous slander came from his own colleagues. They charged that his music was not Russian enough, that it was too German, i.e., too formally structured! Is this just jealous nonsense? Tchaikovsky collected Russian folk tunes, and his music reflects a deep respect and passion for his native soil. Indeed, Tchaikovsky has become the standard by which we judge all other Russian composers. At least one notable compatriot, Igor Stravinsky, declared the above complaints about Tchaikovsky to be "rubbish."
All of that aside, Tchaikovsky did have a troubled life-one might even say tortured. Severe depression brought on from struggles with his sexuality and crippling doubts about his ability to continue composing left him a haunted and pathetic soul. Eleven years elapsed between the completion of the Fourth Symphony and the commencement of the Fifth. The spark of confidence took fire only after a brief meeting with Edvard Grieg. The creation of the Fifth Symphony progressed quickly and with enthusiasm. Yet, even after successful first performances, Tchaikovsky reverted to disbelief in its worth. His uncertainty was unfounded. The Fifth Symphony is a truly great work of art!
Lacking a program, which many felt Tchaikovsky needed as a crutch, this symphony is a towering example of absolute music. The first movement begins with an introduction in which a noble theme is stated by the clarinet. It is not heard again in this movement but does appear in all the others, reaching an apotheosis in the final movement and achieving structural unity of potent proportions. The rest of the first movement is a beautiful example of classical sonata form with masterfully sculpted and contrasting themes and a development that is the envy of any composer.
The second movement presents one of Tchaikovsky's "grand themes" played first by the French horn. This is the music of legend, along with the primary themes of his Piano Concerto, Swan Lake, and the love theme from Romeo and Juliet, an expression of mystical inspiration. Horn players live to play this symphony because of this theme. Twice, at climactic moments, the full brass section bursts forth with the introduction theme from the first movement as affirmation of faith and truth.
The third movement is a waltz with a bearing of grace and optimism. It is a divertissement with the clarinet theme from the first movement tucked in at the very end, almost as an afterthought, but a reminder that the journey is not over.
The Finale transforms the cyclic theme from the symphony's beginning into a kind of Russian hymn, rising to spiritual heights of fervor and conviction. This is contrasted by an energetic theme that has the stamp of a Russian folk dance. Brilliant development brings the symphony to an heroic conclusion with the trumpets as angelic heralds, triumphantly pealing the allegro (second) theme of the first movement.
That Tchaikovsky is one of the great composers should not be in question. That his wounded spirit drove his artistry is attested by his highly personal and lamenting last symphony, the Pathétique.
The Northern Lights or aurora borealis are a mystical phenomenon that emanates from polar reaches in the form of colored waves flashing across the night sky. This stunning display of nature often evokes emotions of profound loneliness associated with vast frozen wastes and desolate landscapes. The personal isolation of a creative artist can also produce an inner light of inspiration that bathes humanity in the expanse of spiritual existence.
With all of the glories of Russia come also an environment of political extremes and oppression. (During the 20th century, the Communist Party threat of "relocation" to Siberia was enough to chill many a patriot's blood!) Artistic freedom was the life's blood for Shostakovich, who was continuously censored and ostracized by the Stalinist regime. He was accused of using "complex, abstract and formalist means of expression" and was denounced as a "disciple of foreign modernists." Pravda, the official party newspaper, after a blistering condemnation would pronounce that all art should be "for the people," raising their spirits in exultation for the victories of Russian heroes. (Read: Propaganda for the party line.) There are some who believe that an artist can become great only through adversity. Well, Shostakovich had more than his share of that particular raw material. His music is great!
The Festive Overture was composed in 1954 for the thirty-seventh anniversary of the Russian Revolution.the year following the death of Joseph Stalin! There are no musical references in this piece to political upheaval, militant multitudes or conflicts being engaged. There is, however, the sheer joy of shackles falling open to the ground! Beginning with a fanfare introduction, the mood is one of sunny expectation-perhaps of looking over a demanding bobsled run from the icy crest. Then onto the thrilling course with exhilarating twists and turns and breath-taking straight-aways and blinding speed, all requiring superior agility, commitment and trust. Finally on arrival at the base, the fanfare returns in triumph born of perseverance. Stalin is dead; Shostakovich lives on!
Born in the small Danish town of Alton, Reinecke's first musical instruction came from his father. Something of a prodigy, Reinecke was composing at the age of seven and performing internationally as a pianist at twelve. He was befriended and encouraged by both Schumann and Mendelssohn. Reinecke was also an accomplished conductor, and in 1860 he was appointed head of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig and professor of piano and composition at the Conservatory there. His pupils included Max Bruch, Edvard Grieg and Emil Reznicek. A highly respected composer in his time, Reinecke's prolific output is remembered today only by his masterful chamber music for winds, cadenzas for the Mozart and Beethoven piano concertos, and this delightful flute concerto.
Brimming with beautiful lyrical melodies and tastefully developed passages of virtuoso display, the flute concerto is a mature creation in the Romantic style. The orchestra is given a sophisticated and truly symphonic presence, and the dialogue with the soloist through three contrasting movements provides many richly expressive opportunities.
Maybe hearing this gem performed will stimulate a desire to review the rest of Reinecke's music. There could be some forgotten treasures patiently waiting for the light of discovery.
Part of the Scandinavian "land of the midnight sun," Finland has been for ages the battleground between Swedish and Russian aggressions. Eventually in 1809 the Russians enforced an occupation that lasted almost without interruption until the end of the Second World War. The Finns have developed a fierce national pride, in part because of foreign oppression, and also in reflection of their powerful national epic poem, Kalevala, which related ancient Finnish folklore and was published in the native language. The music of Sibelius contributed to the national fervor through his early tone poems Kullervo, En Saga, Lemminkäinen Legends, and Finlandia, all of which are elaborations of the Kalevala. For a long time Finnish performances of these compositions were forbidden by the occupying Russians because of their inflammatory patriotic effect on the public.
After these youthful achievements, Sibelius chose to live in near-seclusion, in the country away from the populace. His seven symphonies were composed within a span of twenty-five years. At a time when composers such as Stravinsky, Debussy, Bartok and Schoenberg were inventing new musical languages, Sibelius' symphonies flowed from traditional materials and communicated with such originality and conviction that critics have hailed him as the "inheritor of Beethoven and the only worthy successor to Brahms." Despite his earlier programmatic creations, Sibelius explicitly stated that his symphonies are intended as pure musical expression without literary foundation. Yet, as we will hear in the Second Symphony, his most popular symphony, this music is a statement of a man, a nation and a region. If Scandinavian fjords, the North Sea and arctic climates can be expressed in sound, it is all here-also with a touch of a people's pride in defiance of the Russian yoke of domination. Sweeping themes of grandeur with symphonic realizations of subtlety and power all convey a rugged determination for survival.
Ture Rangström said of his personality: "Meeting Jean Sibelius is like being confronted by a power of nature. He looks like an old eagle in a storm, like a towering pine or an emperor hewn from granite. At the same time his speech and manner toward others have the elegance of a man of the world."
Isn't music wonderful?!
Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? These perpetual questions imply an unseen reality and a quest for a path to eternity. When life is embraced as an opportunity to face personal challenges, whether pre-ordained or accidental, it is how one acts at the critical moment that defines character and perhaps one's standing in the Beyond. The artist's vision of the human spirit and the struggle to overcome discord in the pursuit of harmony is the inspiration for the theme Of Fate and Mortality.
In Wagner's mythical opera, Lohengrin is a knight in shining silver armor who mysteriously arrives, in answer to a prayer, to defend the honor of Elsa. Lohengrin states that he will fight Telramund, Elsa's accuser, and become her husband and protector provided that she vow never to ask who he is and whence he came. Elsa accepts the condition, and Lohengrin is triumphant. However, Ortrud, the wife of Telramund and the source of the false charge, tries to poison Elsa's thoughts by claiming Lohengrin is a sorcerer. It works, and on their wedding night Elsa's festering doubts cause her to beseech Lohengrin to say who he is, even if it means her death! Sadly he relates that he is the son of Parsifal, the keeper of the Holy Grail, and that he is one of a band of knights whose mission is to help those who are in need. But no one must know who they are, for if they are questioned and their identities revealed, they lose their divine power and must retire in banishment. Lohengrin takes a sorrowful farewell of Elsa, who swoons lifeless at his departure.
The short Introduction to Act III is full of boisterous energy. High emotions of victorious combat and honor avenged burst forth from the orchestra as if they are cheers for the hero from the multitude. In the opera this music flows directly into the solemn but joyful Bridal Chorus as the curtain rises.
Wagner went on to formulate very complex theories unifying the elements of music, dance, poetry, acting and staging, which he then called the new art of music-drama. Musically this involved a continuous unfolding of expression rather than a flow interrupted by individual songs and recitatives, and called for a very large orchestra using advanced harmonic structures and chromatic tonal relationship, plus the innovation of leit-motivs-melodic fragments subliminally reflecting archetypal aspects of characters, objects, actions and spells. Wagner's creations were an enormously intimidating presence to the composers that followed. Some, such as Schoenberg, claimed that Wagner had exhausted all of the expressive potential of tonality and left no room for original development. This view resulted in forays into a-tonality and experimentation with 12-tone composition. Other composers of the early 20th century, including Stravinsky, Debussy, Scriabin and Bartok were driven to find their own very personal solutions to the "problem" of tonality.
Though an early admirer of Wagner, Debussy quickly came to reject the highly extraverted music-drama of the German Romantic. A man of refined and particular tastes, Debussy developed a musical style that was more contemplative than emotional and quite reflective of the French Impressionist painters who were his friends. His unique musical language used harmonies built of 7ths, 9ths, and 13ths as sonorities unto themselves rather than chords requiring resolution. Floating in parallel sequences over pentatonic or whole-tone scales, these structures render tonality an ambiguous expression of chiaroscuro sensations, elusive of the traditional tonal values of tension and release.
In this masterpiece for solo harp and string orchestra, Debussy's Danses Sacrées et Profanes (spiritual and worldly) presents the nature of existence in an extraordinary and beautiful way. Rather than presenting these opposites in conflict, they are revealed as a unified whole, relating to the Oriental concept of yin and yang, two dynamic energies complementing and completing each other in a timeless cycle of movement; the dance of the universe. Of course the harp with its celestial associations is an inspired marriage to this musical musing.
All of Mahler's symphonies are in some sense autobiographical. Though he denied a programmatic genesis, they cannot be fully understood or appreciated as pure absolute music. Mahler continually battled with affairs of the world-his need to make a living as a conductor relegating his real passion for composition to brief periods of vacation-and concerns of the soul-he was born a Jew, was converted as a believing Christian and maintained a strong identity in both camps. In addition, he demonstrated an almost morbid preoccupation with the inevitability of death and a desire for a glimpse of the hereafter-all in evidence throughout his creative life.
The Sixth Symphony was written at a time (1904) that could be recognized as the happiest in Mahler's life. He and his wife Alma, a beautiful and stimulating woman, had two young and healthy children. He held the most prestigious conducting position in the world as Director of the Vienna Opera. And, at long last, serious acclaim was mounting for his compositions. Yet the inspiration for this passionate (and some would say, pessimistic) symphony is the struggle with fate over death, which might be put off but not avoided. The first movement is filled with the turmoil of life, marching forward with determination toward an unconscious end. There are signposts along the way: a blaring major chord from the trumpets sparking a bright-eyed vitality that then fades with the third falling (as must we all) to a minor whimper. At the same time a military tattoo in the timpani reminds us that the Grim Reaper is marching right alongside, ready to harvest those whose time has come! The march-like parceling of time and the major-minor fall from hope to despair permeate the whole symphony, as Wagner's leit-motivs, coloring all of life's diversions with the unescapable. The second theme is a soaring lyrical line of ardent fervor, a musical portrait of Alma. This theme brings the movement to a close with passion and spirit, perhaps with the wish that love conquer all. The second movement Scherzo is a danse macabre, juxtaposing the last rattling breath of the aged with the innocent play of children, all to the tune of Friend Death's fiddle, and in the end simply dying away. The third movement appears to be a peaceful retreat from the cares of the world. The fragrance of summer flowers and the bucolic sound of cowbells from the countryside... One breathes deeply of the fresh air. Still, the hint of hidden major-minor light and shadow are a reminder that life is defined by its end. A shimmering effervescence begins the final movement, as if a shaft of sunlight from behind a cloud represents God's glance surveying His creation. Again fate sounds its horn; the end is drawing near. But wait, with life has come growing wisdom and powers of the will-to fight! A fist of defiance is raised; fate must step back! The conflict is hard, the desire to live strong, but then, we are crushed to the knees by a fearsome blow from fate's hammer...then a second...and a third! Funeral music from the trombones tells the outcome. Life for one does not go on.
Composing this symphony must have come from a premonition. At the first performance (1906) Mahler became terrified by the three hammer strokes and revised the score by removing the third stroke in a superstitious attempt to avert disaster. To no avail: within the year he was forced to resign his post at the Vienna Opera, his four-year-old daughter Maria fell ill and died, and finally, the diagnosis of his own fatal heart condition sealed his fate.
Leonard Bernstein, speaking of himself, of Mahler and of the Sixth Symphony: "...We accept our mortality, and yet we persist in our search for immortality. We may believe it's all transient, even that it's all over; yet we believe in a future. We believe."