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NewarkSymphony
Orchestra
Newark
When one speaks of national characteristics, the spectre of stereotying raises its horned brow. The dilemma is not an issue of avoiding narrow definitions but rather one of accurately encompassing the rich diversity within a unique whole. Perhaps the diplomatic corps should address the arts of a given culture in order to fully appreciate the breadth of an elusive point of view regarding other nations' interests. This evening we present three early 20th century composers who are unmistakably British, even though their musical language and expressive intent contrast each other in the extreme. The elements that identify the common national spirit are in each case quite different, illuminating the value of such an experiential exploration.
For four movements the solo cello offers a poetic narrative, where even the passages of virtuoso display are delicate and sing with the innocence of pure light. Even the orchestra projects an atmosphere of contemplation and reflection rather than the conflict of dialogue. Within months of the concerto's first performance, Elgar's beloved wife Alice passed away. For the remaining fourteen years of his life, the spark of creativity was gone, and he produced very little music except for incomplete sketches for a third symphony. Though it was not his intention, the Cello Concerto is acknowledged as his tender farewell to the musical world. Its warm expressiveness is in truth an affectionate wave of the arm from one of England's most revered artists.
Bax was personally moved by the power of myth and legend, and he was naturally attracted to the wonders of nature for his inspiration. His most ambitious early composition, Spring Fire, combines these elements. Bax called this creation a "freely worked symphony, the sections linked together without a break." His imagination was set astir by the wild, pagan poetry of Swinburne. In Bax's words, it is "an attempt to depict the first uprush and impulse of Spring in the woods... the exuberant and pagan qualities of Swinburne's writings colour the musical content of fantasy throughout."
The opening section, In the Forest Before Day, "suggests the uncertain and pensive hour immediately before daybreak." Bax continues: "The branches drip softly and a damp delicate fragrance rises from the earth." Daybreak and Sunrise follows immediately and leads into Full Day. "The rippling and dripping sounds cease suddenly and there is a strange hush...the beautiful and quaint denizens of ancient woods are awakening from their winter sleep...nymphs stretch their languid arms...fauns and satyrs skip madly with antics down the deep glades." Woodland Love is a dreamy embrace with gentle caresses, while basking in the lazy warmth of sunshine. The finale, titled Maenad, vigorously interrupts the peaceful musing with a bacchanalian romp. Quotes from Swinburne's poetry (liberally sprinkled by Bax throughout the musical score) describe the action: "And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, fleeter of foot than the Fleet-foot, follows with laughing and fills with delight the maenad and the bassarid." The excited character of the music perfectly renders Bax's intent "...as though the whole of nature participated in the restless riot of youth and sunlight."
Bax never heard this early masterpiece performed. Its scheduled premiere in 1914 was cancelled due to the outbreak of the First World War. Then due to a fire at his publisher (Chappell Music), the entire library was lost, including the manuscript for Spring Fire. Not until a half century later were hand-copied orchestra parts found, separated from the library manuscript at the time of the aborted first performance. From those parts, a score was reconstructed, and Spring Fire was finally premiered in 1993. The work remains unpublished.
The great power of music is that it floods our experience with the most profound thoughts and emotions. Not only the fever of passion or the maelstrom of despair, but also the innocent, simple joys of being alive. Which brings us to this afternoon's family concert: music that communes with nature, celebrates rustic traditions, and even conjures up a bit of seasonal fantasy.
An instrumental suite is a collection of short pieces either focused on a pleasant theme or selected from a larger work, such as a ballet with greater poetic purpose. Since this music is most often associated with the dance, there is also the perception of physical exuberance and spiritual freedom.
This seventh suite is a nostalgic souvenir of the old province of Alsace in northeastern France. Inspired by the poetic reminiscences of Alphonse Daudet, the first section recalls: "Sunday morning in a small village. The streets are deserted... the church is crowded and the sound of chanting falls upon the ear in gusts of song." In the second part: "I remember the tavern, its tiny windows framed with lead and decorated with hops and roses. I can hear the singing... what a happy and carefree life, what genial companionship." Next is the village lane lined with tilia trees, tall lindens with blossoms of sensuous fragrance: "On a silent summer afternoon a pair of lovers walk hand-in-hand." Finally Sunday evening: "What clatter, what bustle! People crowd around their doorways, pretty girls throng the streets, gay folkdancing goes on. Then, at eight o'clock, drums and trumpets sound the Retreat.
It is interesting that the colorful selections for this "sweet suite" were performed by Tchaikovsky before the premiere of the full ballet.
In today's Scottish set, the jaunty rhythm of the first dance evokes flying kilts, flashing heels and fierce bagpipes. The very quick tempo of the second dance would require delicate and agile footwork--perhaps a wee lass dazzling her suitors? The third is a languid air that evokes the peaceful heather-covered slopes of the Scottish highlands. The last dance is a rousing reel that fairly gallops to the end.
The eight selections within the two L'Arlésienne suites offer an intimate interweaving between character and setting, and a vivid view of the Provenial landscape and its timeless charm.
Enjoy the holidays! - R.P
The music of Richard Strauss is a phenomenon unto itself. Whether the medium is orchestra, opera or art song, his unique expressions derive from programmatic sensitivities. Though his formative education was strictly grounded in the classics, as a young man he was clearly influenced by the "new music" of Berlioz, Liszt and Wagner. His incredible facility with extra-musical imagery was not universally admired, and as one wag of his day complained, "If it must be Strauss, let it be Johann; if it must be Richard, then let it be Wagner." However, the real test of artistic integrity is that of time. That the creations of Richard Strauss find themselves in the same standard repertoire as the symphonies of Beethoven, the operas of Verdi and the ballet music of Stravinsky should end the debate.
Born in Munich, Richard Strauss revealed a great aptitude for music even before he entered school. His father, Franz Strauss, was a virtuoso horn player and principal in the Munich Opera Orchestra. An avowed traditionalist and strongly opposed to the "new music," Richard's father directed his studies to follow his own strictly classical ideals. The Festival March, op. 1 and the Serenade for Wind Instruments, op. 7, written before his tenth birthday, were published; and before his seventeenth birthday, his Symphony in D Minor was performed, receiving rare praise from none other than Johannes Brahms. When the eminent conductor Hans von Bülow included the above Serenade in his 1883 concert season, Strauss' recognition as a composer was established. Then, when von Bülow thrust Strauss onto the podium to direct a performance without any rehearsal, his second career as a conductor was born. The performance was so successful that von Bülow immediately engaged Strauss as an assistant, and in 1885 Strauss was appointed to the top post. During the time spent under von Bülow's wing, Strauss was finally exposed to the music his father tried to shield from him. As a consequence he developed a warm admiration for the "revolutionaries" and became absorbed in their music. The list of symphonic poems that followed burst forth with consummate mastery of technique and unbound freedom of programmatic vision. With the fairy tale innocence and devilish humor of Till Eulenspiegel, to the archetypal utterances of Also Sprach Zarathustra, to the warm feelings and whimsical ironies of Don Quixote, Strauss had found his artistic path. Most of his major orchestral works were written before the turn of the century. When he eventually felt the need to pursue greater possibilities, he turned to opera, and those masterpieces were all composed after 1900.
Strauss conducted the first performance in Weimar and wrote to his father: "Don Juan--a magnificent success, the piece sounded magical...and unleashed a storm of applause as never before heard in Weimar." He continued: "It all sounds marvelous and comes off splendidly, even when it's fiendishly difficult." Even Strauss' most unyielding detractors admitted the work a stroke of genius. Overheard following the performance, one of the horn players sat quite out of breath and sighed: "Dear God! What have we done that you should send us this rod for our backs? We'll never be rid of it now."
The texts by Hermann Hesse and Joseph von Eichendorff, with a serene sadness, muse on the approaching end of life's journey. From spring to winter, from morning to evening, from youth to old age--the savoring of life's richness is relinquished, weary but contented. In Frühling, memory of spring's vitality, its sparkling sunlight, scented airs and the sounds of nature surround the passing of time. September embraces the colorful signs of the loss of youth with sorrow but also with a longing for repose. Night has arrived in Beim Schlafengehen, and with it, time to cease the hands' work and still one's thoughts...and sink into the "deeper laws of life." Presentiment of the approaching end, tired of traveling, facing death at the end of a long life is the tone of Im Abendrot. "O rest so long desired! ... Can this perhaps be death?" With these final words the orchestra quotes the ascension theme from Strauss' tone poem Tod und Verklärung, and as the final chords sound, trilling flutes suggest the "two larks" from the poem's second stanza, fluttering quietly above.
Strauss wrote of each movement: Auf der Campagna reproduces the composer's mood "at the sight of the broad Roman countryside bathed in sunlight, as seen from the Villa d'Este at Tivoli." In Roms Ruinen: "Fantastic images of vanished glory, feelings of melancholy and grief amid the brilliant sunshine of the present." Am Strande von Sorrent: "essays the representation in tone painting of the tender music of nature, which the inner ear hears in the rustling of the wind in the leaves, in birdsong and in all the delicate voices of nature, in the distant murmur of the sea, whence a solitary song reaches the beach of Sorrento." The Finale is a lively tarantella based on the Neapolitan folksong Funiculi, Funicula. Uh, oh! That is not a folksong at all! When Strauss discovered that it was a popular composition by Italian composer Luigi Denza and that he would have to pay him royalties for every single performance of Aus Italien, he was completely abashed! Even though it was published, Strauss buried this Symphonic Fantasy and just went on to compose other music. It has languished to this day...forgotten. Now that royalty issues no longer apply, it still isn't programmed, because who wants to present an unknown piece when there are so many famous Strauss compositions to play? My friends, tonight you will hear a masterpiece that has been denied time's test.
-- R.P
Contrasting national styles is a great way for music to reveal character and sentiment that cannot easily be put into words. Musical expressions of ethnic traditions not only define how a people are set apart, but also how they view themselves. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do!" When listening to a piece of "foreign" music, we momentarily think, feel and act (dance) as "they" do, vicariously being at one with values that are convincing and at the same time, strange. Through this process we discover unexpected brothers and sisters through this "common" language. Have you ever wondered how the musical experience enriches your life? This is where it begins!
This Spanish rhapsody by French composer Chabrier is enormously popular. If you heard it on the radio, you would recognize the lively tunes and the flamenco dance rhythms, but you might not recall the title or the composer's name. Perhaps it is because Chabrier was nearly forty before he could devote himself to composition and we have just a handful of masterpieces that his name eludes memory. Now is the time to acknowledge a master.
In any case, the Violin Concerto is very Russian, with soulful melodies and inspired development; perfect form and structure; and brilliant writing for the solo violin. Enjoy!
When I was in school, the head of the conservatory was Hungarian violinist Jani Szanto. He stated that "listening to Liszt's music was like walking between a gold mine and a scrap yard." Indeed, Liszt was an experimenter, and much of his music has been forgotten, but the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 is pure gold, and there may still be some nuggets buried in that pile of refuse waiting to be discovered by anyone moved to do some prospecting.
-- R.P
Newark