Dr. Dick's Harrisburg Symphony Blog

Concert Interrupted

2012-01-12T10:42:00.001-05:00

The classical music world was much abuzz about how the final moments of Gustav Mahler’s monumental Symphony No. 9 were brought to a premature end by the persistent ringing of a cell phone from an audience member sitting in the front row.

As an example, watch this brief excerpt (the very last 7 minutes of a 90-minute symphony) with Leonard Bernstein conducting Mahler’s 9th with the Vienna Philharmonic:
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Now imagine, after 84 minutes of musical intensity, a cell-phone begins to ring at 1:13.

That is what happened Tuesday night with the New York Philharmonic’s performance of Mahler’s Symphony No. 9.

Alan Gilbert, the orchestra’s music director, quietly brought the orchestra to a stop and turned to the offending patron and asked, after what seemed a lengthy silence, if he was finished. Apparently, the ringing had gone on for some time and I presume the man had been oblivious, allowing it to continue ringing.

Consider the inconsiderate listener who single-handedly destroyed the hard work of 100 hard-working musicians and the experience being shared by a concert hall full of listeners which, if it were sold out, would number 2,783, bringing to a halt a movement that had already been building to its enigmatic, soulful conclusion for the past 20-some minutes, capping off a cathartic symphony that pulls you through its deeply personal world for an hour and a half.

This is not the first time this has happened and I’m pessimistic to say it will probably not be the last, but what do you do when people, for whatever reason, leave their cell-phones on during a concert or – worse – let them continue ringing (no doubt thinking it’s some other idiot’s phone)?

Gilbert apologized to the audience after they erupted in rage against the offender (with cries of having him kicked out, of fining him $1,000), and then started the orchestra at the intense climax that eventually winds down to the symphony’s final breaths.

But that concert was a costly experience, not just in terms of the emotional wrenching back into reality – whatever the orchestra’s payroll and however much everybody had paid for their tickets – and one they will never have back again.

You can read an account of the incident, here.

(If you want to read more about the Harrisburg Symphony’s performance of Mahler’s 9th which Stuart Malina conducted in January, 2009, check this post.)

Everybody probably has their favorite concert-going horror story. I know I have sat in concert halls where somebody’s phone began to ring and rather than turning it off, he answered it. “Yeah? No, I’m at a concert, whaddaya want? Yeah. Okay. Yeah, I’ll check it when I get home. Uh huh. Call you tomorrow. Bye.”

Yeah, like that couldn’t’ve waited until after the concert was over?

I related two incidents – well, one real one and one that threatened to become real – in this post on my blog, “Thoughts on a Train,” about a drunken gentleman of a certain age ruined the first two movements of the Schubert String Quintet at a Market Square Concert performance in Whitaker Center and also recounting an earlier experience at the Met when I sat next to a guy who was pretending to be the broadcast host for Meyerbeer’s La Prophete.

But my favorite war-story concerns a similar moment with the New York Philharmonic in that same Avery Fisher Hall with Zubin Mehta conducting (this was in 1979 or 1980) with the final movement of Bruckner’s 9th Symphony – another 9th, and one that also pulls you toward its equally soulful ending, a long descent from one of the most excruciatingly intense discords in 19th Century music. This is followed by a resonant silence as if the world were holding its breath, then, rather than resolving, transcends the pain of reality by quietly lifting you into another plane entirely with its beatific chant on the tubas.

Listen to this excerpt with Eugen Jochum conducting the Berlin Radio Symphony, only the 2nd part of the 25-minute-long slow movement of a symphony that, even without the fourth movement Bruckner was unable to complete before his death, lasts about an hour.

Begin at 5:30 into the clip to appreciate the build-up, if you can’t start from the beginning. The climactic chord begins intensifying around 8:00, then cuts off at 8:58 (watch the conductor’s expression) – then resumes at 9:07 to the tubas’ chorale at 11:45 and from there to the end.

Now, imagine you’re sitting at the back of the hall in a balcony’s cheap seats when that chord cuts off at 8:58 and you can hear two women chattering, their talk reverberating through the silence!!!

Instead of a climax, there was a mighty rushing wind as a thousand people shooshed and hissed the offenders and Zubin Mehta, who had been conducting the New York Phil in a breath-taking performance, brought the orchestra in almost immediately and at such a deflated emotional level, the rest of the symphony’s four minutes felt like the whole performance was dead-on-arrival without transfiguration. Not to reflect on the orchestra’s always professional playing, but the emotional impact following this interruption.

Now, fast forward about six or seven years to a Harrisburg Symphony concert – actually, a reception following a performance given at Dickinson College when Truman Bullard, several others and I are standing around, and I’ve just told this story about the Bruckner 9th.

Conductor Larry Newland, the music director of the symphony then, came up and Truman asked him what his most horrifying concert story was – and he proceeded to talk about this concert with the New York Philharmonic where he was the Assistant Conductor and had been in the broadcast booth, monitoring the recording they were making for their archives of this performance of Bruckner’s 9th Symphony.

Hmmm???

When it got to the climactic chord and it cut off, there in his headset he could hear two women jabbering on. “Oh,” the one said, “I always fry mine in deep-fat.” They were discussing a recipe for making bean soup.

Same concert, same experience.

And really – you spend money on tickets to hear the New York Philharmonic play Bruckner’s 9th and you can’t wait till after the concert’s over to trade recipes??? And how annoying that the orchestra was playing so loud you practically had to shout so your friend could hear you…

It’s not just technology.

But with the advent of electronic devices which we can obliviously take into the concert hall with us, we increase the possibilities we can use to ruin an experience for everyone around us.

So when they ask you to “please, turn off all cell-phone, beepers, pagers and electronic devices” before the concert, please do that. A man almost got lynched by 2,000 people at Avery Fisher Hall the other night for just that reason.

Remember: turn off your cell-phone. The life you save may be your own!

- Dick Strawser

Sibelius Finds His Voice: En Saga

2012-01-11T18:20:00.001-05:00

Jean Sibelius, 1892

This weekend's concert with the Harrisburg Symphony includes one of the most popular of all piano concertos and a great symphony by Johannes Brahms (or scroll down to next post - the link doesn't seem to be working...). It opens, however, with a work that might be largely unfamiliar to Harrisburg audiences (in all my years working in radio, I think I only programmed this piece a few times - my bad...).

If Brahms was 50 when he wrote his 3rd Symphony and Edvard Grieg was 25 when he composed his Piano Concerto, Sibelius was 27 and was just finding his "own voice" after a couple years spent studying in Berlin and Vienna. En Saga would become his first published orchestral work (not the first one he composed) and the first in a long series of tone poems and symphonies on which his mature reputation is built.

Stuart Malina conducts the Harrisburg Symphony, joined by pianist Di Wu for the Grieg Concerto, this Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum. Truman Bullard will be offering a pre-concert talk an hour before each performance.

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Sibelius' En Saga, the Gothenburg Symphony conducted by Neeme Järvi
Part 1 (sorry for what sounds like a bad edit c.11:34/35)
Part 2

(Please note: not responsible for video appropriateness: why there are pictures here of ruins in India, I have no idea, but it's one of the better recordings of the music I could find on YouTube... (sigh)...)
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In many countries that did not have major cosmopolitan centers with active cultural scenes, young would-be composers went elsewhere to study. In the 19th Century, since there were no music schools in the United States, any aspiring composer went to Germany to learn his craft. Even into the early 20th Century, many still gravitated to Paris and the classroom of Nadia Boulanger up until World War II to “finish” the education they might have received in New York or Boston. In England, composers also went to Germany – for instance, Ethel Smyth badgered her father unmercifully until he finally allowed her to attend the Leipzig Conservatory in 1877.

The Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg was also a Leipzig Conservatory alumnus, class of 1862.

Jean Sibelius, however, born in 1865 in a small town in southern Finland, went to Helsinki originally to study law but gave in to his passion for music. Originally he wanted to become a violinist and even played the second and third movements of the Mendelssohn Concerto in public before realizing he was not cut out for the world of the concert virtuoso. Composition was his “fall-back” and, for similar reasons that led Grieg to “the continent,” Sibelius studied first in Berlin in 1889-1890 and then in Vienna the following academic year.

In Berlin, he heard Wagner operas and Beethoven symphonies with Hans von Bülow conducting the Berlin Philharmonic. He heard Joseph Joachim’s quartet playing quartets by Beethoven and Schubert. He also heard young Richard Strauss conducting his brand new tone poem, Don Juan.

But Berlin under the Iron Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, was not an atmosphere conducive to Sibelius’ nature. He also found he detested the rigorous study of counterpoint (the combination of independent voices that have to work melodically and fit the usual harmonic rules at the same time: it is often limited to the study of writing fugues and is usually considered the very driest of academic dryness). Not surprisingly, he found he lost interest in composing. (Not surprisingly, there is very little “fugal” writing in Sibelius’ mature style, for that matter but a great deal of independent polyphony in his great layers of sound – all, essentially, contrapuntal.)

And so, having completed his first year in Berlin with a work considered adequate enough to pass his courses, he left for Vienna. There, he became a student of Robert Fuchs who was a good friend of Johannes Brahms (several years ago, I heard two cello sonatas by Fuchs and would’ve sworn he’d set out to imitate Brahms on purpose. But after listening to other works by other contemporaries of Brahms’ in Vienna, there was a whole school of Brahms imitators who have since largely been forgotten.)

Sibelius also managed to study with Karl Goldmark who was a great inspiration to him. He discovered Bruckner and thought he was the greatest living composer (Brahms, by the way, was still alive – in fact, in 1890, seven years after completing his 3rd Symphony, he had only recently completed his 2nd String Quintet, Op. 111 and was close to retirement, before deciding to write a series of works for a clarinetist whose sound inspired him back into active composing). Sibelius also attended performances of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde and became friends with an oboe player who taught him how to write for the English Horn (he would write The Swan of Tuonela two years later).

He enjoyed the party life of Vienna – “Vienna,” he wrote home, “is all laughter and waltzes” which sounds like the title of a waltz by Johann Strauss who knew a little something about the Viennese love of leisure.

That summer of 1891, the 25-year-old Sibelius returned to Finland and realized something very important, something Grieg had discovered after returning to his native Norway from Leipzig and something Antonin Dvořák was telling his students at the National Conservatory in New York City when he taught there between 1891-1895 (and when he wrote his “New World” Symphony). To create a “national” artistic voice, you need to base your musical language on your folk music – which is exactly what Grieg did (the last movement of his piano concerto is a Norwegian folk dance) and ultimately what Sibelius did, turning first to the ancient legends of Finland, the Kalevala, after hearing a folk-singer sing some traditional verses in a music unlike anything he had studied in Berlin or Vienna – or, for that matter, in Helsinki.

He composed an ambitiously huge work based on the life of the hero Kullervo for soloists, chorus and a large orchestra which was performed with much fuss but little popular reaction (saved mostly by the famed conductor Robert Kajanus predicting a great future for the young composer – shades, perhaps, of Schumann and Brahms). And it impressed the parents of Aino Järnefelt to let their daughter marry this composer, after all: before, Sibelius had been a poor student with no prospects – now…? Who knew? At least, he could combine his honeymoon with a travel grant from the university in Helsinki to study the playing of folk instruments in distant Karelia. And yes, in 1893, he would compose what we know as “The Karelia Suite.”

Kajanus had impressed on Sibelius that for all its wonderful moments, Kullervo would not be often performed and he needed something smaller in scale with which to make his name. And so in the autumn of 1892, after settling into a house and a teaching position in Helsinki, he began work on what would become his first published orchestral work, En Saga which is Swedish for “A Fairy Tale,” though we think of “saga” as more serious than a children’s story (think the Nibelung Saga which inspired Wagner’s “Ring”).

In the midst of this, his grandmother died and, after the funeral, his childhood home was sold. He was clearly in a nostalgic frame of mind.

It is the “state of mind” behind the fairy tale of En Saga . The music does not represent any specific tale – at least, Sibelius never admitted to one – all he said was “it was an expression of a state of mind.” That didn’t sit well with people who wanted to know what that magical opening was describing (are they ice crystals on the wind?) or what was happening when those brass chords came in a couple minutes later and the tension began to build (is this the hero?). How could you have an abstract work called “Fairy Tale” and not say what it’s “about”?

Later, Sibelius wrote,

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"En Saga is psychologically one of my most profound works. I could almost say that the whole of my youth is contained within it. It is an expression of a state of mind. When I was writing it, I went through many things that were upsetting to me. In no other work have I revealed myself as completely as in En Saga. For this reason alone all interpretations of En Saga are, of course, completely foreign to my way of thinking."
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But listeners found it confusing – “capricious” according to one critic – and others suggested he make substantial cuts to shorten the piece.

To a close friend, he mentioned paintings by Arnold Böcklin’s paintings in the same sentence with En Saga (it was one of Böcklin’s better known paintings that would inspire Rachmaninoff’s “Isle of the Dead”). To another, later, he mentioned the music was closer to the Icelandic eddas than the Finnish Kalevala.

Still, it is dramatic, pictorial music – powerful and full of those fingerprints we associate with the mature Sibelius (the constant scurrying strings in the backgrounds as great chords pass through the winds or brass; the primitive-sounding melodies built of repetitive folk-like fragments).

The month after he conducted En Saga’s premiere, he conducted three performances of Kullervo again, but the reaction was so negative, even his friends suggested he give up composition and just become an organist in a small town somewhere…

Fortunately, the next month – following the birth of their first child – Sibelius premiered a choral piece that “exploded like a bomb,” a popular success. And he considered turning part of the Kalevala into a Wagnerian-style opera – for its overture, he composed what later became “The Swan of Tuonela.” He went to Bayreuth to “immerse himself in the Wagnerian style” and though the opera never came into being beyond tons of sketches, the “Swan” later became one of the “Lemminkainen Legends” (though one of the Finnish critics, at its premiere, thought that opening English horn solo was “long and boring”).

After he composed his 1st Symphony and started to receive international success, he decided to revise En Saga in 1902, shortening it, making it a somewhat “milder” piece which many of his friends were unhappy about – part of its charm was its very wildness. Now, however, he decided he had learned what is more accessible and decided to second-guess his earlier “state of mind.” In this form, the tone poem has become much more popular.

More familiar image of Sibelius

In addition to the Violin Concerto and the seven symphonies – of which the 1st, 2nd, 5th and 7th have been played in Harrisburg – there are also several wonderful tone poems, En Saga being the first. The justifiably popular “Finlandia” generally fits into this category, but it would be wonderful to hear works like Pohjola’s Daughter and Tapiola (also based on Finnish myths) more often or one of my favorites, the Finnish creation story told in Luonnotar for soprano and orchestra, rarely heard, though he will probably be best remembered for the sentimental waltz (nothing to do with his days in Vienna, however), Valse triste (originally composed in 1903 for a play about Death) which he sold to his publisher for a small fee and never saw any royalties from its inevitable popularity.

- Dick Strawser

Brahms & His 3rd Symphony: Music at 50

2012-01-11T10:55:00.000-05:00

Brahms in 1883

This weekend, Stuart Malina conducts the Harrisburg Symphony in one of his favorite works, the Symphony No. 3 by Johannes Brahms (actually, whatever Brahms symphony he's conducting at the time is his favorite: there are only four but how can you pick just one?). Also on the program, pianist Di Wu plays the ever-popular Piano Concerto by Edvard Grieg and the concert begins with En Saga by Jean Sibelius. It's called "Enchanting Escape" and you can join us for this musical get-away Saturday evening at 8pm and Sunday afternoon at 3pm at the Forum (Truman Bullard offers a pre-concert talk an hour before each performance).

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In May of 1883, Johannes Brahms invited a close friend of his to a “little small sad festival” to be attended by only four people. This was the way Brahms intended to celebrate his 50th birthday.

That summer, he wrote his Third Symphony which the Harrisburg Symphony will play this weekend under the direction of Stuart Malina, a self-avowed lover of Brahms’ music.

Here, Sir Colin Davis conducts the Dresden State Orchestra on their Japanese Tour in 2009 (recorded in Suntory Hall).
1st Movement part 1

1st Movement part 2

2nd Movement

3rd Movement

4th Movement
(notice the conductor mouths the words “too loud” to the orchestra even before the music begins! Brahms marks it ‘sotto voce’ and it needs to be whispered, almost inaudible.)

When he was 20, Johannes Brahms met Robert and Clara Schumann and there was much prophesying about future greatness, most of which seemed to backfire. For one thing, if he was the heir to Beethoven, where was all this great music? Even though Robert had described his piano sonatas as “veiled symphonies” and Clara had told him, to succeed, he would need to compose symphonies, the symphony he began sketching shortly after Robert Schumann threw himself into the Rhine – an attempted suicide – in 1854 did not become what we know as his first symphony which was completed in 1876, 22 years later.

But he took his time, dealing with negative criticism and taunts from other contemporary composers like Liszt and Wagner. Brahms didn’t want to engage in the typical “on-the-job training” so many young composers have, producing immature works that will be forgotten and only incur further heckling from the crowd demanding proof he was, in fact, Beethoven’s musical heir.

Once that hurdle had been (finally) surpassed – Brahms was then 43 years old – he composed his 2nd Symphony in one summer the following year. The 3rd Symphony came along six summers later. It too was largely composed over one summer.

Brahms had become primarily a “summer composer,” going away to holiday spots (or spas, to be more exact) like Bad Ischl. The summer after his 50th birthday, he went to Wiesbaden, a spa-town on the Rhine (See a modern-day panorama of the city, below, taken from a mountain outside of town, looking toward the barely visible Rhine. Ignore the cell-phone tower on the left…)

A Modern View of Wiesbaden

His choice of location was not accidental.

Brahms had been born in the German city of Hamburg, a great port city on the Elbe River. When he visited the Schumanns, they lived in Düsseldorf, a city on the Rhine where Schumann had been the city’s “music director” and where he composed his 3rd Symphony, known as the “Rhenish.” It was the river he would shortly try to drown himself in.

The Rhine is also where Richard Wagner begins and ends his operatic cycle, The Ring of the Niebelung.

And Wagner, whom Brahms respected to a certain degree despite their rivalry, had just died in February, a few months before Brahms’ 50th birthday.

But the main reason Brahms chose Wiesbaden for his summer composing sojourn was one of its residents, a 26-year-old alto named Hermine Spiess (in some sources, her name is spelled Spies).

Brahms first heard her sing at a friend’s home that January and whatever their relationship was, Brahms found himself writing several songs inspired by that beautiful alto voice.

The first of his songs he’d heard her sing was the delightful, folkish “Vergebliches Ständchen” (which he’d heard her sing, that first meeting: a young man begs his sweetheart to let him in to say good night to her, but she laughs and shuts the window in his face – as Brahms joked after hearing Hermine sing it, “I’m sure she’d let him in!”)

Many of the songs he wrote for her, rather than being the traditional love-songs you might expect, were, despite his flirtations, about unrequited love, rejection or the anxiety of growing older (think “mid-life crisis” 1880s-style).

Hermine Spiess in 1887

Her family lived in Wiesbaden. Brahms jokingly called Hermine his “Rhinemaiden” (after the seductive young water nymphs who initiate Wagner’s “Ring”) and also, after Shakespeare’s queen in “The Winter’s Tale,” as “Hermione-ohne-O” – Harmione without the O.

How much of Hermine is in the Third Symphony remains to be seen. Brahms’ non-vocal music was always abstract but there were often specific associations he might have had in mind when composing it, regardless of what it might mean as a “program,” the dreaded “what-the-music-is-about” question.

Certainly, lots of Brahms’ music makes covert references to Clara Schumann right down to his quoting or paraphrasing what Schumann himself called his “Clara Motive.” And then there’s his Farewell to Agathe von Siebold in his 2nd String Sextet, her name spelled out in musical pitches.

If there is anything referring to Hermione-ohne-O in the symphony he composed that summer, Brahms never hinted at it.

A more likely inspiration was his proximity to the River Rhine which might put a man officially in Middle Age reminiscing about the events of 30 years earlier and first met the Schumanns in a town on the Rhine. From the studio he rented on the hillside overlooking Wiesbaden, he could see the Rhine in the not great distance: did that bring to mind musical associations?

The opening theme of Brahms’ new symphony bears a strong resemblance to a passage from Schumann’s “Rhenish” Symphony, inspired by the very river that Brahms could see from his summer home.

It has the same kind of “swing” Schumann’s first movement theme has but later, Schumann varies his theme – check here to hear Schumann’s “Rhenish,” at 6:44 into the clip. (In the example above, I’ve transposed it from Schumann’s original pitches, starting on G, to Brahms’ theme, starting on F.) Interestingly, the theme is not really something you can build on: in Schumann’s case, it “closes” the harmonic motion and so Brahms has to open it up to make it a suitable theme he can build on. But perhaps, consciously or not, that is the inception point for Brahms’ inspiration: the proximity of the Rhine and the memory of Schumann’s musical tribute to it.

Whatever Brahms may have thought was behind his new symphony, what secret meanings there might be inside the music, he was completely silent about it. But others saw in it specific references: Hans Richter, who would conduct the premiere, after referring to Brahms’ 2nd Symphony as his Pastoral, called this one “Brahms’ Eroica” after Beethoven’s 3rd. Clara Schumann heard “the mysterious charms of woods and forests [in the first movement]… worshippers kneeling about the little forest shrine.” Joseph Joachim, for whom he’d composed his Violin Concerto a few years earlier, said the finale brought to mind the Greek myth of Hero and Leander: “I cannot help imagining the bold, brave swimmer, his breast borne up by the waves and by the mighty passion before his eyes, heartily, heroically swimming on, to the end, to the end, in spite of the elements which storm around him.”

Certainly, there’s drama in the symphony – as naturally there would be, given the nature of the form – but is Brahms’ 3rd really his equivalent of Beethoven’s 3rd? The unexpected mood of the finale in the dark key of F Minor rather than some joyously affirmation in F Major, might lead you to think of dramatic struggles, but rather than a tragic ending or a final heroic resolution (as he ended his 1st Symphony), Brahms lets the clouds part and, in a very un-Brahmsian texture (but reminiscent of Wagner’s “Forest Murmurs”) brings back the opening movement’s first theme – perhaps his Rhine Motive – as a beautiful benediction. Perhaps, like Wagner’s “Ring,” it all begins and ends with the Rhine?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been too far-fetched had someone called it “Brahms’ Rhenish”?

Opening Page of Brahms' original manuscript of his Symphony No. 3

Another famous association concerns its opening “gesture,” a musical motive that permeates the symphony.

Schumann had suggested he, Brahms and another of Schumann’s friends, Albert Dietrich, write a violin sonata by committee to honor violinist Joseph Joachim. They were to be given to him anonymously, he would play through them and then try to guess who wrote which movement. Brahms supplied the scherzo, usually known as the “Sonatensatz” (unimaginatively translated as “Concerto Movement”).

Collectively, this is known as the “F.A.E.” Sonata because Joachim’s life-motto, he said, was “Frei aber einsam” – Free but lonely.

Brahms, the perpetual bachelor – he had said he would attempt neither writing an opera nor marriage – joked that his motto was “F.A.F.” – Frei aber froh. Free but happy!

In that sense, the opening motive of the symphony he wrote at 50 starts off with a rising gesture, F–A-flat–F (see red bracket in the example).

The Opening of Brahms' Symphony No. 3 (without the inner voices)

Though our attention is commanded by the Schumann-quoted melody in the violins, in the basses and trombone, you hear the F–A-flat–F motive. A few measures later, it’s in the horns in the inner voices, transposed to C–E-flat–C and again in the trumpets. In the next measure, it’s in the lower strings and horns, this time as B-flat–D-flat–B-flat. After what sounds like a transition to a new theme a few more measures later, it reappears in the lower voices as A–C–A, what seems to be A Minor but it accompanies the F Major resolution before the violins restate the opening chords again, back into the F–A-flat–F pattern. So in the first 23 measures, you’ve heard that “Frei aber Froh” motive seven times, making a full-circle from F back to F!

What’s surprising about this – aside from the fact the motto should abbreviate to F–A–F, not F–A-flat–F – if the symphony’s in F Major (with an A-natural), why is this generating motive in F Minor (with an A-flat)?

It gives his harmony a pungent non-traditional sound: instead of a standard basic chord progression at the opening, he immediately swings from an F Major chord to a diminished seventh that should resolve to a C major chord but instead swings back to F Major before swinging off, once again, to an F Minor chord to a totally unexpected D-flat Major Chord before turning into that diminished seventh chord again but this time resolving as it should to the expected C Major chord which is also the dominant of the symphony’s tonic key, F Major.

Okay, I know that’s a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo, but if you wanted to know why this sounds different from, say, the opening of Beethoven’s 1st Symphony (speaking unexpected harmonic twists), that’s why.

It also helps explain why the last movement is in F Minor rather than the expected F Major. And then, at the very end, after all this dark drama, the heavens open up and we hear this tremulous string texture – very unlike Brahms but bringing to mind, perhaps, Wagner’s “Forest Murmurs” – with the opening Rhenish theme in a benedictory F Major, leading not as you’d expect to an ultimately triumphant conclusion (like the 1st) or a joyous celebration (like the 2nd) but a peaceful resolution.

While it was one of possibly only two major successes Brahms ever had at a premiere – the public reaction to his German Requiem was the other one – and has gone on to become an audience favorite. Not quite a year after that world premiere in Vienna, it received its American premiere in New York – at a “Novelty Concert” – and a month later was performed in Boston where several hundred people walked out of the concert in protest of this “new music.”

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Oh, and what ever happened to Hermione-ohne-O?

In December of 1884, a year after the symphony’s premiere, Brahms was honored with an all-Brahms concert in the town of Oldenburg. He stayed with his friend Albert Dietrich (the third part of the F.A.E. Sonata’s committee) and brought with him seven guests including Hermine Spiess. Afterward, Hermine wrote to Dietrich’s daughter,

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“What I value most particularly is to have now enjoyed Brahms as a man. How charming he was with us when we were making and guessing riddles. What delightful hours we spent! …Of course, now I only play Brahms the livelong day.”

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As Jan Swafford notes in his excellent and wonderfully readable biography of Brahms,

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“She had met him more than a year before and spent much of the previous summer [when he was composing the 3rd Symphony] in Wiesbaden in his company. If Brahms had undertaken to court Hermine, and in his fashion he probably had, his approach was remarkably oblique. There is every reason to assume, anyway, as with other “respectable” women, that he flirted full-tilt and kept his hands to himself.”
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The following summer, Klaus Groth, a poet (then 66), sent both Brahms and Hermine a poem, “Come soon!” He and Brahms had a running joke about vying for Hermine’s attention, and so Brahms immediately sat down and composed a song to Groth’s poem and sent it to Hermine. That summer, he was working on the last two movements of his 4th Symphony.

The next summer, he composed one of his most ingratiating songs, “Wie Melodienzieht es mir,” as a musical portrait of “the effervescent Hermine” and sent it to her. She sang it frequently. By now, she was an acclaimed Brahms interpreter, especially of his Alto Rhapsody.

Brahms wrote to another friend that summer, “I’m now getting to the years where a man easily does something stupid so I have to doubly watch myself.”

While he was waiting for Hermine to arrive for a visit that summer, he was working on the 2nd Violin Sonata. That November, he made arrangements for Hermine to make her Viennese debut as her accompanist, singing his songs. Friends pointed out that, his enthusiasm aside, Hermine was not developing as a singer. At that point, one could say their relationship, whatever it might have been or become, had crested.

Meeting again in 1888, Hermine met Brahms at a train stop in Basel and was shocked how gray he had become, though she still saw the youthfulness in his “beautiful blue young-man’s eyes and the fresh, dear features.” (He was 55…)

By now, Brahms comments to friends about any possible marriage is like a paraphrase of Groucho Marx about any country club that would accept him: Brahms would despise “a girl for taking me as a husband.” Before, it had been that he was too poor; now it was that he was too old. (He was, by the way, 56.)

Four years later, Hermine Spiess married a lawyer and retired from her career. A year after the wedding, she died in childbirth, a day after her 36th birthday.

By now, Brahms had passed whatever mid-life crisis may have affected his 3rd Symphony. Disappointed in the failure of his 4th Symphony and the Double Concerto (even with his friends), he destroyed a second violin concerto, a second double concerto and at least one more symphony.

- Dick Strawser

P.S. For some reason, the link has ended up bringing you to the bottom of the post, to the comment field, and while I enjoy this orchestra member's reaction, it's not really the main thrust of the post. So if you find yourself here and unwilling to scroll up, follow this link to a so-far okay reblogging of the post at Thoughts on a Train. Sorry for the inconvenience (not sure how it happened, but one of the cats tromped across my keyboard while I was editing the post... hmmm..)

An Enchanting Escape: Di Wu joins the HSO

2012-01-09T18:01:00.000-05:00

Di Wu will be performing Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto, one of the most popular piano concertos in the repertoire, this weekend with Stuart Malina and the Harrisburg Symphony, Saturday night at 8pm and Sunday afternoon at 3pm at the Forum. In addition, the program includes a youthful work by Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius, a fairy-tale he called "En Saga" (which means, simply, "A Fairy Tale"), and the Symphony No. 3 by Johannes Brahms which he wrote during the summer of his 50th Birthday.

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Praised by The Wall Street Journal as “a most mature and sensitive pianist,” Chinese-born Di Wu continues to uphold her enviable reputation as an elegant and exciting musician. Recent highlights include debuts with The Philadelphia Orchestra, Chicago’s Ravinia Festival, the Cincinnati May Festival, the Hamburg Philharmonic, and a performance in Tokyo where she appeared as a soloist with orchestra before an audience of 11,000.

As a recitalist, she has been hailed by the Washington Post for her “fire and authority.” The Philadelphia Inquirer praised her “charisma, steely technique and keen musical intelligence,” and in California, the Bay Area’s Peninsula Review critic declared, “I would gladly crawl over broken glass to hear her again.” Ms. Wu recently gave her San Francisco recital debut, and returned as soloist to Philadelphia’s Verizon Hall under the baton of Christoph Eschenbach in the famed, but rarely performed, Turangalîla-Symphonie of Messaien, one of numerous debuts and re-engagements on Ms. Wu’s current itinerary.

Ms. Wu is the winner of numerous competition prizes. In 2009 alone, she was awarded a coveted prize at the XIII Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, The Juilliard School’s Petschek Award, and the Vendome Virtuosi prize at Lisbon’s prestigious Vendome Competition. She is a winner of Astral Artists’ 2007 National Auditions. Her recent recording of Brahms’ Variations on a Theme of Paganini, Books I and II received praise from Musical America’s Harris Goldsmith, who wrote, “Her account of the Brahms is amazing. She takes all the difficult options (her glissandos are unbelievable!), and she conjures from the piano absolutely gossamer, violinistic textures, joyous humor, and brilliant air-borne tempos.”

Ms. Wu began her professional career as soloist with the Beijing Philharmonic at the age of 14. Since then she has toured widely in Asia and Europe. She came to the U.S. in 1999 to study at the Manhattan School of Music with Zenon Fishbein. From the year 2000 through 2005 she studied at the Curtis Institute of Music with Gary Graffman. She went on to earn a Master of Music degree from Juilliard under Yoheved Kaplinsky and an Artist Diploma under the guidance of Joseph Kalichstein and Robert McDonald.

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Here is Di Wu's video biography from a presentation about the 2009 Van Cliburn competition:

Click here to listen to Di Wu performing the last movement of the 3rd Piano Concerto by Sergei Rachmaninoff from the final round of the 2009 Van Cliburn Competition.

Grieg & Pennsylvania: One Degree of Separation

2012-01-09T14:43:00.003-05:00

Edvard Grieg

This weekend, the Harrisburg Symphony conducted by Stuart Malina will perform a concert called "Enchanted Escape" with Di Wu the soloist in Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto, plus Jean Sibelius' fairy tale En Saga and Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 3 (I'll be posting more about these works soon.) The concerts are this weekend, Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in Harrisburg. Come an hour earlier to hear a pre-concert talk with Truman Bullard.

The Piano Concerto in A Minor that Edvard Grieg composed when he was in his mid-20s probably needs no introduction (not that that will stop me from introducing it to you). Here are some video clips of the complete concerto with pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet performing with conductor Gustavo Dudamel (now the music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic) and the Teresa Careño Youth Orchestra of Venezuela.

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1st Movement

2nd Movement

3rd Movement

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Edvard Grieg was a famous Norwegian composer born in Bergen whose great-grandfather was originally a Scottish soldier who eventually settled in Norway after the Battle of Culloden in 1746.

Famous for the music he composed for Peer Gynt and for his Piano Concerto, Grieg is not a name we would associate, however, with Pennsylvania beyond the fact his music is often played here.

But there really is one degree of separation.

Ole Bull in 1851

Ole Bull was a famous violinist born in Bergen, Norway, whose brother had married Edvard Grieg’s aunt. When the violinist heard the 15-year-old Grieg play the piano, he arranged for him to go to Leipzig, Germany, since there were no reasonable schools in Norway and it would be better than Copenhagen, the closest cosmopolitan city, to study at the conservatory Mendelssohn had founded..

Five years earlier, in 1852, Ole Bull had purchased over 11,000 acres in the woods of Potter County in north-central Pennsylvania for a little over $10,000 (quite a sum in those days) and founded a settlement he called New Norway.

That September, he reported that “30 stalwart sons of Norway arrived” to settle the area. He planned to build a castle for himself on a mountainous shelf overlooking the valley, a hilltop he called Valhala, after the fortress of the Norse God Odin (who became Wotan in Wagner’s opera, ‘The Ring’).

Unfortunately, the land turned out to be so inhospitable to tilling, the colony and the castle were quickly abandoned. However, a state park there is named after him.

Disappointed in the colony’s failure, he returned to Norway and his native Bergen in 1857, the year he heard the teen-aged Edvard Grieg play the piano.Who knows: if New Norway had been a success, Edvard Grieg may never have gotten to Leipzig to study and might not have become the famous composer he eventually did, not that one should count on such black-and-white versions of the “What-If” Game…

Of course, it’s very possible he would have managed something, somehow, but creative genius is such a delicate condition, it’s also possible, without the right nurturing at the right time, it may never have blossomed as we know it.

- Dick Strawser

Surging Seas, Rabbits Out of Hats & the Rhapsody in Blue

2011-11-20T00:49:00.001-05:00

You can go to concerts for years and never have any idea what’s going on “back stage.”

Then something happens and… well, like Saturday night with the Harrisburg Symphony’s “Masterworks Concert” Surging Sea when there’s a change – or two – in the program.

If you missed the opportunity to hear Saturday night's concert, there's still Sunday afternoon's concert at 3pm, if you're reading this in time (and don't forget Assistant Conductor Tara Simoncic's pre-concert talk at 2:00).

So what's this all about?

Well, the original soloist, Lisa Daltirus, was scheduled to sing Samuel Barber’s nostalgic Knoxville: Summer of 1915 and the three songs of Shéhérazade by Maurice Ravel and it’s unlikely both pieces would be in any given soprano’s repertoire.

Much less one who would just happen to be free the next day…

Singers being singers and the voice being what it can be, Ms. Daltirus turned out to be indisposed but unfortunately this was not determined until Friday night’s rehearsal, leaving only the dress rehearsal the next morning to find a solution for a concert taking place in less than 24 hours!

So, thanks to three little miracles, the concert went on not quite as planned but without any great inconvenience to concert-goers.

#1. Janice Chandler-Eteme (see photo, left) has Barber’s Knoxville in her repertoire – she lives in Baltimore – and she was available this weekend to come on short notice (to put it mildly) for the dress rehearsal. One other fortunate detail: she’d sung in Harrisburg for the Mahler “Resurrection” Symphony back in March 2006, so she and Stuart Malina had worked together before.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have the Ravel in her repertoire so the next challenge was to find a Plan B, if not a second singer.

So, Stuart, as he told us at the beginning of the concert, pulled out his “rainy day piece” which just happens to be George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” However, this is a “rental only” piece, in the music biz, so it wasn’t something the orchestra just has lying around in its library or that you can order on-line and have it delivered in a few hours…

#2. It turned out the West Chester Orchestra had just played the piece and still had the music, not yet returned to the publisher. So before they sent it back, the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra Manager, Sue Klick, another hero deserving of a medal, drove down to West Chester Saturday morning to pick up the parts and drive back to Harrisburg in time for the 11am Dress Rehearsal.

#3. The Harrisburg Symphony has a conductor who can play the “Rhapsody in Blue” at the drop of a hat AND conduct it all at the same time – from memory!

And Little Miracle #4 – did I say there were four miracles? – is that this orchestra has this kind of symbiotic relationship with its conductor where playing and conducting a concerto at the same time turns a full orchestra into one big chamber music ensemble which requires individual players to listen more intently to each other and anticipate what other musicians are going to do musically.

ON ONE REHEARSAL.

This is where you truly realize what Stuart means when he says he's the luckiest guy in the world. Not every conductor and orchestra could get away with this.

So the Barber went ahead as scheduled but with a different singer. And Gershwin’s cross-over masterpiece opened the second half.

Meaning Stuart had to deal with playing the Gershwin and then, a few minutes later, turn around and head back out on stage to conduct Debussy’s La Mer which is no easy piece and which could have benefited from more rehearsal time, considering what had been spent on the Ravel songs in the first place and then the emergency preparation for the Gershwin.

So, how did it all turn out?

Was it flawless? No, not really, but under the circumstances, to notice is to nit-pick. (There were lots of people in the audience who wouldn't even notice.)

Was it exciting? YOU BETCHA!!!

Talk about the difference between a live performance and a recording...

There are so many variables in getting from the planning stage for a concert a year ago to walking off the stage after it’s over.

Ironically, Stuart said he felt amazingly calm backstage during intermission – not even the usual sweaty hands that need to be dried off before you end up slipping around on the ivories.

And he said, with La Mer, the orchestra seemed so relaxed it was a bit of “who cares: what else can go wrong?” combined with a healthy dose of “we’ve gotten through other things that seemed unrealistic,” so this should be like (pardon the pun) a stroll on the beach.

What other things have the orchestra dealt with this season so far?

Well, they lost most of their rehearsal-time for the September 11th Anniversary Concert because Harrisburg was closed down due to the worst flooding since 1972.

Then the first rehearsal for the opening Masterworks Concert was cancelled because some bricks came loose backstage at the Forum and there was belated concern the building might be “unsafe” following the August earthquake that had rattled the area. And doing Prokofiev’s 5th on less rehearsal time is not how you want to open your season.

Most recently, there was the Halloween Snowstorm the day before the pops concert, “Scary Scores.” Nothing like dealing with falling trees and power-lines on your way to a concert of scary music (for the record, friends of mine in Connecticut had their Halloween concert cancelled and it still took some of them over a week to get their power back…).

Yes, it helped that Janice sang Barber’s Knoxville with the Baltimore Symphony and Marin Alsop a few seasons ago but it’s not an easy piece and isn’t something that just rolls out automatically once you sing the opening note. She listened to Leontyne Price’s recording on YouTube to get it into her head again while working at it before she drove up to Harrisburg, arriving at noon-time for the only rehearsal which concluded at 1:30 for a concert beginning at 8pm.

And yes, it helped that Stuart had played the Gershwin earlier this year and was planning on dusting it off after Thanksgiving for a December pops concert in Tampa.

And yes, it helps that the Harrisburg Symphony has the kind of confidence in itself and its conductor that something like just rolls off them like (no pun intended) water off a duck’s back.

So, yes, sometimes a lot of little miracles come together to keep alive that old familiar slogan, “The Show Must Go On.”

Now… what could possibly go wrong for the next concert???

Don’t… even… think… about it!

- Dick Strawser

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The photographs were taken by Harrisburg Symphony Marketing Director Kim Isenhour: the top photo was taken at the children's concert on Friday morning with Stuart Malina conducting the Harrisburg Symphony in, among other pieces, La Mer. The other two photographs were taken at the talk-back session following Saturday night's performance with Ms. Chandler and Maestro Malina.

Knoxville Summer comes to Harrisburg: Autumn of 2011

2011-11-16T20:56:00.001-05:00

While the Harrisburg Symphony will be performing two orchestral works fore and aft on this weekend’s program – Alan Hovhaness’ Mysterious Mountain and Claude Debussy’s evocation of the sea, La Mer on Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum (with Assistant Conductor Tara Simoncic offering a pre-concert talk an hour before each performance) – there are two other works on the program which need little introduction from me to give you any background about them but I thought it would be good to hear some performances of them if you’re not already familiar with them.

Soprano Lisa Daltirus will be singing three songs by Maurice Ravel, a rare opportunity for you to hear Shéhérazade live – and one of (I think) the most beautiful works ever written by an American composer, the nostalgic Knoxville: Summer of 1915 by Samuel Barber, a Pennsylvania-born composer originally from West Chester and who attended the Curtis School of Music as a composition, piano and voice major.

On a damp, chilly November day, perhaps thinking of some nostalgic summer music might help stave off the inevitability of winter. (I am also thinking of Erica’s aria from Barber’s opera Vanessa, “Must the Winter Come So Soon?”…)

Here is one of my favorite recordings of the work, with soprano Dawn Upshaw and David Zinman conducting the Orchestra of St. Luke’s on the Nonesuch label.

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[“We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.”]

It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently, and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by: things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt: a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, paste-board, and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber. A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping: belling and starting, stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks: the iron whine rises on rising speed: still risen, faints: halts: the faint stinging bell: rises again, still fainter: fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten.

Now is the night one blue dew. Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose. Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes . . . Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glones hang their ancient faces. The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the backyard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine . . . with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth, and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening. among the sounds of the night.

May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble, and in the hour of their taking away. PPPAfter a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

—James Agee

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Barber adapted Agee’s text, originally a prose-poem written in 1938 that would later become the “prelude” to his novel, “A Death in the Family,” which was left unfinished at his death in 1955. It was in 1947 that Barber set Agee’s poem to music, a time when his own father’s health was deteriorating.

Agee reminisces about a childhood memory when he was five years old, the last summer his father was alive. This may have prompted Barber’s selection of the text, thinking back on the times he had spent with his father, perhaps lying on the grass at that time of evening, when people go by… moments that you may never have again but will always remember.

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Soprano Lisa Daltirus will be singing music of Barber and Ravel with the Harrisburg Symphony: here she is singing “Visi d’arte” from Tosca (ignore the fact the first two lines of the aria have been edited from the clip).
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Also on the program are Ravel’ settings written in 1903 (around the time Debussy was beginning work on La Mer) of three poems by his friend who went by the very Wagnerian name Tristan Klingsor (taken from two Wagner operas, the misunderstood hero from Tristan und Isolde and the sorcerer from Parsifal). In fact, Ravel and Klingsor attended all 14 performances of Debussy’s revolutionary new opera, Pelleas et Melisande when it was premiered in 1902.

While inspired by the 1001 Arabian Nights, this Shéhérazade (to use the French spelling of the name as opposed to the German used in Rimsky-Korsakoff’s familiar orchestral suite) tells no stories. By turns sensuous, voluptuous and evocative in oriental images, these poems find her traveling, thinking about how she will tell her tales. The second and third poems, much shorter, are “harem vignettes,” where the focus is on youthful passers-by outside the harem walls.

Here, mezzo soprano Marilyn Horne sings Shéhérazade with Leonard Bernstein conducting the French National Orchestra.
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Asie

La flûte enchantée and L'indifférent

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Quoting from Edward Lein’s program notes about the three poems:

On the surface, Asie appears to be little more than a catalog of exotic enticements available to travelers--but the music suggests that the narrator is someone who feels trapped in a mundane existence, with the only likely escape found in reading the adventures of others.

La flûte enchantée is a straightforward depiction of romantic yearning as it relates how lovers, separated by constraints of servitude, discover that they can still form an immediate connection through music.

At first reading, L'indifférent comes across merely as a libertine eyeing a would-be conquest; but through the music one is left instead with the impression of a traveler isolated in a foreign land hoping to make any sort of human contact to overcome deep loneliness, but who seems somehow emotionally powerless to interact. It becomes almost as though Klingsor, when heard through the amplification of Ravel's music, has captured in a few lines what Thomas Mann related in his 1912 novella, Death in Venice.

You can read more about the songs at Lein's website.

-- Dick Strawser

Debussy's Surging Sea

2011-11-15T17:50:00.001-05:00

This weekend, the Harrisburg Symphony sets sail with Claude Debussy’s La Mer, three symphonic studies depicting the sea at various times of the day. The program also includes other evocative works by Alan Hovhaness - his Mysterious Mountain - and Samuel Barber's Knoxville: Summer of 1915 along with Maurice Ravel's exotic song cycle, Shéhérazade.

The S.S. Malina sails from the Forum on Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm with a pre-concert talk given by Assistant Conductor Tara Simoncic an hour before each departure.

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Visiting the wild coasts of French Brittany in his youth, the novelist Marcel Proust wrote of the sea at his mythical Balbec:

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[With the radiant sun upon the waves] that leapt up one behind the other like jumpers on a trampoline… the snowy crests of its emerald green waves, here and there polished and translucent, which with a placid violence and a leonine frown, to which the sun added a faceless smile, allowed their crumbling slopes to topple down at last, [one morning it was a] transparent, vaporous bluish distance, like the glaciers that one sees in the background of the Tuscan Primitives. On other mornings… the sun laughed upon a water of a green as tender as that preserved in Alpine pastures… less by the moisture of the soil than by the liquid mobility of the light… It is above all the light, the light that displaces and situates the undulations of the sea, [with the sun’s] tremulous golden shaft scorching the seas topaz-yellow, fermenting it, turning it pale and milky like beer, frothy like milk… as if some god were shifting it to and fro by moving a mirror in the sky. [I was] impatient to know what Sea it was playing that morning by the shore, for none of these Seas ever stayed with us longer than a day. The next day there would be another, which sometimes resembled its predecessor. I never saw the same one twice.

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Proust was not the only author ever to be captivated by the limitless and changeable sea, nor was Debussy the only composer to come under its spell, but Proust, writing of his experiences with the sea along the English Channel coast in the 1880s, seems like a reasonable introduction to the music Debussy composed, having spent some of that time along the English Channel coast in 1904 (for the record, Proust’s Balbec – in reality, Cabourg – is south of the Siene; Debussy’s Pourville, near Dieppe, is north of it.

Debussy composed his musical portrait of the sea between 1903 and 1905 (he may have started some sketches in 1902). He began working on it in the town of Bichain which is actually far inland, perhaps a hundred miles southeast of Paris toward Switzerland, in the historic region of Burgundy. But much of the time he was working on it, he was staying in Pourville (see photograph of Debussy taken that summer in Pourville, though not looking out toward the sea).

Finishing it March, 1905, he spends the month of August on the English side of the Channel, at Eastbourne, and on August 7th he is correcting the publisher’s proofs in advance of the October premiere in Paris.

La Mer may be the longest orchestral work by Debussy, the closest thing we have to a symphony by him, but a symphony in all its Germanic essence would be antithetical to Debussy’s aesthetic. He subtitled it “Three Symphonic Sketches for Orchestra,” a suite, basically, the symphonic in this case referring less to the extended ‘development’ of ideas usually associated with a symphony.

The first movement is entitled “From dawn to mid-day on the sea,” and the final movement is the “Dialogue of the wind and the sea.” These are comparable to the substantial outer movements one might find in a symphony. The middle movement is a light, scherzo-like movement, almost a waltz, entitled “Play of the waves.”

But Debussy is not concerned about themes and developments and modulations and harmonic schemes like Beethoven would be – even though most of the material evolves out of the primal intervals – the perfect 5th – that open the work, a kind of reverse-Beethoven’s 9th, in a way, but just as cosmic (or, perhaps, oceanic).

As marine biologist and conservationist Rachel Carson noted, like the sea itself, the surface of Debussy's music hints at the brooding mystery of its depths, and ultimately the profound enigma of life itself – after all, mankind carries the primordial salt of the sea in our blood.

Here is Riccardo Muti conducting the Berlin Philharmonic in this 1994 video recording. (The work is complete in one clip.)

(please ignore the fact the poster from Japan refers to the work as La Mar... it happens, on the internet.)
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Debussy was a very visually oriented composer. Many of his works are small musical miniatures with evocative titles – think of “Claire de Lune” (Moonlight) or “Girl with the Flaxen Hair.” In fact, there are series of short works simply called “Images.” His studio was full of prints of paintings or those postcard-like souvenirs one might find at a museum – images which, given the vagueness of his harmonic style and almost anti-melodic approach to sound earned him the title “Impressionist.”

Usually, we tend to think of “Impressionism” in painting as soft and flexible, playing more with light than substance. This is easy to induce musically by the use of non-traditional scales, especially the whole-tone scale which has no harmonic function we associate with tonality, especially the strong functions of chord progressions like the dominant to the tonic resolution that gives it a satisfying, structural coherence. In several works by Debussy – think Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun or, again, “Claire de Lune” – the harmonic vagueness is matched by softer dynamics and even though there are climaxes, they are almost understated.

This is not the style in La Mer. This is at times very muscular music even though it may lack the harmonic bite some feel longer forms need to create forward motion. “Motion” here is like the motion of the sea, as Proust described it in the quote from “In Search of Lost Time” at the beginning of this post, vibrant and colorful – above all, colorful. This is not the French equivalent, sitting on the beach looking out across the sand, of the English pastoral school derided as the “Cow-Looking-Over-the-Fence” school of music.

In fact, Debussy would probably have had little patience with this "soft" approach to music: as a music critic, a career he followed briefly in the few years before he composed La Mer, he reviewed a work by Frederick Delius (usually considered an English Impressionist) as "very sweet, very pale - music to soothe convalescents in well-to-do neighborhoods."

And La Mer is anything but soft, sweet or pale.

Debussy may focus less on melody as he is on the “tracery and ornamenting” of a line much in the way Bach, that most German of composers, might have done, with a grace and suppleness both melodically and harmonically of his beloved Chopin (his first piano teacher was a big fan if not officially a student of Chopin’s). Debussy was just as influenced by the stylization of nature as seen in the landscape prints from Japan, particularly Hokusai whose “The Hollow of the Wave off Kanagawa” which he had in his studio and which adorned the first printed edition of Debussy’s score. But he was also influenced by the “infinite arabesques” and complex counterpoint of the Javanese gamelan, a unique and exotic sound-world he first heard in 1889 at the Universal Exposition in Paris.

Other influences, perhaps surprisingly, come from Russian composers at a time when Russian music was little known in Western Europe, especially Mussorgsky and his opera, Boris Godunoff, especially his spontaneity and freedom from traditional academic formulas (which caused many to consider Mussorgsky untrained or untrainable and even led his friends, like Rimsky-Korsakoff, to “clean up” many of his scores). He described these as “successive minute touches mysteriously linked together by means of an instinctive clairvoyance.”

In one of those serendipitous moments in music history, I love pointing out the one degree of separation between Tchaikovsky and Debussy – Nadezhda von Meck was a wealthy widow who was not only Tchaikovsky’s generous patron and musical confidant, she hired some musicians to form a piano trio when she visited Paris and traveled with them, taking them back to Moscow for two years where they lived in her house and played music for her and her friends. The pianist – whose additional responsibilities involved playing piano duets with her and giving her daughters lessons – was Claude Debussy.

He was 18.

While in Moscow, young Debussy would have been exposed to a great deal of Russian music, no doubt, though I’ve never read anything he has said about, for instance, seeing Boris Godunoff. Still, knowing that Mussorgsky’s opera didn’t make it to Paris until Diaghilev’s Russian Season in 1908, how else can you explain so many “revolutionary” concepts heard in Debussy’s opera, Pelleas et Melsiande which he began work on certainly by 1892 and which was premiered in 1902?

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Here is a chronological time-line of events in Debussy’s life during the time he was composing La Mer.

Some biographical background, first: Debussy married a poor seamstress named Rosalie (“Lily”) Texier in 1899, after having had a series of mistresses. Only five years later, in 1904, Debussy was already living with Emma Bardac, the wife of a wealthy banker who had earlier had an affair with Gabriel Fauré and whose daughter, Helene, was the inspiration for Fauré’s “Dolly Suite.”

But life sometimes gets messy and Lily did not take well to the idea of a divorce. In fact, in October of 1904, Lily attempted suicide by shooting herself in the stomach, and as the details became public, most of Debussy’s friends withdrew from him. In fact, much of the reaction against La Mer when it was premiered a year later had as much to do with the public’s distaste for the scandal as it did with its confusion over the music.

All of this, of course, is going on in the “background” while Debussy is composing La Mer (or is it the other way around?).

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1903

In June, Debussy writes his last article as a music critic and in July signs a contract with the publisher Durand for a set of Images for piano, including three pieces for two pianos which, in 1908, becomes the Images pour orchestre.

Between July 10th and October 1st, Debussy stays at Bichain (in Bourgogne, about a hundred miles southeast of Paris), his third visit there. During this holiday, he begins work on La Mer and completes the piano pieces Estampes and works on preparing the full score of Pelleas et Melisande for publication (the opera was premiered in April, 1902).

October 14th, he signs a contract with Durand for a second opera, Diable dans le beffroi (The Devil in the Belfry), inspired by a story by Edgar Allan Poe which he thinks he will finish in May, 1905 (he never does).

November 15th, his “Prelude to ‘The Afternoon of a Faun’” (completed in 1894) is programmed on two separate concerts in Paris.

1904

On January 9th, Ricardo Viñes premieres Estampes and on the 16th, Debussy accompanies a singer in the first performance of two songs, including one called La Mer.

During April and May, Debussy composes his “Two Dances for Chromatic Harp and Orchestra,” the Danse sacrée and the Danse profane.

Between August and mid-October, Debussy and his mistress Emma Bardac (the wife of a wealthy banker) stay in cognito at the Grand Hotel in Jersey, then goes on to Pourville on the Normandy Coast (see photo), working on La Mer and correcting proofs for the publication of Masques and Fêtes galantes, also reworks L’Isle joyeuse.

On the 13th of October, Debussy’s wife, Lily, attempts to commit suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. The news appears in the papers on November 4th and many of Debussy’s friends withdraw from him.

1905

On March 5th, 1905, he completes the first draft of the score of La Mer and it will be published in July, made available to the public in November with its brightly colored cover after the Japanese artist, Hokusai (see photo).

On May 4th, Emma Bardac divorces her husband Sigismond; she is a few weeks pregnant.

In June, Debussy publishes Suite bergamasque for piano with its famous slow movement, Claire de lune. The work was composed in 1890 but Debussy did not finish it for publication until this time.

On July 17th, Debussy signs an exclusive contract with his new publisher, Durand and is also placed under a court injunction to pay Lily a month income of 400 francs (which will be paid through his publisher).

From the end of July through the end of August, Debussy and Emma Bardac stay in Eastbourne, England, spending a few days in London before returning to Paris.

On August 2nd, the Civil Court pronounces the divorce of Claude and Lily Debussy. He figures he has, perhaps, two friends left.

On August 7th, he is correcting the first proofs of La Mer

On October 15th, La Mer is premiered at Concerts lamoureux with conductor Camille Chevillard. Debussy complains that the orchestra is under-rehearsed and the conductor is more fit to tame wild beasts than conduct musicians. The next performance, on October 22nd, is better received.

On October 30th, Emma Bardac gives birth to Debussy’s daughter, Claude-Emma, always known as “Chouchou”.

--- Dick Strawser
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The quotation from Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, now usually more accurately translated as In Search of Lost Time, is from the second of seven volumes, ”Within a Budding Grove” or ”In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower”, in the chapter “Place-Names: The Place,” translated by Scott-Moncrief and Kilmartin, published by Random House

Alan Hovhaness & the Mysterious Mountain of Echmiadzin

2011-11-14T22:36:00.001-05:00

This weekend’s concert could be called “From Sea to Shining Sea and Purple Mountain’s Majesties” except it’s rather awkward as marketing tools go. Claude Debussy’s La Mer depicts the sea in all its beauty and awesomeness, and the opening work on the program – Alan Hovhaness’ Mysterious Mountain – depicts… well, the mysteriousness and awesomeness of mountains.

Stuart Malina conducts the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra – with guest soprano Lisa Daltirus in Samuel Barber’s “Knoxville: Summer of 1915” and Ravel’s three songs from the 1001 Arabian Nights, Shéhérazade – Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg. There’s a pre-concert talk an hour before each performance with Assistant Conductor Tara Simoncic.

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There is something that has always been ardently spiritual about this work to me – the very sound of it, much less the title which is borne out in the composer’s oft-quoted explanation:

“Mountains are symbols, like pyramids, of man’s attempt to know God. Mountains are symbolic meeting places between the mundane and the spiritual worlds. To some, the ‘Mysterious Mountain’ may be the phantom peak, unmeasured, thought to be higher than Everest, as seen from great distances by fliers in Tibet. To some, it may be the solitary mountain, the tower of strength over a countryside — Fujiyama, Ararat, Monadnock, Shasta or Grand Teton.”

Here are three YouTube clips of the complete work – the first movement with the Akron Youth Symphony, recorded in 2007 (though I suspect the contrabassoonist is a ringer – understandably: not many youth orchestras would have a contrabassoon player, much less one already exhibiting male pattern baldness).

The 2nd and 3rd Movements are audio clips (with mountain-appropriate illustrations) from the recording with Gerard Schwarz conducting the Royal Liverpool Orchestra.

Even though this is easily Hovhaness’ most popular work, he did not particularly care for it and even told one interviewer in 1961 that “I go out of the hall whenever it’s performed.”

Most people are surprised to discover a work written in 1955 – at the height of post-war academic serialism that has given modern music such bad press – to be so accessible. While it’s a beautiful and evocative piece of music, it’s not exactly representative of Hohvaness’ output. As he himself has put it, “I have written much better music and it is a very impersonal work in which I omit my deeper searching.”

It came about because Leopold Stokowski, who’d conducted Hovhaness’ 1st Symphony, wanted a new work for his first concert with the Houston Symphony but when the composer sent him a brief fanfare called “To a Mysterious Mountain,” Stokowski said he wanted something more substantial and so Hovhaness responded with a three-movement work which he called his Symphony No. 2.

The implication is that it had been written earlier or perhaps put together from previous pieces (the second fugue in the middle movement came from his 1st String Quartet written in 1936). Most sources say it was composed “by 1950” and orchestrated in 1955 for Stokowski.

Stokowski asked if it had an opus number – “people like opus numbers.” When the composer said he hasn’t catalogued his works, Stokowski picked No. 132 out of the air, asking if he thought that would give him enough room for his earlier works. “Sure, that should be okay,” Hovhaness said.

“Oh, and I like your titles,” Stokowski told him. “Give it a title.” So he decided to call it “Mysterious Mountain.”

That story may sound disappointing to many listeners who hear the majesty and spirituality of great mountains and the expansive grandeur of nature in this music – and it’s not clear his admiration for mountains in general wasn’t behind the original composition – but mountains (and nature) have certainly featured in much of Hovhaness’ later music: there are other “mountain” symphonies – No. 20, “Three Journeys to a Holy Mountain,” No. 46 “To the Green Mountains,” and No. 50 inspired by Mount St. Helens, specifically, then No. 60 “To the Appalachian Mountains,” No. 66 “Hymn to Glacier Peak,” and his last symphony, No. 67 written in 1992, “Hymn to the Mountains.”

Though it is the work that put Hovhaness on America’s musical map, it’s also interesting that he never got paid for writing it.

(Digression No. 1: about the title, I am reminded of Krzysztof Penderecki’s work, one of the most frightening, searing pieces I’ve ever heard, called “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima.” Despite the intensity of the music and the power of its title, it was originally called 8’37” (its duration) – the idea of the Threnody was completely an afterthought.)

(Digression No. 2: about Hovhaness not getting paid for his 2nd Symphony, I am reminded of a comment by Elliott Carter (who will be celebrating his 103rd Birthday next month), talking about how much (or, more precisely, how little) money he received for composing his Variations for Orchestra, written the same year Hovhaness’ 2nd Symphony was premiered, which amounted to his earning $0.25/hr. While people in the audience nodded at the inhumanity of this, the way we regard artists financially, he said a woman wearing furs and dripping with jewels stood up and huffed disappointedly, “Mr. Carter! You mean to tell me you write for money???”)

- Dick Strawser

P.S. The title of this post refers to Echmiadzin which is actually a city in Armenia and was chosen, its Harry Potter-esque rhythm aside, not because of any relevance to Hovhaness' symphony though he did later compose a symphony he entitled "Etchmiadzin." Hovhaness's father was an Armenian born in what is now Turkey (then, the Ottoman Empire) and his original family name was Chakmakjian but the composer later decided to change it (since, he said, no one could pronounce it, anyway) to Hovaness after his grandfather's name (with the accent on the first syllable) but then Americanized it - that is, adapted it to suit the standard American mispronunciation - to Hovhaness (with the accent on the second syllable).

Fun with Franz: Liszt's 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody

2011-09-22T15:02:00.000-04:00

It's a great way to warm up for the new season. The Harrisburg Symphony and Stuart Malina start the new season this weekend - Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum - with Franz Liszt's 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody, one of the most familiar pieces of classical music, at least to an earlier generation.

While you can read about (and hear) the other works on the program - Rachmaninoff's 1st Piano Concerto and Prokofiev's 5th Symphony - I thought this post would be a little... well, more light-hearted.

First, an educational video with background information and a performance of the orchestral version of the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 by Franz Liszt.

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(There's something about mentioning the various details of his love life while mixing in pictures of him as a priest. Yes, it's true, Franz Liszt later entered the priesthood but that was considerably later in his life.)

Originally a virtuoso piano piece written in 1847, the second of eventually nineteen rhapsodies for solo piano, this particular rhapsody was later orchestrated with help from Franz Doppler. Liszt himself made a piano duet version (four-hands, two pianists sharing the bench) in 1874.

Here is an amazing performance of the piano version by none other than Sergei Rachmaninoff (whose 1st Piano Concerto will follow it on this Harrisburg Symphony program):

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Oh, and did I mention Rachmaninoff plays his own cadenza near the very end?

Of course, its popularity has also made it the target of much fun-poking. For instance, this classic skit with Victor Borge and friend in a two-seater arrangement:
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not to mention another legendary performance by Bugs Bunny, or this other famous duet team, Tom & Jerry, cartoons that those of us who are 'of a certain age' remember fondly.
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Hope you can join us to celebrate the start of the new 2011-2012 Season this weekend at the Forum!

- Dick Strawser

P.S. (See comment below) A friend and former student wrote to tell me this post reminded her of a favorite childhood cartoon. If you can bear with one more cartoon version of Liszt's 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody, I now present Warner Bros.' Rhapsody in Rivets!
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Prokofiev's 5th Symphony: Getting Behind the Music

2011-09-18T12:19:00.001-04:00

The Harrisburg Symphony’s first concert of the new season - Saturday, September 24th at 8pm and Sunday, September 25th at 3pm at the Forum - is called “Russian Radiance,” and featured the work of two great Russian composers, one technically belonging to the 19th Century and the other one of the two leading composers of the 20th Century Soviet Union.

The program opens with Franz Liszt’s popular Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, inspired by the melodies of the Gypsies who’d settled in Hungary and, at least in the 19th Century, was synonymous with Hungarian “Folk Music” (technically, this is not the case, as they’re not ethnically Hungarian nor is the music “folk music” but an urban popular form of entertainment that would make it just as ridiculous to claim American Jazz was “folk music,” but I digress). PPPThere is the 1st Piano Concerto of Sergei Rachmaninoff (you can read more about that, here) and one of the most popular symphonies by a Soviet composer, Prokofiev’s 5th.

The first thing anybody usually finds out about Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major with its nice round Op. 100 number, is that it was written during World War II and that Prokofiev said it was about the “grandeur of the human spirit,” that it was “intended as a hymn to free and happy Man, to his mighty powers, his pure and noble spirit. I cannot say that I deliberately chose this theme. It was born in me and clamored for expression. The music has matured in me, it filled my soul.”

It was written in one month in the summer of 1944 while the composer was staying at the ‘House of Creative Work,’ a government-supported artists’ refuge and “safe-haven” outside Moscow near the end of the war – in fact, by then, the end of the war seemed imminent, unlike the timing of Shostakovich’s two large-scale war-time symphonies, his 7th (shortly after the Nazi invasion began in 1941 and mostly during the horrific siege of Leningrad) and 8th Symphonies (an even darker work written in 1943). In the moments before Prokofiev brought down his baton to conduct his new symphony’s world premiere in Moscow on January 13th, 1945, the audience listened to a cannonade resounding outside the Conservatory’s Great Hall, saluting the Red Army’s crossing of the Vistula River in Poland, chasing the Nazi invaders back toward their own homeland and their eventual defeat.

But to us – and not just those of us listening to it today, sixty-six years later – does this really sound like a War Symphony struggling with heroism against evil before concluding with assured Victory? Compared to Shostakovich’s war-torn symphonies, no. It can certainly be appreciated as a work celebrating the “human spirit” (if you didn’t believe, in one sense or another, all art already does that, to some extent) and even, compared to the symphonies of Brahms and Tchaikovsky who seem its direct ancestors, an abstract work.

There are always risks listening to music that is “about” something – whether it’s telling a story like Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique, implying a program suggested by verbal images like Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony or suggesting something dramatic but unspoken like the struggles we associate with the opening Beethoven’s 5th and it’s triumphant conclusion.

Taking Prokofiev at his word is one thing but if we imply this is a War Symphony, do we start seeing evil erupting in the final moments of the 1st Movement? Or imply that the opening of the 3rd Movement is a tribute to the ‘Moonlight’ Sonata of Beethoven which supposedly was Lenin’s favorite piece of classical music? Or how the last movement ends as its “counter-subject removes its velvet gloves and bludgeons the main subject. Sorely wounded, the playful rhythm is mercilessly driven on, limping and weakening. As a baleful alarm sounds, it runs smack into a brick wall.”

Really? Well…

On the other hand, the “free and happy man” could be the composer himself – not the glorified Soviet Man, as is usually inferred. It was, otherwise, a fairly happy time in Prokofiev’s life and during the War, various restrictions on what Soviet composers could “get away with” were either eased or ignored.

There were, certainly, war-time works – after all, he’d just completed a mammoth opera setting Tolstoy’s mammoth novel, War and Peace, usually considered The Greatest Russian Novel Ever. But he also set an English Restoration Comedy to music in his delightful opera, Betrothal in a Monastery based on Sheridan’s “The Duenna,” a work whose rehearsals were interrupted by the invasion and postponed, however, till after the War. In fact, even as timely a work as War and Peace could not find its way to the stage until a few months after Prokofiev’s death in 1953!

While he wrote music for Eisenstein’s film Ivan the Terrible, he also wrote the ballet Cinderella. In addition to the three “War Sonatas” for piano (Nos. 6, 7 & 8), there’s the lyrical Flute Sonata which he later arranged for David Oistrakh as his 2nd Violin Sonata.

So, whether the War Effort was behind Prokofiev’s new symphony or not, one could argue either side. At times, it seems more on the verge of being epic rather than sounding heroic. The ending is certainly celebratory, light-hearted and joyful enough but hardly a victory lap!

(photo, left, of violinist David Oistrakh and Prokofiev playing chess.)

It’s very possible it really had nothing to do with the War or Soviet Socialist Realism at all, that it was just a well-written and appealing symphony.

As both Prokofiev and Shostakovich were well aware, what the music “meant” to the composer as he was writing it may not be anything the listener (concert-goer or government bureaucrat) might hear in it: witness the ‘secret program’ in Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 10 where his initials (in the German notation) become a famous musical motive – DSCH.

Here is Prokofiev’s 5th Symphony. For this post, I’ve specifically chosen (considering the few good performances available through YouTube) this transcription of an old LP recording, released in 1967 on the Soviet label, Melodiya, with the Moscow Philharmonic (the orchestra Prokofiev conducted at its world premiere in 1945) with the great violinist and close friend of Prokofiev’s, David Oistrakh conducting:
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1st Movement
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2nd Movement – Scherzo
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3rd Movement – Adagio
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4th Movement – Finale, Allegro giocoso
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The Symphony, understandably, went on to become one of his most popular and frequently played works, both in the Soviet Union and in the West.

You can read more about the chess match between Soviet politics and music on my blog, Thoughts on a Train.

- Dr. Dick

First Concert - Rachmaninoff's First

2011-09-15T11:08:00.002-04:00

Daria Rabotkina, who played the Schumann Piano Concerto last year, returns to play Rachmaninoff with Stuart Malina and the Harrisburg Symphony at the first concert of the new season, Saturday September 24th at 8pm and Sunday September 25th at 3pm. The program opens with Franz Liszt's 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody and concludes with Prokofiev's triumphant war-time 5th Symphony.

But instead of the more familiar Rach2 or Rach3 as his two famous concertos are affectionately known, she's playing Rach1.

If Rachmaninoff hadn’t written his 2nd and 3rd Piano Concertos, this concerto would be played a lot more often. Of course, if he hadn’t written the 2nd and 3rd, the world would be a much poorer place, since they’re two of the most popular concertos around, full of beautiful melodies and daunting challenges for the soloist.It often happens that a youthful work shows promise that is then overshadowed by mature realization.

Sure, it's his Opus 1 - how early is that? - but he also revised it 25 years later and that's what everybody hears today: the reflections of a 44-year-old artist looking back on a piece written when he was 19.

And at 19, Rachmaninoff had a lot going for him. A brilliant student, he graduated from the Moscow Conservatory that May in a class that included Alexander Scriabin. He shared the Gold Medal in piano performance with Josef Lhévinne (originally Levin, but once his career began in Europe and the United States, he Westernized the spelling to match the Russian pronunciation – Lhévinne would go on to become one the of century’s leading pianists and teachers, teaching at Juilliard until his death in 1944, a year after Rachmaninoff’s). Scriabin won the “Little Gold Medal” that year but did not complete his composition degree because of disagreements with his teacher, Anton Arensky.

Rachmaninoff had written other works that year – a one-act opera, Aleko, which won the Grand Prize in Composition at his graduation; the Trio elegiaque No. 1 (often associated with Tchaikovsky’s death but that event happened the following year and inspired a second, less well known trio elegiaque) and a little thing called the Prelude in C-sharp Minor whose popularity would haunt him the rest of his life.

There had been an earlier concerto – in the key of C Minor (the same key as his famous 2nd Concerto) – begun but abandoned a few years earlier. It would not be unusual for a young pianist dreaming of a concert career (and he had been studying to realize that dream since he was 9 years old) to write a concerto for himself. And when young students began major works like this, the usual advice is to model it after something you like, something recognized as a good example. The next year, he wrote to a cousin he was working on a new concerto (the first two movements already composed, the third not yet written down) and this eventually became his first published work.

While I hear echoes of Franz Liszt’s 1st Piano Concerto in Rachmaninoff’s Opus 1, his actual model was the Grieg A Minor Concerto (at least its two outer movements) which he heard Alexander Siloti (seen on the left, here, with the composer, photographed in 1892 or so) practicing during visits to the Rachmaninoffs in 1890. Rachmaninoff was the soloist when the first movement was performed at the Conservatory in March of 1892 (a couple of weeks before his 19th birthday) but he dedicated it to Siloti who would play the whole concerto frequently. The composer himself apparently never played the concerto again, which may seem odd.

Odder still was that he’d wait 25 years before revising it.

The usual argument to explain why so few pianists perform this concerto dismisses it as a youthful work that doesn’t stand up to the later, more mature concertos.That may be, but when he revised it in 1917, he corrected some of these “youthful indiscretions” in terms of its form and harmony, thinning out a lot of the texture and replacing some “filler” with more compelling material. He also replaced the original opening of the finale which gets things off to a much more exciting start (aaaaaand they’re off!)

Yet he kept the best features of the early work, perhaps lacking in the Great Themes that the later two concertos have, but still full of vitality and spontaneity. So in that sense, the work is both a young work and a mature one – or at least a mature look back on a youthful one. Even then, though, it never became popular with audiences.

As he wrote to a friend, "I have rewritten my First Concerto; it is really good now. All the youthful freshness is there, and yet it plays itself so much more easily. And nobody pays any attention. When I tell them in America that I will play the First Concerto, they do not protest, but I can see by their faces that they would prefer the Second or Third."

Ironically, Rachmaninoff emigrated from Russia following the two revolutions in 1917, driving across the border into Finland in a horse-drawn sleigh in the dark of a winter’s night, carrying with him only a handful of scores and notebooks, having lost his family’s estate and his wealth not to mention the whole lifestyle and culture that defined him as a Russian now that Russia no longer existed.

His first published work, written mostly when he was 18, also in a sense became one of his last.Because he needed to make a living and being a concert pianist was more lucrative in the short-term, he now had no time to compose. Cut off from the Russian world that nurtured his soul, he also found it difficult to be creative when he did have the time.

Once he’d finally settled in America and built a house, it was a re-make of Russia where everything was furnished like a Russian home, where they spoke only Russian, ate Russian food and observed Russian customs. However, even this failed to spark his creativity.

Of the six works he completed after 1917, there was a 4th Piano Concerto written in 1926 that also suffers by comparison to the 2nd & 3rd, though the world could not get enough of the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, composed eight years later. There was a 3rd Symphony that never went over as well as the 2nd and his final work, the Symphonic Dances, also failed to please American audiences and prompted Rachmaninoff to tell Eugene Ormandy that, basically, he would never compose again.

Aside from the choral songs of Op. 42, the Corelli Variations for solo piano round out the original works he composed in the last 25 years of his life. The rest were small-scale transcriptions that became staples of his recital repertoire, many of them more like encores – including his take on some movements from Bach’s E Major Partita for solo violin which received its “world premiere” in the Forum in Harrisburg as part of a concert tour in the 1930s.

But still, everywhere he played, audiences clamored for the Prelude in C-Sharp Minor, written the same year he finished his 1st Piano Concerto.

9/11 - A Community Remembers

2011-09-09T15:35:00.000-04:00

Okay, with a recent earthquake, a hurricane and now a history-making flood in Central Pennsylvania, we need to start off by saying, "Yes, this concert is still going ahead as planned." Set for 3pm on Sunday, September 11th at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg, it is still scheduled.

As HSO executive director Jeff Woodruff was quoted in a Patriot-News article, “The last thing we want to do is cancel this event. Unless the state or city closes the roads, we are going to play. Unless we absolutely can’t."

As of this posting, the highway exits into Harrisburg north from I-81 and south from I-83 and the South Bridge are both closed due to flooding. However, the Harve Taylor Bridge onto Forester Street is open and the State Street Bridge (behind the Capitol complex) was the only way in or out of the city during the Agnes Flood in 1972 and the 1996 Flood, so it also is open and, incidentally, will take you right behind the Forum (make a left and then an immediate right turn to the State Library Entrance, or continue around onto Walnut Street and the front of the Forum building). The river is expected to crest Friday night or Saturday morning (if it hasn't already) but the waters will not recede below the flood stage of 17' until later on Sunday.

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The concert is "9/11: A Community Remembers, A 10^th Anniversary Musical Tribute" with the Harrisburg Symphony conducted by Stuart Malina, a cross-genre “concert of remembrance” coinciding with the nation's observation of the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001.

The concert will take place on Sunday, September 11 at 3:00 p.m. at the Forum in Harrisburg.

On the jazz-flavored first half, local jazz piano legend Steve Rudolph will be joined by saxophonists Tim Warfield and Jonathan Ragonese, vocalists Diane Wilson and J.D. Walter, and the orchestra. The program will feature the premiere of an original work called Remembrance, composed by Steve Rudolph for this special performance. Also on the program will be Never Let Me Go, Shower the People, His Eye Is on the Sparrow and a medley of patriotic tunes including The House I live In and America the Beautiful.

On the second half, Maestro Malina will conduct Mozart’s final work, his moving Requiem. The performance will include vocal soloists Sasha Piastro, Amy Yovanovich, Eric Rieger, and Damian Savarino, the Susquehanna Chorale, and the Harrisburg Symphony.

This special HSO Community Concert is generously sponsored by Chesapeake Energy, Capital BlueCross, G.R. Sponaugle & Sons, Inc., Rhoads and Sinon LLP, abc27, and The Patriot-News.

The Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra presents 9/11: A Community Remembers at 3 p.m. on Sunday, September 11^th at Forum, located at 5^th and Walnut Street in downtown Harrisburg, PA. Tickets for this performance range from $10 to $35 depending on seating location and available online at www.HarrisburgSymphony.org or by calling the HSO office (717) 545-5527.

Steve Rudolph is a jazz pianist, composer, arranger and educator. He has had an inspiring career in his 40 years of professional music making. Jazz Improv magazine states, “Rudolph is a savvy, swinging, glimmering heavyweight… ...simply outstanding.” The winner of the Jazziz Magazine Piano Competition at the Seven Springs Jazz Festival in 2000, he was also awarded two Jazz Composition Fellowships from the PA Council on the Arts. With eleven acclaimed CDs as a leader, he has served as producer, arranger and performer on many recordings including CDs with Johnny Coles, Bill Goodwin, Ali Ryerson, Matt Wilson and Vinny Valentino. HIs latest CD, "Day Dream" - released in 2010, is a trio recording from a live concert at Bucknell University with drummer Phil Haynes and bassist Drew Gress. His vast experience encompasses concert performances with many jazz masters including Louie Bellson, Clark Terry, Terry Gibbs, Rufus Reid, Buddy Tate, Al Grey, Bill Goodwin, and Sal Nistico. He has toured throughout the U.S., India, Europe, Canada, Russia and the Caribbean. When at home in Harrisburg, Pa., Steve, a Yamaha Artist, can be found performing regularly at the Hilton Harrisburg on his Yamaha Concert Collection C-7 Grand. Steve is presently in his nineteenth year playing six nights a week at the Hilton.

Born in Evansville, Indiana, Steve studied trumpet and composition under scholarship at Butler University. He switched his main instrumental focus to the piano at age 22 and was hired by Buddy Morrow to perform with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra in 1977. Since moving to Harrisburg in 1978, he has been largely responsible for the growth and development of the thriving jazz scene in Central PA. His devotion to the art of jazz inspired him to found the Central PA Friends of Jazz, now in it’s 30th successful season of monthly concerts, youth band, jazz camp, and annual Central PA Jazz Festival. Steve was the recipient of the 2002 Harrisburg Arts Award for dedication to the arts and community service. His detailed recording and touring information may be found at www.steverudolph.com.

Tim Warfield, Jr., a native of York, Pennsylvania, began studying the alto saxophone at age nine. He switched to tenor saxophone during his first year at William Penn Sr. High School where he participated in various musical ensembles, winning many jazz soloist awards including second out of forty competitors at the Montreal Festival of Music in Canada. After high school, Warfield attended Howard University in Washington, D.C. for two years before leaving to lead and co-lead groups in the Central Pennsylvania and Baltimore/Washington areas.

In 1990 he was chosen to be a member of trumpeter and CBS/Sony recording artist Marlon Jordan’s Quintet. In 1991 he was selected to record Tough Young Tenors on the Island/Antilles label, listed as one of the top ten recordings of the year by the New York Times. He also joined Jazz Futures, a world touring group assembled by George Wein to showcase some of the world’s brightest young stars in jazz. Also in 1991, Warfield placed third at the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Saxophone Competition held at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.

Warfield has made several television appearances including the Today Show, Bill Cosby’s You Bet Your Life (where he was a member of the house band until 1992), and Ted Turner’s 1998 Trumpet Awards. Additionally, he has made numerous stage appearances with such names as Donald Byrd, Michelle Rosewoman, Marcus Miller, Marlon Jordan, James Williams, Christian McBride, The Harper Brothers, Dizzy Gillespie, Isaac Hayes, Shirley Scott, Jimmy Smith, Nicholas Payton, Charles Fambrough, Eric Reed, Carl Allen, Terell Stafford, Stefon Harris, Orrin Evans, The Newport Millennium All Stars, “Papa” John Defrancesco, Joey Defrancesco, Claudio Raggazzi, Danilo Perez, and others. In 1994, he joined bassist and Verve recording artist Christian McBride’s group, where he remained a member until 1999.

Warfield’s first recording, A Cool Blue, was selected as one of the top ten recordings of the year in a 1995 New York Times critic’s poll, as was his 1998 recording Gentle Warrior (featuring Cyrus Chestnut, Tarus Mateen, Clarence Penn, Terell Stafford, and Nicholas Payton), proclaiming him possibly the most powerful tenor saxophonist of his generation. In 1999, he was awarded “Talent Deserving Wider Recognition” in DownBeat Magazine’s 49th Annual Jazz Critic’s poll. In 2000, alongside crooner Loston Harris, Warfield performed at the MTV GQ Men of the Year Awards in New York City.

In the fall of 1999 Warfield exclusively joined forces with New Orleans trumpeter and Warner Bros. recording artist Nicholas Payton of with whom he toured and recorded until 2005.

In 2006, Warfield joined trumpeter and Maxjazz recording artist Terell Stafford’s Quintet.

Warfield has appeared on several GRAMMY-nominated recordings such as Stefon Harris’ “The Grand Unification Theory,” as well as “Dear Louis” and “Sonic Trance,” both under the leadership of trumpeter Nicholas Payton.

Tim is currently serving as a board member for the Central Pennsylvania Friends of Jazz as well as an artist-in-residence at Messiah College in Grantham , Pa.

Jonathan Ragonese, composer-arranger-saxophonist, is a native of New Cumberland Pennsylvania. He has lived in New York City for four years, where he completed his undergraduate degree at the Manhattan School of Music. As a saxophonist he has performed and recorded with local and international performers, Terell Stafford, David Liebman, Tim Warfield, JD Walter, The Harrisburg Symphony & Stuart Malina, Steve Rudolph, Steve Wilson and James Moody. As a composer his works have been premiered by saxophonist Steve Wilson, the Vermont Mozart Festival Orchestra, the Harrisburg Symphony, and the Manhattan School of Music Jazz Orchestra. "Sweet for Duke", commissioned by the Vermont Mozart Festival was premiered in August of 2010. His latest large work, "Mother Goose Suite" a collection of dramatic nursery rhymes, was premiered in New York City with Steve Wilson, Glenn Zaleski, Harp and Winds featuring the narration of world-renowned composer, historian, and performer Dr. David Noon.

Diane Wilson is the winner of the 2007 Pennsylvania State Senior Idol competition and is known for her soulful renditions of jazz and R&B classics.

JD Walter is a Jazz singers singer - a purist and an innovator. Although his style has been compared to many vocal Titans, it is in the same breath, uniquely his own, and he has become a singular phenomenon on the music scene. Respected and lauded by the great musicians of the contemporary circuit, J.D. has shared the stage and recorded with many legendary artists. J.D. has currently recorded 5 CD's. "Sirens in the C-House", "Clear Day", a collaboration with master musician Dave Liebman, "Dedicated to You", "2Bass, a Face and a little skin", and "live in Portugal". JD has been a guest artist on many CD's, is also a member of pianist Orrin Evans Luvpk band, with 2 releases on Imani Records, as well as performing 3 songs on trumpeter Sean Jones latest release, "Kaleidoscope", on Mack Avenue records. J.D. has been a featured artist at countless American jazz festivals and clubs, performed at numerous festivals in Europe, the Middle East, Central America and toured Russia 25+ times, performing in over 100 cities. J.D. is in demand as a clinician at schools and universities. He has performed numerous clinics for the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, the Music Educators National Conference, and has taught at the prestigious Sebelius Conservatory in Helsinki Finland, Jazz Palau De Valencia in Spain, The University of North Texas (invited back as the first vocalist ever on their lecture series), The Moscow Music Consort, and the Kazan Music Conservatory in Russia. JD is a regular on the Music Scene in New York having headlined at such venues as, Lincoln Center, The Jazz Standard, The Jazz Gallery, Joe's Pub, The Tribeca Performing Arts Center, Sweet Rhythm, Smoke, and can be seen frequently at the famed 55 Bar. He was also formerly on the faculty of the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Currently resides in New York City, teaches at The Aaron Copeland School of Music, The New School, and can be heard at many major jazz clubs and events.

Sasha Piastro is a versatile professional singer, equally comfortable with classical and musical theater styles. Past season’s engagements include Djamileh with Opera Theater of Pittsburgh, L’Africaine with Amici Opera, Celia in Iolanthe with Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra, Zerlina in Don Giovanni with Center Stage Opera, the soprano soloist for Handel’s Messiah with the Messiah College Choral Arts Society, Leïla in Bizet’s Les Pêcheurs de Perles with Center Stage Opera, soprano soloist with the Williamsport Symphony Orchestra, and Cathy in The Last Five Years at the Mary Welch Theater in Williamsport, PA.

Ms. Piastro has sung with numerous opera and music theater companies including Emerald City Opera, Opera Theater of Pittsburgh, Center Stage Opera, Amici Opera, the New York Conservatory for the Arts, Pittsburgh Music Theater, Pittsburgh Opera, and Penn State Opera Theater. She has also sung with internationally respected conductors Robert Page and Stuart Malina, and with well-known directors such as Dorothy Danner, Sarah Meyers, and Jonathan Eaton.

Ms. Piastro received her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in voice performance from Carnegie Mellon University and her Master of Music degree in voice performance and pedagogy from Penn State University. She is currently working on her Doctorate of Musical Arts in voice performance at Shenandoah Conservatory. Ms. Piastro is a member of the voice faculty at Grove City College, and has served on the faculties at Lycoming College and Susquehanna University. She is an active member of the National Association of Teachers of Singing and the Associated Guild of Musical Artists.

Amy Yovanovich started singing as a child. She is a 1989 graduate of Elizabethtown Area High School, Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. After high school she served as lead soloist at St. James Episcopal Church in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Ms. Yovanovich studied under Mr. John Darrenkamp, a well-known veteran of the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York City and currently studies with Ms. Kyle C. Engler, Mezzo-Soprano, Baltimore, Maryland. She has performed with the Pennsylvania Academy of Music Opera Theatre Workshop, Lancaster and Harrisburg Opera Companies. She has performed in a number of operas, including, Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte as Dorabella, Bizet’s Carmen as Carmen and Mennotti’s Amahl and the Night Visitors as the Mother. Ms. Yovanovich has also performed many oratorios, including Verdi & Mozart Requiem, Handel’s Messiah and Judas Maccabeus, Mendelssohn’s Elijah, Haydn’s Lord Nelson Mass and Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. She has also performed in several productions at the Fulton Opera House including The Sound of Music as Mother Abbess, in Rags as Rosa, in Ragtime as Sarah’s Friend, in Carousel as Netty Fowler and Oliver at Widow Corney. In February of 2003, she made her non-musical debut with Ephrata ACT as Berenice Sadie Brown in Carson McCullers’ “The Member of the Wedding.”

In March of 1998, Ms. Yovanovich was the recipient of the prestigious Oxnard Gold Medal, First Place Award in the American Traditions Competition in Savannah, Georgia, sponsored by Savannah On Stage. She also was Honorable Mention at the 1998 Metropolitan Opera District Auditions, finalist in the 1999 National Federation of Music Clubs Competition, and a winner in the 2000 Connecticut Opera Guild Competition.

Eric Rieger has consistently received critical praise for his beautiful singing and exciting performances throughout his impressive international career. Opernnetz.de hails his “erotic, radiant voice” and “cultivated manner.” The Trierischer Volksfreund applauds his “fine-timbered tenor voice” and “beautiful lyric singing,” and continues by stating, “There is bel canto style to be felt, skillfulness and every amount of talent.” Indeed, musicweb-international.com says, “this is a lovely tenor voice and a winning personality who will go a long way on both the recital platform and the opera stage." He has had great success in opera throughout Europe, particularly in the repertoire of Rossini, Donizetti, Mozart, Handel, and Britten. His busy career has led him to the opera companies of Zürich, Luzern, Basel (Switzerland), Trier, Regensburg, Kaiserslautern, Bremerhaven, Osnabrück, Nordhausen, Konstanz (Germany), and Novara, (Italy), as well as Zomeropera Alden Biesen (Belgium), Citizens Theatre (Glasgow, Scotland), Everyman Palace Theatre (Cork, Ireland), and the Mozart and Friends Opera Festival (New Jersey).

Equally at home on the concert platform, Mr. Rieger has appeared with such notable orchestras as the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, the Basel Sinfonietta, St. John’s Orchestra (London), the Luxembourg Chamber Orchestra “Les Musiciens,” and the Trier Philharmonic Orchestra. He has also been featured at the Claudio Monteverdi Festival in Italy, the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden, and the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. Frequent oratorio and concert performances have included Handel’s Messiah; J.S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, Magnificat and many Cantatas; Mozart’s Requiem; Rossini’s Messe Solennelle; Orff’s Carmina Burana and Britten’s Serenade, among others. A passionate recitalist, he has been heard in the United States and Europe interpreting a vast array of song literature. Mr. Rieger is also in demand as a voice teacher and is an active member of the National Association of Teachers of Singing. Currently, he serves as Visiting Assistant Professor of Voice at Texas Tech University. He is a graduate of the Eastman School of Music and the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama.

Bass Damian Savarino is quickly gaining attention as one of today’s most talented singers. With his rich voice, striking musicality, and commanding acting ability, he is becoming one of the most sought-after young performers in opera and in concert. He has appeared throughout the U.S. performing such roles as Sarastro in Die Zauberflöte, Figaro in Le Nozze di Figaro, Sparafucile in Rigoletto, Zuniga in Carmen, and Guglielmo in Così Fan Tutte. While at the Ohio Light Opera, he sang and recorded the roles of Colonel Lester in Victor Herbert’s Eileen and Lord Dramaleigh in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Utopia Limited for the Newport Classic label as well as performed roles in Patience, Eduard Künneke’s Der Vetter aus Dingsda, Romberg’s New Moon, and Camelot.

During the past two seasons, Mr. Savarino appeared with Teatro Grattacielo as Lo zio in Riccitelli’s I Compagnacci and L’uomo di Legge in Giordano’s Il Re at the Rose Theater, Lincoln Center. Other appearances include the bass solos in Charpentier’s Filius Prodigus and Carissimi’s Vanitas Vanitatum with Musica Sacra (Alice Tully Hall, Lincoln Center) and Handel’s Messiah with the Cayuga Chamber Orchestra (Ithaca, NY). He had also first performed with Teatro Grattacielo as Rocco in Wolf-Ferrari’s I Gioielli della Madonna.

In January 2010, Mr. Savarino sang the bass solos in Haydn’s Lord Nelson Mass in Carnegie Hall with Distinguished Concerts International New York. He has also recently sung Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem with the Indianapolis Chamber Orchestra/Symphonic Choir, Handel’s Messiah and Mozart’s Requiem with the Choral Arts Society of Messiah College, Aaron Copland’s Old American Songs with the West Shore Symphony (PA), and Schubert’s Mass in G with the Handel & Haydn Society of Boston. During a trip to Greece, Mr. Savarino performed the bass solos in Mikis Theodorakis’ oratorio Canto General, based on texts by Pablo Neruda. Mr. Savarino is also an active recitalist who has presented recitals in Germany, Greece, and Sicily.

The Susquehanna Chorale was founded in 1981 by Artistic Director Linda L. Tedford. The chorus is recognized for its artistic interpretation of choral works of many styles, for its commissions of 14 new works, and for its educational outreach programs. The Chorale is the recipient of Chorus America’s highest award: The Margaret Hillis Award for Choral Excellence and is currently Ensemble-in-Residence at Messiah College. In addition to its series of performances throughout Central Pennsylvania, the Chorale performs regularly with the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra and has toured Great Britain and Europe. The Chorale’s CD’s have received national recognition: Wondrous Love and American Treasures were offered for consideration for a Grammy Nomination.

Summertime Musictime

2011-06-26T17:37:00.001-04:00

Does it seem like the summer has gone into fast-forward already, or is it just me?

Now that it is officially summer – as of 1:16pm, last Tuesday, June 21st – even though it felt like summer long before Memorial Day, here it is and the 4th of July weekend is right around the corner!

For those of us enjoy our music year-round, that means summer concerts – and the Harrisburg Symphony’s 4th of July Concerts start this Thursday, June 30th and wrap up on Monday, July 4th, a series of five free concerts across the midstate.

First of all, here’s the schedule: hopefully there’s one (or more) near you you can choose from. Four of them are outdoors and so it’s BYOB&C – in this case, “Bring Your Own Blankets & Chairs”

Thursday (June 30th) 8pm in Lemoyne
Negley Park (sponsored by the Lemoyne Business Association). Rain location: Cedar Cliff High School

Friday (July 1st) 8pm in Annville
The Lebanon Valley College Quad (sponsored by Lebanon Valley College) Rain location: Lutz Auditorium

Saturday (July 2nd) 8pm in Harrisburg
Metro Bank Stadium on City Island (Sponsored by Chesapeake Energy & Dauphin County Commissioners) Rain Location: the Forum

Sunday (July 3rd) 7:30pm in Carlisle
Carlisle Summerfair (Sponsored by Summerfair and Citizens of Carlisle) Rain location: Carlisle Theatre

Monday (July 4th) 7:30pm in McAlisterville
East Juniata High School Auditorium (sponsored by Lawrence L. and Julia Z. Hoverter Foundation and First National Bank of Mifflintown)

The program will include a mix of classical and pop favorites

Johann Strauss: Overture to “Die Fledermaus”
Tchaikovsky: Music from “Swan Lake”
Frank Proto: “Casey at the Bat” with Carmen Finestra & Jeff Woodruff sharing the narrating
Louis Prima: “Sing, Sing, Sing”
John Williams: Raiders March
Andrew Lloyd-Webber: Selections from “Phantom of the Opera”
John Williams: “Summon the Heroes” (with Phil Snedecore, trumpet)
Aaron Copland: Variations on a Shaker Melody (“Simple Gifts”)
A Salute to the Armed Forces
…and of course
Tchaikovsky: 1812 Overture
Sousa: Stars & Stripes Forever

Summer concerts like these are always fun – that is, if the weather cooperates. So far, the forecast for Thursday the 30th looks pretty darn good (83°, clear skies and 0% chance of precipitation) which I can’t say is always the case. And of course, it’s always a gamble when you schedule these things: it’s not like anybody can control the weather – even a day in advance...

Everybody who’s ever been involved in outdoor summer concerts has their stories to tell.

In the ‘80s, the Harrisburg Symphony had initiated a series of annual concerts that were performed from a barge anchored to the lower walkway of Harrisburg’s Riverfront Park.

Sometimes, when we’d get there to start setting up the “stage” before 11am, there would already be groups of people staking out their territory along the upper bank, setting up blankets and chairs in the prime seating area for the 8pm concert. There would be boats in the river with City Island in the background, fireworks shooting off from the area around the beach house.

It wasn’t always as idyllic as this photograph might seem. The Barge Concerts of the ‘80s were usually held in late June, before the city’s 4th of July festivities and so, sometimes, we had to be concerned not just about heat and storms but also how high the river was.

There was one concert I remember when the river hadn’t receded yet after some heavy rains earlier in the week and the orchestra had to set up in the park along Front Street. There was a photo of this in the Patriot-News taken from City Island with the caption “Orchestra Plays From Top of Bank” (or something to that effect) but with the buildings in the background, you could see the sign for the Fulton Bank – well, no, not from that bank…

Another time, following a late-Spring near-flood, Mayor Stephen Reed spoke to the crowd but stumbled when he came to the idea of the beautiful backdrop of the river, the boats, the trees and the island – and instead said “dropback” and then “drawback”… well, understandable…

Aside from dealing with issues like sweat on the fingerboards and humidity-affected instruments (strings and reeds are especially notorious when it comes to humid summer weather), bugs were certainly a major issue – especially if you’re a wind-player needing to take sudden deep breaths, a hazard considering the usual cloud of mayflies hanging around the barge.

Another time, I’d checked out the barge right before the rehearsal the night before and was pleased to report to the musicians that there were hardly any bugs there at all.

A cheer went up from the wind section.

“The bats are eating them all…”

At one of those concerts, conductor Larry Newland went to turn a page and was bitten by a spider. (Considering the barge was located only a few miles north of Three Mile Island, too bad we didn’t have music to play from the Spiderman filmscores…)

One summer, we programmed Modeste Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” but with the less than stellar sound system strung through the park, then, the opening sounded more like “Gnat on Bald Mountain” – several players swore it was attracting gnats from as far away as Baltimore.

You’ve heard the old joke about the musician who apologized for making a mistake? “Maestro, I’m sorry, but there was a fly on my score and I played it.”

A couple summers ago, Eric Henry, who was the principal tuba player then and now, showed me the tuba part for the 1812 Overture. Over the years, these parts have become more fragile – they were old, then – so they’re now using photocopies of the originals. But there on his part were the photocopied remains of several mayflies and mosquitoes who had given their lives for art over twenty-five years ago…

- Dick Strawser

Brahms: The Podcast

2011-05-10T12:33:00.003-04:00

It’s an all-Brahms program with the Harrisburg Symphony this weekend – you could call it 'Brahms Cubed' – or as Stuart Malina referred to it in our podcast chat, “Brahms, Brahms and Quasi-Brahms.” He’ll conduct the orchestra in the Symphony No. 1 in C Minor and, joined by concertmaster Odin Rathnam, celebrating his 20th season with the orchestra, the Violin Concerto in D Major.

The program opens with the world premiere of… not a newly discovered work by Brahms but a “fan-fare” composed by Brahms fan Stuart Malina, a concert-opener that is based on themes from another one of Brahms’ symphonies, the 4th, one Stuart says might be his favorite if he had to choose (the standard response, justifiably, to the question “which is your favorite Brahms Symphony?” is to say “the one I’m conducting at the moment”).

Listen to the podcast here.

And also check out the posts I’ve written about the Violin Concerto (check back later, it's still TBA at the moment), the Symphony (historical background to the question “Why did it take Brahms so long to compose his 1st Symphony?”) and a bit of a conversation Brahms had about his compositional ideas with a protégé of his during the summer he (finally) completed the Symphony No. 1.

The performances are this Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg – and the pre-concert talks will be given an hour before each performance by Stuart Malina (as if he didn’t have enough to deal with before a concert).

- Dick Strawser

Brahms' Violin Concerto: Behind the Music

2011-05-10T11:24:00.007-04:00

The May Concert of the Harrisburg Symphony is called "Brahms Brahms Brahms" and for obvious reasons. One of the “Brahms Cubed” pieces at this weekend’s all-Brahms concert is one of the greatest violin concertos in the repertoire, if not “greatest concertos, period.” Stuart Malina conducts the program which includes a new work of his own, a "Brahms Fan-Fare" - you can listen to our podcast here - as well as Brahms' 1st Symphony and the Violin Concerto with Odin Rathnam, celebrating his 20th Season as the orchestra's concertmaster and part of Harrisburg's musical scene.

Those performances are this weekend at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg - Saturday evening at 8pm and Sunday afternoon at 3pm. Stuart Malina will be giving the pre-concert talk an hour before each concert.

In this post, I’ve embedded three video clips courtesy of YouTube, and while you might quibble about my choices, I decided to go with three great masters of the past for any number of reasons: Henryk Szeryng in the first movement (with Leinsdorf conducting the Czech Philharmonic in 1971), Jascha Heifetz in the slow momevent (with Reiner and the Chicago Symphony, recorded for RCA in 1955 – alas, no video) and David Oistrakh in the finale (with Rudolf Schwarz – the conductor’s rather odd-looking technique is partly the result of injuries sustained while interred at Auschwitz under the Nazis) – and the BBC Symphony, in 1958).

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1st Movement: Henryk Szeryng w/Leinsdorf, Czech Phil (1971)

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And it’s appropriate that both the Violin Concerto and the Symphony end up on this program together. The C Minor Symphony is this great, expansive, majesterial and yet very complex work and the Violin Concerto is almost its complete opposite – gentle rather than dramatic in its first movement, even more lyrical and fantastical in the slow movement, with an energetic dance-like, unbuttoned finale where the symphony ends with the triumphant resolution of the first movement’s drama. So in this sense, they make a very good contrasting pair of masterpieces, something difficult to do on an all-one-composer program.

But yet only two years separate the completion of the 1st Symphony and the composing of the Violin Concerto.

Considering it took Brahms at least 22 years to produce his first symphony (and about 14 years of that spent working on what eventually became the 1st Symphony) – more an issue of self-reliance and the idea of writing a symphony after Beethoven – he felt confident enough to write the 2nd Symphony the next summer and then the Violin Concerto the summer after that.

When people make those ubiquitous lists, the one for Great Violin Concertos – modern culture is all about box-office – usually mentions “The Four Top Violin Concertos.” While it’s difficult to put them in a specific order, it’s generally agreed Beethoven and Brahms are the first two while Mendelssohn and Tchaikovsky are the second two. Beyond that, you're on your own.

Interestingly, each of those composers only wrote one violin concerto (the fact that three of them are in D Major may be coincidental but it’s a very violin-friendly key) so it’s good they got it right the first time. If you enjoy playing “What If,” imagine a second concerto by any of them…!

The pairing of Beethoven’s and Brahms’ Violin Concerto at the top of this list, incidentally, has a common denominator in the name of Joseph Joachim. He was the violinist Brahms composed his concerto for, and he was the violinist who gave it its first performances. What might be overlooked is the role Joachim had in bringing the Beethoven concerto into the repertoire.

Without going too far off-topic, let’s just say that after its premiere, Beethoven’s concerto – atypical of the period in its length and symphonic scope as well as its lack of sheer virtuosity when virtuosity was often the reason for a concerto’s existence – was rarely played and probably, generally, unknown, unlike today. Between 1806 and 1844, it was almost completely forgotten until Felix Mendelssohn conducted it in London with Joseph Joachim as the soloist. Joachim was 12, at the time.

Brahms was 14 when he first heard Joachim (two years older) play the Beethoven concerto in Hamburg, though they didn’t meet until almost six years later. By that time, Joachim was professor of violin in Leipzig (since he was 17) at the school Mendelssohn had founded. There was a visit from an old school-friend, Eduard Remenyi (see the photo, right, of Remenyi & Brahms) – like Joachim, Hungarian-born – who brought with him his shy young accompanist, a short fellow with long blonde hair and blue eyes named Johannes Brahms who’d turned 20 a few weeks earlier. When he played some of his pieces for Joachim – a number of works that were never published but also two of his piano sonatas – Brahms made a sufficient impression on Joachim that he suggested he should go meet Robert Schumann.

The rest, as they say, is history – and you can read more about that aspect of Brahms’ life in my post about his 1st Symphony.

Brahms and Joachim became close friends and frequent musical collaborators – united also in their concern for Clara Schumann after her husband’s attempted suicide. Brahms would often send his friends – especially Clara and Joachim – new pieces to get their reactions, a kind of artistic advisory board. So it was with some interest that Joachim – some 24 years later – received a note from Brahms about “a few violin passages” he would soon be sending him for advice.

It turned out to be a new concerto and they were soon busily collaborating by post as it gestated from “a few passages” to a full-blown four movement work. At times, Joachim rewrote passages to better suit a virtuoso for better effect as well as more technical matters pertaining to bowings and phrasing. Joachim was, after all, one of the finest violinists of the day and Brahms, ever since his early days, was more comfortable writing for the piano than anything else.

At times, Brahms – headstrong as ever – adopted what Joachim suggested or just as likely ignored it, sometimes utilizing it to create a third version. They discussed the age-old question of balancing a single violin against an orchestra of eighty musicians. Brahms even left Joachim the honor of composing his own cadenza for the first movement – something in Mozart’s day would’ve been improvised but which, more and more, composers were expected to take more control over, themselves.

Joachim wanted the concerto ready to premiere in Leipzig on New Year’s Day the next year (1879) but Brahms wrote to him that he was having trouble with the two middle movements – a slow movement and a scherzo – which went “bust – naturally they were the best ones! I’m writing a wretched adagio instead.”

Whatever happened to the original slow movement, the scherzo ended up later becoming part of the four-movement 2nd Piano Concerto. The new slow movement could hardly be considered “wretched,” but such was Brahms often self-deprecating sense of humor.

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2nd Movement: Jascha Heifetz with Fritz Reiner & the Chicago Symphony (1955)

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Having completed two symphonies, now, and feeling very self-assured as a result of having overcome the long gestation of the first symphony – as well as his first string quartet and what eventually became his third piano quartet (all three in C Minor, all being worked on over the same incredibly long stretch of time) – Brahms didn’t seem to be intimidated by writing such a large scale concerto. Paganini and Spohr might have been more typical of the day and the virtuosic tradition taken up by Liszt was probably what most music-lovers expected. The Mendelssohn concerto was shoulders above the standard repertoire of the day.

But there was Beethoven – and Joachim had been the champion who brought it back to life. It was by no means a typical violin concerto, one of symphonic scope – and it was Brahms’ principal model. Ironically, when he composed his first symphony, it was Beethoven's model he was trying to live up to: this time, he seemed to have no fear of giants treading behind him.

Still, in an age used to hearing a showcase for the soloist “accompanied” (or “supported”) by the orchestra – for instance, even in Chopin’s E Minor Piano Concerto, the orchestra is practically superfluous – a “symphonic concerto” where the soloist and the orchestra were on an equal footing was something unexpected and therefore suspect.

Pressured by Joachim and by other friends to complete the work in time, Brahms was often ill-mannered and bad-tempered. He reluctantly agreed to attend a special celebration with his hometown orchestra, the Hamburg Philharmonic – which, after all, had twice turned him down to be their full-time conductor – relenting in the end because Clara Schumann played a Mozart concerto and Joachim was the concertmaster for Brahms when he conducted his new 2nd Symphony.

With the scheduled premiere rapidly approaching, Joachim had to deal with a flurry of last-minute revisions and Brahms was so tense on the podium that, when it came time to perform it in Vienna two weeks later, he gladly gave the conducting responsibilities over to Joseph Hellmesberger (who may be the originator of the quip this was not a concerto for the violin but one “against” the violin).

The response in Leipzig was “no worse than cool” but Vienna loved it – the audience even applauded Joachim’s cadenza right on into the conclusion of the first movement, and uncharacteristically this actually pleased Brahms.

For the third movement, Brahms honored his friend’s Hungarian heritage by writing him an all-out Hungarian Dance – or rather, a dashing finale “in the Hungarian Style.” As a young man accompanying Remenyi, he had learned the gypsy style and turned it to commercial success with a series of Hungarian Dances which proved immensely popular and incredibly lucrative. He had used these “gypsy finales” – they are not, in fact, based on folk music – before, most notably in the 1st Piano Quartet, and though the ethnic exuberance may have been toned down a bit in the concerto, it nonetheless pays tribute to Joachim’s own popular Violin Concerto nicknamed the “Hungarian Concerto” for its gypsy finale.

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3rd Movement: David Oistrakh with Rudolf Schwarz and the BBC Symphony (1958)

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Though Vienna enjoyed the new concerto – as Brahms wrote to a friend, “Publikus would not cease its noise” – it wasn’t so well received elsewhere, which may seem odd to us, today. In Berlin, critics wondered why their musicians had to play such “trash” and another famous virtuoso, Pablo de Sarasate, said of it “I don’t deny that it’s fairly good music but does anyone imagine… I’m going to stand on the rostrum, violin in hand, and listen to the oboe playing the only tune in the Adagio?”

And so, having produced two symphonies, now, and a violin concerto in the span of three years, Brahms took a step back, taking more time before letting a new piece go, concerned about those details that concerned him, conscious of the idea that immortality could just as easily mean “when an immortal dies, people will keep on for 50,000 years and more, talking idiotically and badly about him,” whether he felt he had created a work he felt exhibited his talent at its best.

It seems the new-found self-reliance Brahms discovered from completing the 1st Symphony was short-lived.

After his closest friends found it difficult to approve of his 4th Symphony and the Double Concerto (another work composed specifically with Joachim in mind), Brahms began to compose less – or rather, to complete and publish less. In typical Brahmsian fashion, considering he’d told young composers one of the most important tools of the trade was a good wastebasket, he disposed of a large amount of sketches – burned them, actually – including but not limited to a second violin concerto, a second double concerto, enough of a fifth symphony he could play it through for some friends, and possibly ideas for a sixth as well.

And all that, between 1887, the year of the Double Concerto, only eleven years after completing 22 years of work on a symphony, and 1892, the year of that haunting photograph (see above), the year he'd come out of 'retirement' to compose several works for clarinet, inspired by the playing of Richard Mühlfeld.

One can only imagine...

- Dick Strawser

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You can read more about Brahms and his relationship with Joseph Joachim in this post about the Double Concerto, "A Testimony to a Friendship."

Brahms Brahms Brahms

2011-04-28T17:19:00.006-04:00

The Harrisburg Symphony's next Masterworks Concert – May 14th & 15th at the Forum – is called “Brahms Brahms Brahms” which implies there's lots of Brahms' music on the program. You could say it's a kind of All-Brahms Program – but I'll let maestro Stuart Malina explain his “Brahms Fan-Fare” that opens the program when get a chance to chat about the concert. But yes, certainly, one of the greatest violin concertos and one of the greatest symphonies ever composed, on one program...? Not only is a lot of great Brahms, it's a lot of great music.

In addition to an upcoming post about the concerto which Odin Rathnam will perform, celebrating his 20th season as the orchestra's concertmaster, there'll also be a post about the 1st Symphony on my blog, Thoughts on a Train – a transcript of my pre-concert talk from several seasons ago – which gets into the whole complicated business behind why it took Brahms so many years to complete this symphony.

Depending on the sources you read, some say 25 or 21 or 14. The problem is, we don't know exactly when he started working on the piece we know as the Symphony No. 1 in C Minor. We know he finished it during the summer of 1876, but actually beginning it is another matter.

We know the first idea Brahms wrote down for what was his first attempt at writing a symphony happened in February, 1853 (the year of this portrait - see above, left). Eventually that turned itself into the D Minor Piano Concerto. Other works either started out as sketches for a symphony before becoming “studies for writing a symphony” but in 1862, Brahms sent Clara Schumann the rough draft of what would become the first movement of the Symphony No. 1 in C Minor (without its famous introduction) but which he said, vaguely, was based on “earlier sketches.” So when exactly he began work on it, who knows?

The point is, we know he spent at least 14 years on it, from beginning to end. Considering Mahler wrote his monumentally lengthy 3rd Symphony (heard at the April concert) during two summer holidays – essentially all but the first movement in 1895 and then the long first movement in 1896 – one wonders why it took Brahms so long.

You'll be able to read that in my other post.

This post is actually about Brahms' thoughts about composing, something he rarely ever talked about. I mean, he didn't have somebody like John Clare to ask him, “so, how do you compose – what's the process like, for you?” And he also had very few composition students that he confided in (or at least who bothered to write them down).

These comments are taken from Jan Swafford's thoroughly readable and wonderfully enlightening biography simply called “Johannes Brahms: A Biography” and they were made to Brahms' student, George Henschel a German-born singer and composer who would later become the first conductor of the Boston Symphony. Henschel met Brahms in 1874 at a music festival where Henschel was singing in a Handel oratorio and Brahms was conducting another program. If not actually a “composition student” of Brahms, Henschel was one of several young composers whom Brahms liked to discuss the craft or art of composition, either during a long walks or sitting around with him at dinners or, as Swafford says, sitting there “trembling as [Brahms] went through their music page by (usually defective) page.”

Fortunately Henschel was one who decided to keep a record of some of these conversations which he then published in 1907 as “Personal Recollections of Johannes Brahms” ten years after the composer's death. (Henschel's portrait – see right – was painted three years after this particular encounter with Brahms.)

At Koblenz in 1876, they both appeared as soloists on the orchestra's program and Brahms had played Schumann's Piano Concerto very badly during the rehearsal: always one who hated the idea of practicing, it sometimes came back to haunt him. The performance, apparently, went better than expected – Henschel had found Brahms alone in the concert hall beforehand, “red-faced with frustration as he belabored the piano. 'Really, this is too bad,' Brahms groaned.”

On the train from Koblenz to their next stop – Wiesbaden – Brahms opened up and talked shop with young Henschel.

“There is no real creating without hard work. What you can call invention, which is to say a thought, an idea, is simply an inspiration from above for which I am not responsible... It is a present, a gift, which even ought to despise until I've made it myown by dint of hard work. And there doesn't have to be any hurry about that... it germinates unconsciously and in spite of ourselves. For instance, when I've found the first phrase of a song [and here, Brahms hummed a few notes from the opening of his song, “Die Mainacht”], I might shut the book there and then, go for a walk, do some other work and maybe not think about it again for months. Nothing, however, is lost. If afterward I approach the subject again, it is sure to have taken shape; now I can begin to really work at it. But there are composers who sit at the piano with a poem before them, putting music to it from A to Z until it's done. They write themselves into a state of enthusiasm that makes them see something finished, something important in ever bar.”

Where Schubert or Schumann would characteristically dash off a song in a single sitting, Brahms avoided this kind of spontaneity – perhaps especially because Schumann's prediction about his being the Heir to Beethoven had strangled the possibility of not being anything less than perfect.

In the 18th Century, composers were regarded as craftsmen and their art as a result of their craftsmanship. In the 19th Century, with Beethoven, especially, the creation of a work of art was given over to the immediacy of inspiration, regardless of the fact Beethoven might take months or even years to work out the details of a piece in his notebooks, even if they were initially inspired “by the moment.”

Though we know that Mozart often worked things out in his head before putting pen to paper, we also know – now – that many of his sketches were lost and often assumed (part of the Mozart Myth) to be non-existent.

Brahms was a firm believer in the role of the unconscious – perhaps even before Freud had theorized about it. Brahms, however, burned all his sketches and notebooks

At another time, Brahms told Henschel, looking over some of his newly composed songs,

“In some... you seem to me too easily satisfied. One should never forget that by actually perfecting one piece one gains and learns more than by starting or half-finishing a dozen. Let it rest, let it rest, and keep going back to it and working it over and over again, until... there is not a note too many or too little, not a bar you could improve on. Whether it's beautiful too, is an entirely different matter, but perfect it must be. ...I never cool down over a work, once begun, until it's perfected, unassailable.”

It's interesting to note Brahms was telling Henschel this as he was putting the finishing touches on his first symphony whether you count it as having been 14 years' work since he completed the first draft of the C Minor Symphony's first movement or 25 years since he started jotting down ideas intended to become part of the first symphony he would attempt!

For Brahms, this meant two things: craft is logical and must be perfect – only then can its expressive qualities be beautiful. Without both, however, it would fail to come close to perfection (which, of course, he realized was unattainable, but as close to it as it was possible to get).

True, many audiences are going to be drawn in by the beauty first rather than its logic, but without a logic foundation, there was nothing to support it. “Even if he made considerable demands on his listeners,” Swafford writes, “even if he never coddled them in his big pieces, he still never forgot their feelings or his own. He made sure the warmth stayed in his work. But he would never admit it.”

That may have been part of the problem behind that first symphony – considering he was to be the Heir of Beethoven (insert famous quote about “hearing the tread of a giant behind you” here) and that sense of perfection may have robbed us of many more works a lesser composer would have been willing to release.

But Brahms didn't want to “learn the craft of symphony-writing” by turning out a number of half-baked symphonies before he finally managed “one good enough.” In addition to the years behind the C Minor Symphony, there is the statement that he had written enough music for twenty string quartets before he completed the one that he finally published as his first. This statement is usually misunderstood to imply he wrote twenty string quartets and threw them out before deciding on publishing the one that survived: while it's probably an exaggeration on Brahms' part, writing that much music, however, is not far fetched.

Back to Henschel:

“In writing songs,” Brahms told him, “you must endeavor to invent, simultaneously with the melody, a healthy, powerful bass... Then, my dear friend, let me counsel you: no heavy dissonances on the unaccented parts of the bar, please... I'm very fond of dissonances, you'll agree, but on the heavy, accented parts of the bar, then let them be resolved easily and gently.”

Now, granted, Brahms is advising a young composer who is composing songs, not symphonies. If you looked at those few surviving sketches Brahms made, you'll see “he worked out the continuity of a piece largely in terms of unbroken melody and bass line (with an almost obsessive preference for the two in contrary motion), then added the inner voices, textures and instrumental colors.”

Brahms was a morning composer and many times, after working on the symphony's finale, “talking shop” was the last thing he wanted to do. But he and Henschel took long walks along the beach – they were staying on an island in northern Germany in the Baltic Sea – where Brahms also taught Henschel how to swim underwater with his eyes open so they could amuse themselves looking for coins and colored pebbles.

One time, Brahms and Henschel walked “across the moors to listen what he called his bullfrog pond.”

“Can you imagine anything more sad and melancholy than this music? Here we can understand the origin opf fairy tales about enchanted pricnes and princesses. Listen! There he is again, the poor King's son with his yearning, mournful C-flat!”

Sharing a hotel room on of their outtings, Henschel had to vacate the room, fleeing Brahms' “symphonic snoring.” When Brahms woke up and realized why Henschel had left, he told him “really, why didn't you throw a boot at me?”

At another time, both of them visited a composer”of popular but thin music who habitually worked all day long.” Henschel doesn't identify him: Swafford says it was Joachim Raff. When Raff's wife told Brahms she had tried to get her husband to break his work-schedule to give himself at least two hours a day away from composing – taking a walk with his daughter, for instance – Brahms earnestly agreed. “Oh that's good, that's very good!” Only Henschel got the real meaning behind his statement.

Henschel also left a description of Brahms from this time (seen here in a portrait dated 1872): “He was the sort with whom you use the word splendid: handome and ruddy of face, rambunctious when you caught him on the right day, a lusty eater who attcked his plate with manifest pleasure and likesie the accompanying mugs of beer and Kaffee afterward.” He stood out in a crowd with his “vigorous rocking gait, soft hat in hand, waistcoat unbuttoned, the wool-flannel Jäger shirt collarless whenever possible: the archetypal tie-hater.”

It was around the time he completed (finally) the 1st Symphony that Brahms also began growing a beard. It is difficult for us to imagine him a young man without it. But even like his music, he would not settle for just the first beard he grew.

By the end of 1878 – in the two intervening years, he had now composed his 2nd Symphony in a mere four months and his Violin Concerto – Brahms also started his third beard!

Asked why he grew one, he would say “with a shaved chin, people take you for either an actor or a priest.” He was delighted to discover that “whiskers made him almost unrecognizable.” Introducing himself solemnly to friends as Kapellmeister Müller from Braunschweig, he would see how long it took them to realize they were talking to Johannes Brahms. Once, Gustav Nottebohm (famous for his edition of Beethoven's sketchbooks) “spent an entire evening in polite conversation with Kapellmeister Müller.”

Brahms was 20 when he met Robert Schumann who hailed him as Beethoven's Heir. Twenty-five years later, after finally completing his first symphony – hailed as “Beethoven's 10th” – Brahms changed his appearance perhaps to match his new-found security: the boyish-looking Brahms “sank once and for all behind the patriarchal mask. Brahms' face became as magisterial and enigmatic as the outer face of his music.”

“The disguise,” Swafford concludes, “was complete at last.”

- Dick Strawser

On Hearing Mahler's Third Live in the Forum

2011-04-17T11:40:00.002-04:00

What an awful night for a concert - between 3-4" of rain before it was over, lots of road closings, flooded streams and basements, not to mention struggling to get from parking your car to the dry haven of the Forum without looking like a drowned rat. Even the conductor, Stuart Malina, joked afterwards how he didn't even feel like driving out in this downpour!

And yet the audience braved the storm to sit through a performance of a long, involved symphony by Gustav Mahler which clocked in at about an hour and forty-five minutes with no intermission. Yes, there were those who left at the end of the third movement or who chose not to sit through the final slow movement - there was a woman in front of me who got up in a huff and left just before the concert started, upon realizing there would be no intermission!

But for the most part, the audience sat totally mesmerized during the performance of Gustav Mahler Symphony No. 3 - whether it was the long slow stretches of the off-stage trumpet solo (speaking of rapturous) or the finale's emotional, slowly unfolding hymn to God's love (usually about 25 minutes long, itself). By the final moments, you could sense the entire audience leaning forward, quietly attentive - and there was not a pin to be heard dropping the entire time.

At the end of the third movement, as the chorus and the soloist were added to the already crowded stage, the friend sitting with me looked at his watch and was surprised it was already 9:15. He said he'd figured it was probably 8:45, at least...

For once in my life, I was never conscious of aches or pains induced from prolonged sitting in those uncomfortable Forum seats, even at the end of the concert.

At the end, the audience was quick to rise and cheer with prolonged ovations for the orchestra and its conductor, for individual performers (like principal trombonist Brent Philips, principal trumpet Phil Snedecor, the entire horn section and concertmaster Odin Rathnam), for mezzo soloist Layna Chianakas, for the Susquehanna Children's Chorale and the women of the Messiah College Concert Choir and their directors, Linda Tedford and Judith Shepler - and presumably for Gustav Mahler's amazing composition, as well.

It was not, unfortunately, selling well, as far as the box office was concerned, a major issue for the orchestra's income, especially given the budget required by such a large orchestra. Granted, at-the-door sales were likely dampened by one of those Old Testament Weather Patterns that hit the area again that day, but those who braved the elements to hear the performance were apparently excited to have been there.

Getting them -- especially people new to Mahler -- in the door is the problem. Some people I'd talked to who balked at the idea of sitting through such a long piece may not realize they would sit through something just as long if they went to a movie theater, with or without a chance to visit a restroom once it started.

And I can't imagine when the last time was I went to a movie that was as good as hearing Mahler's Third live!

Fortunately, I get to hear it again today at 3:00, since I'm giving the pre-concert talk an hour earlier.

You can read David Dunkle's Patriot-News review of last night's performance, here.

I've posted my pre-concert talk on-line at my other blog, Thoughts on a Train.

- Dick Strawser

It's Mahler Time: The PodCast

2011-04-13T00:21:00.004-04:00

This weekend, the Harrisburg Symphony performs Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 3, certainly one of the longest symphonies in the standard repertoire and one that doesn't get performed all that often. It's safe to say that any performance of it is “an event.”

Stuart Malina took some time out of his schedule to chat with me about why this symphony is something you shouldn't miss.

You can hear our PODCAST here.

You can also read my account of the world premiere of Mahler's symphony back in 1902, how the audience responded to what you have the chance to hear this weekend.

The performances are this Saturday (April 16th) at 8pm and Sunday (April 17th) at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg. Come an hour early to take in the pre-concert talk which I'll be offering (free to any ticket-holder) an hour before each performance.

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You can catch MAHLER MADNESS and receive a 50% discount if you haven't already bought a ticket for these concerts by calling the Harrisburg Symphony Box Office - (717) 545-5527 - just ask for the Mahler Madness Discount! Tell them you saw it on the blog!
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Okay, it's true, a symphony that is just long doesn't make it great. Just because there's over 100 musicians on the stage (plus a vocal soloist and women's and children's choruses) doesn't necessarily make it an event.

Mahler was 26 when he completed the Third Symphony. A year later, three movements (the all-orchestral ones other than the first) were performed in Berlin (to not very positive responses) but it took another five years until Mahler could get a complete performance for its official world premiere. By then, he was almost 32 (see illustration, left, a drawing made that year). Though a respected (if controversial) conductor, this performance was the one that helped make his career as a composer.

His original intent, as Stuart and I discuss in the podcast, was to give a specific program to each of the movements, creating a kind of cosmological ladder from beginning to end. In the first movement, he describes the arrival of summer, the awakening of Pan, a festive march to honor him (or Bacchus) including a thunderstorm and a rousing celebration. The last to be composed, this movement is also as long as a typical symphony in its entirety written a hundred years earlier.

(By the way, the symphony is usually performed without intermission, so you may want to be aware of this and visit the restrooms before the concert begins...)

The next series of movements were originally given titles: "What the flowers of the field tell me." "What the animals of the forest tell me." "What mankind tells me." "What the Angels tell me." And "What Love tells me."

The 4th movement is a song for the alto (or mezzo) soloist, settings words of Friedrich Nietzsche, a poem taken from "Also sprach Zarathustra," one of the major works of German literature at the time, and written only ten years earlier. Part of the irony, here, is that while Nietzsche adopted a biblical style to promote ideas that were fundamentally opposed to Christian and Jewish morality - the idea that "God is Dead" actually came from a different work - and believed himself "godless and antimetaphysical," Mahler believed strongly in metaphysics, the transcendental and in the existence of God.

The 5th Movement with its pealing of bells and exuberant folk song is tied in with a song Mahler composed a few years earlier - "The Heavenly Life," a child's vision of heaven - and which originally was going to be the symphony's last movement (before he had decided to place the great Adagio there). But a seventh movement seemed unrealistic - entitled "What the Child Tells Me," this became the finale of his next symphony.

Though not originally at the end of the symphony, Mahler's eventual decision to conclude with a slow movement was unusual if not unprecedented (Beethoven had done it in his last piano sonata but a symphony is another matter.) Entitled "What Love Tells Me," his sense of "love," here, is more spiritual, God-like love rather than human emotional and physical passion, especially in light of the Nietzschean connections listeners might make from his use of the text in the 4th movement. Despite the tempo, it is a powerful, uplifting conclusion, if not a boisterously happy ending then a transfigured one.

When Stuart and I were recording our chat, he mentioned that Richard Strauss had also used Nietzsche's "Also sprach Zarathustra" as the basis of one of his most famous tone-poems. Thinking about this as I was driving home, I wondered when these two works were composed: Mahler wrote his song-setting for the symphony in the summer of 1895. Richard Strauss wrote his tone-poem on "Zarathustra" in 1896 and premiered it later that year. By the time Mahler's symphony was premiered in 1902, Strauss' tone poem would have already been quite familiar to the audience.

It's also interesting that, while Mahler sketched numerous plans for his symphony - this program with the movements' titles - by the time he came to premiere the work, he had changed his mind and forbid the publication of the programmatic details and its titles.

However he felt about it while writing the piece and whatever prompted him to suppress these ideas later, he did relent in 1907, the last time he conducted the third symphony himself, allowing the titles back into the printed program.

Whether they help you "understand" the symphony or not, the music can exist on its own level without them. For some, it's helpful on the journey, like following sign-posts. For others, it doesn't matter or may even prove distracting. That is, after all, one aspect of Art - that it can survive on several levels simultaneously.

- Dick Strawser

Attending the World Premiere of Mahler's Symphony No. 3

2011-04-06T18:28:00.010-04:00

If you’re wondering what it’s like to attend a performance of Mahler’s Symphony No. 3 which the Harrisburg Symphony will perform on April 16th & 17th at the Forum on their April “Masterworks” Concert, here are some excerpts from a 1974 performance with Leonard Bernstein and the Vienna Philharmonic.

But first, let’s take a trip back in time to its world premiere almost 110 years ago and find out what people thought of this contemporary music they were hearing so early in a new century.

(Much of the information here is found in Henri-Louis de la Grange’s monumental four-volume biography of Mahler, particularly in Volume 2: Vienna: the Years of Challenge (1897-1904). )

It is 1902, a Monday evening – June 9th, to be exact – in the Rhineland town of Krefeld, Germany, and Gustav Mahler’s 3rd Symphony is about to be heard for the first time, at least in its entirety. He had composed it during the summers of 1895 and 1896, but one thing after another – including the premiere of the 2nd Symphony (his “Resurrection” Symphony) and the composing of the 4th Symphony – intervened.

Perhaps one of the biggest obstacles to a performance was the sheer size and scope of the piece: six movements totaling nearly an hour and a half of music. Mahler admitted the score was “difficult and unusual,” and would need additional rehearsal time.

On the basis of having heard only three movements – the 2nd, 3rd and last movements – played a year after it was completed, the critics in Berlin labeled Mahler a “lunatic” and “megalomaniac.” Given their reaction to the length of the final Adagio, that great concluding slow movement (which runs about 25 minutes long), what will they think when they hear the first movement which by itself is over a half hour long?

For the premiere, the next-to-last concert of the Allgemeiner Deutscher Musikverein’s ‘summer’ festival in 1902 which would present several new works, Mahler demanded two full days of rehearsal time with the full orchestra in Cologne (the orchestra consisted of the orchestra in Krefeld and included musicians from the Gürzenich Orchestra of Cologne and elsewhere), followed by two further three- and four-hour rehearsals before the final “general” (what we’d call the “dress”) rehearsal that began at 9am on the morning of the concert.

The musicians were ill-disposed toward Mahler, having read disparaging articles about him and his music in the Viennese press. However, as the rehearsals progressed, they apparently experienced a “conversion on the road to Damascus,” joining in with the enthusiastic applause following the concert.

Many people were curious – not always in a positive sense – and there were those who were concerned about the “gigantism” of the symphony: its length and the size of the orchestra. One composer in the audience wondered how a “short inoffensive piece” like his Overture would survive being smothered by “Mahlerian cacophonies and other superhuman music.”

Mahler’s supporters were expecting “a major event in the history of music” (no pressure, there) while others anticipated a “comic turn.”

Long before the 8pm start-time, the hall was already filled to overflowing. In addition to the local audience, there were a large number of people (including musicians and critics) who’d come from around the region and, in fact, all over Germany – including the composer Richard Strauss, the Dutch conductor Willem Mengleberg.

As the performance unfolded, critics observed the conductor.

“This necromancer in his badly tailored coat,… this swarthy little man with his narrow lips and clean-shaven chin, looks like a defrocked priest but has the superhuman calm of a snake charmer facing his cobras; a tuft of stiff black hair crests his dolichocephalic skull as he hypnotizes his wild orchestra – staring up at him with pale faces – with a single glance from his jet-black eyes, as sharp as vipers’ tongues, taming, rousing or subduing the unleashed dragons with the tip of a small hazelwood baton, the wand of those who conjure up the devil.” – William Ritter, Swiss critic

“Small in stature, uncertain of gait and with a stoop, searching, short-sighted eyes behind big lenses, and the violent gestures of a nervous man – but on the podium suddenly a different man, erect, his gestures now calm and assured, a conductor possessing great authority. Unforgettable his lovely phrasing, the care with which he prepares each climax, his iron command of rhythms, his sharp separation of the musical periods, his enthusiasm! …Without the slightest scruple of any kind he exercises his right to follow his creative urge freely and without concern. Neither in his choice of means nor in the way he uses them does he pay the slightest attention to conventions.” – Siebmacher Zijnen, Dutch critic, Rotterdam Courant

(Yeah, they don’t write reviews like that any more! And when was they last time any of you used “dolichocephalic” in a sentence?)

Bernstein conducts the Vienna Philharmonic in the opening of the 1st Movement:

During the course of the long first movement, with its wild contrasts, fanfares and marches, the audience listened in a breathless hush, followed at the conclusion by a burst of applause. Richard Strauss strode through the hall, going up to the podium to shout his approval which only increased the audience’s enthusiasm.

There was a ten-minute intermission, as La Grange continues to describe it, “the excitement steadily increased throughout each successive movement and the Finale was listened to from start to finish with rapt attention.”

“After so many dazzling wonders, there was more to come! This man’s inexhaustible verve never ceases to perform new miracles. Not one moment’s boredom, not one second of fatigue! The great kaleidoscope of sound functioned all through this unique work. One was never, never tempted to slacken one’s attention. The stunning impact of the first movement was followed by unending enchantment.” – William Ritter.

Bernstein conducts the Vienna Philharmonic with Christa Ludwig, the women of the Vienna Opera Chorus and the Vienna Choir Boys in the brief 5th Movement:

Of the final Adagio, Ritter wrote, “perhaps the greatest Adagio written since Beethoven.”

Bernstein conducts the Vienna Philharmonic in the opening of the Adagio:

The audience rose and cheered at the end of the concert, many rushing toward the stage, others staying at their seats waving handkerchiefs. Mahler was called back to the podium “at least twelve times.” The local newspaper reported “the thunderous ovation lasted no less than fifteen minutes.”

One newspaper wrote Mahler had followed a “singular and new” path. He “had managed to touch and move the audience with an original genius which expressed itself in clear and intelligible musical language.”

This same anonymous critic felt that “if [music’s] more powerful effects are piled on one another, as is so frequently the case in the first movement, to the extent that they exceed the limits of music, then one is justified in asking what it is all about,… [as it's] likely to bewilder and deter an audience… Yet [the movement] is full of significance and it is worthwhile making the effort to follow its musical construction.”

In the Finale, he continued, “it is not easy to follow the profusion of interwoven themes; motifs in various keys are often strung together without transition. The polyphony is magnificent and the coloring unusual and rich.” Mahler had “a quite exceptional talent, a wealth of inspiration and an admirable command of the orchestra.”

Bernstein conducts the Vienna Philharmonic in the middle section of the Finale:

Another anonymous critic wrote in the famous periodical, the Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung, that he had always disliked Mahler’s works because he found the “huge means” they required were in “inverse ratio” to what they contained, with their “partly grotesque, partly trivial and frivolous” details and “atrocious cacophonies” (speaking of Mahler’s earlier works). Here, the first movement, he said, confirmed his impression, sometimes soaring but also sinking to “the most incomprehensible platitudes.” What, he wondered, was this “terrifying chaos of notes, the ear-splitting dissonance and the bizarre instrumental effects” (one can especially imagine him scrunching up his face during the symphony’s first few minutes with its weird fanfares, crunching brass punctuation and trombone glissandos bringing to mind a wounded dragon).

But by the time he reached the Adagio, he writes that it “rises to heights which situate this movement among the most sublime in all symphonic literature. …Only a genius could have created such a movement in which powerful and fervent emotions are expressed with incomparable nobility.”

Bernstein conducts the Vienna Philharmonic in the conclusion of the Adagio:

If the townspeople and the musicians had regarded Mahler with misgiving before the concert, he was acclaimed “as a victor and conquering hero” afterwards.

Many felt the symphony was “novel and disconcerting, both exalting and bizarre: its dimensions were gigantic but so was its content!”

Without being provided a ‘programme,’ explaining what the music was “about,” several critics said that Mahler deprived the audience of an easier chance to grasp its meaning. (This is, naturally, a huge argument since the piece was conceived with a very detailed program and pictorial titles for each movement when he completed the work in 1896 but by 1901, he had turned completely around and decided to suppress such information. I’ll be posting more about this on the blog and discussing the program in my pre-concert talk.)

Still, the critic for the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik felt the first movement was a vast celebration of Nature that left listeners totally enraptured. “It was difficult to imagine anything more enchanting than the second movement.” Of the fourth movement (the alto solo’s “Night Song”), he wrote of its “mysterious and sublime atmosphere” as it “grips our hearts… as though a voice from eternity were speaking to us.” The unexpected transition to the naïve folk-like fifth movement, a miniature with its rollicking children’s chorus imitating bells, was “surprising, even bizarre… Only a bungler or a genius would do a thing like that.”

And the finale: “intoxicating, overwhelming shattering in its sublime splendor,… perhaps the most beautiful [movement] of all.”

To return to the Dutch critic, Siebmacher Zijnen:

“In his invention of themes he often proves amazingly skillful. In his juxtaposition of materials made up of very diverse elements, in connecting and developing them he shows a rare originality which the public likes him for. Even those who would rather not say whether the obviously exciting orchestral means employed correspond to the inner content of the composition and can therefore be considered ‘genuine’ – even they find themselves roused by the tremendous sound effects and then captivated by the naivety and folk inspiration which comes at them as different pages of the score are turned.”

As a result of this triumph, Mahler found his career as a composer taking on a new era: Mengelberg immediately invited him to conduct the Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam the next year and several German towns vied for the chance to perform the Third Symphony (in Dresden, the Adagio had to be encored).

Mahler now found he didn’t need to go begging to publishers to consider his music: he could choose the highest bidder.

Incidentally, the concert proved to be the making of a major career move for the orchestra’s principal trombonist, a young man named Franz Dreyer from Dresden who so impressed Mahler with his solos during the first movement, Mahler immediately hired him for the orchestra in Vienna. The trombonist’s colleagues were joking with the conductor, saying that Dreyer was “nothing but trouble.”

Mahler told them, “We get trouble every day in Vienna but I’m not hiring him to make trouble – I’m hiring him to play the trombone and I’ll never get another trombone player like him. So I’m taking him to Vienna with me.”

And there was also the reaction of his wife, Alma, whom he’d married only in early March that year and who was already pregnant with their daughter, Anna. “Incredibly agitated” after the performance, she now knew her husband was a great genius and feeling her child stir within her for the first time, she wept tears of happiness as she “vowed that from now on she would live for him alone.”

After the concert, Mahler and his wife, joining his sister and her husband, went for dinner where they ran into Richard Strauss who had been so instrumental in organizing this concert with the Festival and who had been so vociferously supportive at the end of the first movement. By turns mutual supporters as well as rivals, Strauss had inexplicably left right after the performance without saying anything to Mahler. At the restaurant, he “merely shook his hand casually and said not a word.” As a result, Mahler was so upset and hurt, he could only sit in silence during the meal despite the overwhelming public response.

And ten days later, Mahler left for the countryside where he spent the rest of the summer completing his next work, his 5th Symphony.

- Dick Strawser

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German translations: Allgemeiner Deutscher Musikverein = “General German Music Club,” a concert-presenting organization for New German music founded in 1861 by Franz Liszt. Strauss had become the organizations President in 1901.
Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung = “General Music Journal,” one of the major music magazines, based in Berlin.
Neue Zeitschrift für Musik = "New Journal for Music," one of the leading music journals in German, had been founded in Leipzig by Robert Schumann in 1834 and later became part of the publisher Schott, still publishing today.

Zdeněk Lukáš' Viola Concerto at the Harrisburg Symphony

2011-03-27T11:24:00.005-04:00

The man (see photo, left) composed “nearly 400 compositions – six operas, seven symphonies, four dozen concerted works” (that is, for soloist and orchestra), “a wealth of chamber and piano music, scores for radio plays, songs, accompanied and a cappella choral pieces and many arrangements,” according to Richard Rodda’s program note, and yet it was probably safe to say no one in the Forum last night, listening to the Harrisburg Symphony, its principal violist Julius Wirth (see photo below, right) and conductor Stuart Malina performing the Viola Concerto by Zdeněk Lukáš, had ever heard a note of music by this man or even knew his name.

In fact, before they planned the program for this month's concert, neither had conductor and soloist. Along with other applications of modern technology in today’s artistic life, we in Harrisburg owe this performance of Lukáš’ concerto to iTunes – because that’s how they found out about it.

And it became what is presumably not only the first performance in Harrisburg but the North American premiere – in fact, the second performance ever of the piece.

According to Julius’ comments at the post-concert “talk-back,” the concerto was composed, premiered and recorded in 1983, then everything – score and the orchestral parts – was shelved in a library in Prague. When the orchestra’s librarian, Linda Farrell, tried tracking it down, it took numerous phone calls and letters to locate it (with the help of a translator) and, since there was no time to produce new parts, they photocopied the original hand-written parts – published but never engraved – and mailed them off to America for only its second performance!

Such is every composer’s nightmare – if not to gain an audience in the first place, then to be forgotten after death.

How, exactly, was it “discovered”?

Well, like America and Columbus, “discovered” may not be the right word – perhaps an illusion to Indiana Jones is more appropriate, tracking down and unearthing a possible treasure in the Ark of Lost Manuscripts. Well, except the concerto wasn’t exactly “lost,” either. I mean, it had been recorded and it was the fact the recording company had decided to reissue it as a CD which happened to end up on iTunes which led to this “discovery.”

Stuart tells the story that he had decided he wanted principal violist Julius Wirth to be a soloist during the 2010-2011 Season. When they began discussing possible repertoire – the viola does not have the wealth of options to choose from like the violin or the piano – and since one after the other didn’t pique Stuart’s interest, he decided to do what most internet savvy people do these days: check out iTunes.

So he did a search under “viola concertos,” checked out those he wasn’t familiar with and, based on those 20-30 second sound-bytes they offer you as samples, thought this one by somebody named Lukáš sounded “really cool.” So he decided to download it (Julius chimed in at this point, “and it was only 99 cents!”) and once the two of them finally managed to connect via e-mail, the violist agreed with the conductor. Not only did he not know the piece or the composer, he didn’t know how to do a search on iTunes, so now that that’s been remedied, the next phase of the quest was on.

There’s not much information available but, judging from the Wikipedia entry, this is not an unknown composer waiting to be discovered: the viola concerto (1983) is Op.185, meaning it’s the 185th work he published (opus is Latin for ‘work’) – and there’s a piano trio entitled “Rotlevův šlojíř” dating from his last year, 2007, that is Op.354. Considering Beethoven’s last work to be sent to his publisher was Op.135, it would appear Zdeněk Lukáš is a prolific composer with a supportive publisher.

His publisher’s representative is Boosey, a major international publishing house – you can read their bio of him at their website, here - where you can read a ‘snapshot’ (short bio) or a more detailed account (click on ‘biography’).

The name is pronounced ZDEN-yĕk LOO-kahsh (the accent on the á is not a quantitative accent as we think of it, but indicates a longer vowel than the shorter, almost neutral-sounding vowel it would be otherwise, for example the way Americans pronounce Lukas Foss) and is maybe of Hungarian origin, ethnically, but he is clearly a Czech composer.

And I wasn’t surprised to hear hints of Czech folk music and Czech composers like Dvořák, Smetana and Janáček at various points throughout the concerto, all part of his cultural heritage, but also other Central European composers almost any Central European composer in the 20th Century either embraced or ignored, the Hungarian Bela Bartók and the Polish composer, Witold Lutosławski (I could add Wojciech Kilar but that’s more likely because (a.) I know some of his music and (b.) he’s more heavily influenced by Bartók and Lutosławski than Lukáš).

In addition to outright quotation from folk-songs or imitations of them, there is also the use of an octotonic (or eight-note) scale, common to many Eastern European folk cultures – instead of the traditional 7-note C Major scale. based on a standard pattern of whole-steps and half-steps,

C – D – E – F – G – A – B – C

or the C Minor scale,

C – D – E-flat – F – G – A-flat – B-natural – C

This folk-based eight-toned scale (heard in many works by Bartok and Stravinsky, among others) would be a different configuration of alternating whole-steps and half-steps, like

C – D – E-flat – F – G-flat - A-flat – A-natural – B – C

This often gives it that exotic sound, slightly gritty, tinged with the minor mode as opposed to the brighter major mode.

But it also, significantly, lacks the all-important “dominant” note G which forms the basis of the most satisfying harmonic cadence that defines classical tonality – the G chord (dominant) resolving to the C chord (tonic). This, then, gives it a unique harmonic sound distinct from what “urban, trained” composers were writing in what we normally think of as Western Music (classical or otherwise).

Like Bartók and Dvořák before him, Lukáš studied folk music and, like them, not only arranged it but eventually incorporated the hallmarks of the music into his own to create a style that is identifiable in its nationalism.

Dvořák did this primarily because this was the music he grew up with, a butcher’s son from a small village outside Prague. But when he wanted to be accepted by the wider world (that is, the Austrian Empire who controlled his native Bohemia), he shed these influences to write in an acceptable Germanic style, especially in the manner of first Wagner, then Brahms. It was only later, having made the necessary professional break, that he returned to the folk-song style that so identifies him today.

Bartók began a systematic study of true Hungarian folk music – up till then, most people confused it with the popular music of the gypsies – but not purely out of nationalist pride during the early years of the 20th Century when Austrian control of Hungarian politics and culture was weakening: he did it because, as time would prove, these songs and their ancient traditions were being forgotten by the younger generations who, moving to the city, no longer needed to make their own music and could listen to radio and recordings, instead.

It was a similar political action to the Austrian occupation of Bohemia and Hungary that turned Lukáš from an arranger of folk-songs into a composer with a more serious intent: the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia and the brutal repression of the uprising of 1968 known as “Prague Spring.”

When I was listening to the first two rehearsals on the concerto this past week, my first response regarded these past voices as they’d pop up – wishing he’d listened to a little more Bartók than Dvořák. There were these crunchy tone-clusters in the strings that reminded me of Lutosławski, especially the way they were used like punctuation and sometimes resolving that crunchiness to an open and more pure-sounding major triad. But eventually, as the piece progressed, I was becoming aware of the composer’s voice, blending all these elements into his own style – and then the influences of these other composers became more the influence of what influenced them: the folk songs and rhythms, their shapes and turns-of-phrases, their ornamentation, especially in the gorgeous chorale-like tune that opens the slow movement. Between that and the fanfares of the last movement, I was wondering if these were original themes that sounded like folk songs or more likely quotations from actually folk melodies.

As conductor and soloist tried to cajole the orchestra into playing this music “less classically” (less “nicely”) and more roughly (“pesante,” in the manner of the rougher outlines of folk music as opposed to the niceness associated with urban culture) – “there should be blood on the stage” – I began to hear something that speaks to a lot of Czech composers, an historical event that defines their cultural heritage: the Battle of the White Mountain (then outside Prague) in which the Bohemian and Germanic Protestants lost to the Catholic Hapsburgs of Austria in 1620, the start of the Austrian occupation of the area that lasted until Europe was redesigned following World War I in 1918, almost 300 years later. Beneath this defeat, Czech (or Bohemian) pride continued to survive from one generation to the next like a rallying cry not to forget, just as, if the British had succeeded in crushing the Revolution at Bunker Hill, Americans would have waited and waited, hoping for a time when, somehow, they would no longer be a British colony.

Whether these two “songs” – the 2nd Movement’s hymn and the 3rd Movement’s fanfare – refer to the White Mountain (now a part of the city of Prague) or not, I have no idea, but it gave me a deeper sense of what this Czech composer was about, writing in an emotionally charged nationalist style only 15 years after the Soviet repression of the Prague Spring of 1968.

I was not surprised, then, to read this line in the publisher’s biography:

“After the tragic year of 1968, Lukáš turned to a sort of intuitive aloneness and directed his creative energy to developing a personal melodic and rhythmic style, the sources of which are comparable to the inspirational background of Carl Orff – the Czech language, Czech folklore and pre-classical music.”

This event also infused Czech-born composer Karel Huša who was living in the United States at the time and watching the events unfold on the international TV news as Soviet tanks rolled through Prague’s ancient streets – his family still lived in Prague and he could not contact them to find out how they were. His “Music for Prague 1968” which I heard barely a year later is still one of the most powerful compositions I’ve ever heard. I could here the essence of this YouTube excerpt – essentially a call to the barricades – echoed in the opening of the last movement of Lukaš’ Viola Concerto, though perhaps an echo going back to the even older battlements of the White Mountain.

At 4:03 into the Huša excerpt and especially from the hair-raising build-up at 5:30 to the end, you can hear the start of the 15th Century chorale, Ye Who are Warriors of God – which every Czech would know, just like Americans know their “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The hymn-tune also figures into the nationalist tone-poems of Bedřich Smetana's Ma Vlast, "Tabor."

(In the “relevance” sub-topic for classical music, think also of what we’ve been seeing lately in current events from North Africa and the Middle East.)

I was amused to discover that Lukáš spent much of his career working for a Czech radio station in Plzen (better known as Pilsen, a town famous more for its beer), hired there in 1953 as an editor and literary manager until 1964, where he also founded a choir “Česka Pisen” (Czech Song) for whom he arranged many folk songs.

So, my conjectures and associations aside, here is a viola concerto that needs to be heard – especially by viola players looking for something outside the usual Bartók-Hindemith- Stamitz-Telemann cycle - not because those works are tired or trite, just because they are so few.

While it’s not a perfect piece – there are questions of some awkward transitions that could be harmonic issues that need worked out by the performers or could’ve been edited more clearly by the composer; and, frankly, the ending is kind of odd for a concerto (the soloist doesn’t get much of a build-up to that final high note and then there’s a long orchestral paragraph before the work ends fairly abruptly) – it’s certainly a welcome addition to the repertoire and I hope other adventuresome violists and conductors will take up the cause.

And hey, what about some of the other 340-some works he published? What are they like?!

- Dick Strawser

Orchestras Feeding America: Harrisburg, March 2011

2011-03-24T08:37:00.001-04:00

This weekend's concerts with the Harrisburg Symphony are part of the League of American Orchestra's national drive, "Orchestras Feeding America."

Please consider bringing non-perishable food items to the Forum for Saturday night's or Sunday afternoon's concert.

Donate to the cause: help support the Harrisburg Symphony supporting this national food drive.

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Had you read the book or seen the film, "The Soloist"? Then you know what inspired this drive.

There are probably few free-lance musicians I've known - myself included - who haven't at one time or another had nightmares about something like this: I'm sure the Forum stage is filled with talented musicians who feel very close to this, whether they make their living full-time as a free-lancer or hold down a day job that supports their choice to make music for you.

Dreams don't quite come true, despite the training, the talent; the gigs don't pay enough the make a living, pay the rent, put food on the table; governments cutting support for the arts don't take into account the human toll for those people who are the artists in our community, bringing a very important contribution to the table that helps identify who we are as a society, help make our lives more fulfilling.

And in today's economy, how many people do you know - from your friends, neighbors, those schoolmates you wonder "where are they now," perhaps even yourself - who have not had these same fears or concerns, no matter what their profession?

Think about this:

In 2008, 49.1 million Americans lived in food insecure households, 32.4 million adults and 16.7 million children.

In 2008, 17.1 million households were food insecure, increased from the 13 million households in 2007.

In 2008, households with children reported food insecurity at almost double the rate for those without children, 21 percent compared to 11.3 percent.

In 2008, 2.3 million households with seniors were food insecure.

Feeding America provides emergency food assistance to approximately 4.5 million different people in any given week.

Please consider bringing non-perishable food items with you to the Forum for Saturday night's concert at 8pm or Sunday afternoon's concert at 3pm.

And then listen to music Bach composed for the good citizens of Leipzig, hanging out in Zimmermann's Coffee Shop listening to him conduct his 3rd Orchestral Suite (especially its famous 'Air') with the Collegium Musicum, the town's closest thing to an orchestra in a public concert hall - yes, even before it was fashionable to play in 'alternative venues' and before there was Starbucks, Bach was playing in coffee shops!

And music of Beethoven who once was arrested as a vagrant by the Viennese police because of the way he was dressed, a man we normally think of as a Titan Among Men, writing this sublime music but who, during the years he was writing his 8th Symphony, was having trouble making ends meet because the aristocratic patrons who were supporting him financially were unable to make their contributions due to the failure in the economy after the French army took over Vienna.

You can find out more about the concert - which includes the orchestra's principal violist, Julius Wirth, playing a viola concerto by the Czech composer, Zdenek Lukas - by listening to the podcast of the recent conversation Stuart Malina and I had.

Read more about Beethoven and his 8th Symphony in these posts:
Getting Behind the Music
Life Behind the Music
That Old Odd/Even Conundrum: Listening to Beethoven's Symphonies

- Dick Strawser

Beethoven's 8th Symphony: Getting Behind the Music

2011-03-23T12:58:00.007-04:00

Beethoven conducted the first public performance of his 7th and 8th Symphonies in 1814. Stuart Malina conducts the 8th Symphony this weekend with the Harrisburg Symphony, part of the Masterworks program that also includes Bach's 3rd Orchestral Suite, Ives' "Unanswered Question" and a viola concerto by Czech composer Zdenek Lukas with the principal violist of the orchestra, Julius Wirth.

The performances are Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg.

You can hear the conversation I had with Stuart about the concert in this podcast (the link takes you to his website - click on the 'podcast' link under the post title).

(Don't forget, this weekend's concerts are part of the nationwide drive "Feeding America," sponsored by the League of American Orchestras. Please bring non-perishable food items to the Forum for either concert. For more information, click here.)

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Beethoven’s Symphony No. 8 is often overlooked in the sequence of his nine symphonies even though Beethoven himself had a special fondness for it (calling it "my little one") and preferring it to the 7th.

(You can read more details – or at least my thoughts on the matter – in a parallel post at my other blog, Thoughts on a Train, here.)

Since we normally think of a composer finishing one work before moving on to the next, I’d like to point out that Beethoven was a highly accomplished multi-tasker, writing several works if not concurrently, at least working out certain details simultaneously, often making great use of that back burner.

Look at the dates of all nine symphonies – not just when they were completed or premiered, but when they started showing up in his sketch books:

Symphony No. 1 in C: 1794 or 1795 to 1800
Symphony No. 2 in D: 1801-1802
Symphony No. 3 in E-flat (“Eroica”): 1802-1804
Symphony No. 4 in B-flat: around 1804 (while working on Fidelio) to 1806
Symphony No. 5 in C Minor: sketches between 1800-1804, begun in 1804 and completed in 1808

So far, everything looks fairly continuous, finishing one symphony before going on to the next. But it still goes against the conception that there were two years between symphonies while he concentrated on other works.

Keep in mind that between 1802 and 1804, in addition to the “Eroica,” Beethoven was also working on the opera Fidelio, the “Waldstein,” “Appasionata” and “Kreutzer” Sonatas – but also, during this time, sketching material that would eventually be part of the 5th Symphony which he put aside on a number of occasions in order to complete the 4th Symphony as well as Fidelio, the three Razumovsky Quartets, the 4th Piano Concerto, the Violin Concerto and the Mass in C.

Eventually he completed the 5th while working on the 6th which were then premiered together at the same concert. Some of the 5th's sketches go back to the notebooks of 1800. Though most of the work was done between 1804 and 1808, the first two movements were largely complete by 1805 when he put it aside to compose the 4th. So, by some quirk of Fate (pun intended), for whatever reasons he chose to put the C Minor aside rather than wait to begin the new B-flat Symphony, the most epic of Beethoven’s heroic symphonies almost became an even-numbered symphony.

Symphony No. 6 in F (“Pastoral”): sketches appear as early as 1803, written between 1806-1808
Symphony No. 7 in A: sketches in 1809, completed 1812 (some sources say April, others “Summer”)
Symphony No. 8 in F: sketches in 1809, written between completion of 7th and August or October, 1812
Symphony No. 9 in D Minor (“Choral”): sketches in 1815 & 1817 (including an idea for another symphony in B-flat), then 1822-23 (first three movements complete), last movement finished in 1824.
Symphony “No. 10” in E-flat (left unfinished): fragments of ideas unrealized, found within the sketchbooks for the 9th (1822-24) – at one point, Beethoven mentioned the 9th would be an instrumental symphony, the “Ode to Joy” a separate cantata, but the 10th would end with a choral movement)

While Mozart and Schubert were spontaneous composers who sometimes seemed to write things down as fast as they heard them in their head (part of Mozart’s creative process, apparently, was to work things out in his head even before he put pen to paper), Beethoven struggled with new works over a long gestation period, as can be seem from the dates between some of the earliest sketches and the date of completion.

It’s unlikely, if he waited until he’d completed the 7th, Beethoven might have composed the 8th in a month or even four months as is usually stated. If he wasn’t actively working on it, the fact there were sketches for ideas made concurrently with the 7th – ideas that did not fit into that particular work – it’s very likely this new symphony was gestating similarly to the way he composed the 5th and the 6th, two remarkably contrasting works.

Therefore the 8th is to the 7th as the 6th is to the 5th – and presumably as the 10th might have been to the 9th. (Barry Cooper’s controversial realization of the 10th’s sketches are so disappointing by comparison, we have to remember that an unfinished 9th symphony realized from sketches before 1822 would have become a very different composition.)

Ironically, Beethoven was setting up his own odd/even conundrum.

If anything, Beethoven not only compartmentalized his creativity, working of contrasting works simultaneously, he compartmentalized his life from his creativity. While we could say the 5th is “about” his personal struggle with his deafness, the music manages to transcend that to a universal level that can be appreciated as the struggles of an archetypal hero or perceived as the listener’s own struggles with adversity, some immediate crisis that, through Beethoven’s music, we might find inspiration to overcome.

(This is essentially the way we interpret Tchaikovsky’s 4th, 5th and 6th Symphonies, except the hero doesn’t always win. You can read more about his three “Fate” Symphonies here, here and here.)

The 7th is often described as a public work, easy to access and appreciate (uncomplicated). The 8th is considered more abstract without the dance-like enthusiasms heard in its companion. Perhaps, as a more “aristocratic” or “courtly” work, it comes off as a throw-back to Haydn’s era, therefore old-fashioned, nostalgic. Yet there are many parallels between them: the joyful smiles of both opening themes (once past the 7th’s slow introduction), the rhythmic pulse of the 2nd movements, the dance of the 3rd movements or the humor and exuberance of the finales.

Except in the 8th, it’s not as overt – again, perhaps more subdued by comparison, a citified person as opposed to one letting his hair down in the countryside, but both having a good time.

There is a stronger differentiation between the 2nd movements mostly because the 7th’s is in the minor mode and, at the tempo it’s usually taken, comes off like a funeral march. But the 7th’s is marked “Allegretto” and the 8th’s “Allegretto scherzando,” instead of the traditional slow movement, marked “andante” or “adagio.” (Andante is a leisurely walking tempo, but Adagio is slow – Lento, even slower. But Allegretto is not as slow as Andante but not as fast as Allegro, a fast, more lively tempo, the traditional tempo for a symphony’s first movement.)

Both “slow” movements are fueled by a pulse – in the 7th, by the steady quarter and two eighth notes, then two quarter notes, like a march – bummm bum-bum bumm bumm ; in the 8th, the bup-bup-bup-bup in the winds are 16th notes but pervade the texture much in the same way the 7th’s march-like rhythm underpins everything.

Whatever Beethoven may have intended (if anything) in his 2nd movements, the steady pulse in the 8th’s comes originally from a humorous canon he’d jotted down as a joking tribute to Johann Nepomuk Mälzel, the inventor of a metronome-like device that helped musicians systematize tempos. This was, however, only Mälzel’s latest invention to cross Beethoven’s path: earlier, in 1808, he invented an “ear trumpet” which Beethoven tried to help overcome his deafness; for something called a “panharmonicon” which was a kind of musical juke-box, a contraption that could imitate the sounds of an orchestra, Beethoven originally conceived his “Battle of Vittoria” (eventually known as “Wellington’s Victory”), reworking it for orchestra when the mechanical device proved to be less than adequate. Mälzel also invented a mechanical chess-player, but that’s another story…

The 7th is propelled by its rhythms – many of the “themes” grow out of nothing more than repeated notes in a given rhythm. The 8th is more tuneful in the traditional sense – for instance, the not-quite-a-minuet (the old-fashioned 3rd movement before Beethoven replaced it with a scherzo or “joke”) compared to the wild country dance of the 7th.

Rhythm is a driving force behind the finales, as well. The 7th's may be more like “composing under the influence” compared to the 8th’s (see below), but there are still unexpected turns (the sudden changes in dynamic, the sound of the timpani playing in octaves – interesting sound when you consider Beethoven was probably too deaf to appreciate it – and the overall genial humor).

But the finale of the 8th is fascinating for another reason. So far, this symphony is very short compared to the rest of them and this at a time when Beethoven was working towards elongating the forms he was using.

Traditionally, the “sonata form” that forms the basis of sonatas and symphonies was in three parts – the Exposition (where, as a student of mine once said, “the composer exposes himself” – or rather, states the movement’s main themes), the Development (where these ideas are taken and ‘developed’ or expanded or dissected and discussed – like a debate, the exposition might be the statement of the topic, the development becomes the “argument”) and then the Recapitulation (where these ideas are put back together again, rounding off the discussion with resolution).

To the exposition, a composer could add more themes or more transitional material between themes. To make sure the listener was well aware of the materials, this exposition was usually marked to be repeated. In the development (which in some composers is often brief, almost perfunctory; in others, the meat of the movement), a composer can just keep spinning out this material, creating more drama and more tension before it resolves into the recapitulation. But after this “recap,” composers started adding a “coda” (literally, “tail” in Italian) which extended the drama of the resolution. Haydn’s might be fairly brief but Beethoven turned them into “second development sections” where listeners might think “here we go again.”

In the 8th, it seems just when you think the movement is over, he begins a coda – and then when you think that’s over, there’s another section (or another coda) until, eventually, when you do reach the end, he gives you no less than 23 measures of final chords – the traditional V-I cadence, that dominant-to-tonic stamp that seals the final resolution, but here with not one final tonic chord but 15 of them! As if to say, “yes, it’s officially over! Really! Seriously! No, I’m not kidding, this time! That’s it! Done!”

Here is Tafelmusik (an early music group from Canada) conducted by Bruno Weil performing the last movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 8.
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And I haven’t even begun to get into what was going on in Beethoven’s life when he was writing this symphony!

Dick Strawser

March Masterworks: Revelations & Discoveries

2011-03-21T14:43:00.005-04:00

The Masterworks Concert this weekend features Bach's 3rd Orchestral Suite and Beethoven's 8th Symphony along with the orchestra’s principal violist, Julius Wirth, playing a concerto probably no one in town has ever heard before by a composer, Zdenek Lukas, many here have probably never heard of. Also on the program is a short work by American composer, Charles Ives. To say it’s a “varied program” may be an understatement, so that was one of the first things conductor Stuart Malina and I addressed in our podcast about the program.

You can listen to it, here (follow the link, then click on ‘podcast’ underneath the post heading at Stuart’s blog).

The concert is Saturday evening at 8pm and Sunday afternoon at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg. There's a pre-concert talk with Alexander Kahn, director of orchestral activities and bands at Gettysburg College, an hour before each performance - they're open to any ticket-holder for the concert.

And keep this in mind, if you would:
National Hunger Facts

In 2008, 49.1 million Americans lived in food insecure households, 32.4 million adults and 16.7 million children.

In 2008, 17.1 million households were food insecure, increased from the 13 million households in 2007.

In 2008, households with children reported food insecurity at almost double the rate for those without children, 21 percent compared to 11.3 percent.

In 2008, 2.3 million households with seniors were food insecure.

Feeding America provides emergency food assistance to approximately 4.5 million different people in any given week.

Please consider bringing some non-perishable food items along with you to leave with the ushers when you enter the Forum for the Harrisburg Symphony concerts this weekend, Saturday March 26th and Sunday March 27th.

- Dick Strawser

Stuart & Friends, March 23rd

2011-03-21T14:21:00.008-04:00

A few hours before a rehearsal for this year’s “Stuart & Friends” concert, Stuart Malina took some time to chat about the concert you can attend Wednesday evening at 7:30 at the Rose Lehrman Center at Harrisburg Area Community College – in which Stuart joins friends and colleagues from the orchestra for an evening of chamber music.

There are three works on this year's concert – the suite, “Baal Shem” (Pictures of Hassidic Life) by Ernest Bloch; a piano trio by Beethoven, the one known as the “Ghost” Trio; and the Piano Quartet of Robert Schumann – in which Stuart will collaborate with concertmaster Odin Rathnam, principal 2nd Violinist Nicole Diaz, principal violist Julius Wirth and principal cellist Fiona Thompson.

Listen to the podcast, here (click on 'podcast' underneath the post heading on Stuart's blog).

(We also had a chance to talk about this weekend's Masterworks Concert - featuring Bach & Beethoven, a little Ives and what's probably an unfamiliar concerto by an unfamiliar composer played by Julius Wirth: you can listen to that podcast, here.)

Just a reminder, for those of you who are used to habit – usually, the “Stuart & Friends” program was scheduled the week after the March subscription concert but this year, it’s a few days before (in fact, the day before the first rehearsals for the weekend concert). In the past, they’ve been held at Whitaker Center in downtown Harrisburg, but this time it’ll be on the uptown campus of HACC at the Rose Lehrman Center – just so you’ve noticed that.

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The Swiss-born composer Ernest Bloch started studying violin when he was 9 and later studied with one of the great violinists of the early 20th Century (if not of all time), Eugene Ysaÿe. He wrote his “Baal Shem – Three Pictures of Hassidic Life” in 1923, dedicated to the memory of his mother, originally for violin and piano while teaching in Cleveland, the year before he became an American citizen. He’d settled in the United States after 1916 (during the course of the First World War), moving to Cleveland in 1920 to become the first director of the Cleveland Institute of Music, before moving in 1925 to San Francisco for a similar position, then living in a small town on the Oregon coast from 1941 until his death in 1959.

Bloch is perhaps best known for works inspired by his Jewish heritage, particularly Schelomo, a musical meditation on the biblical King Solomon, and the underperformed “Avodat Ha-kodesh (Sacred Service),” a setting of the Sabbath morning liturgy, which he completed in 1934 as anti-Semitism in Europe continued to grow toward the Second World War.

The suite, Baal Shem, is in three movements – the first is a prayer, the second (the frequently performed “Nigun”) is an intense meditation, the emotional high point of the work, and the third movement is, by comparison, a light hearted dance which reminds us that Jewish Music does not always have to be on the edge of despair or the riddled with doubt.

It’s always difficult posting clips from YouTube to give you an example of what the piece sounds like – not just finding a good performance but one that can withstand various criticisms, one way or the other (nothing can ever be definitive) – but I thought I’d include these two: I admit to not knowing violinist Nachum Erlich but of many of the recordings (audio or video, whether a studio recording or captured on a cell-phone), I thought his performance of “Nigun” was intense enough (his mannerisms aside) to give you an idea, when many other performances lacked a comparable level of emotional involvement or only the occasional reference to satisfactory intonation. For me, frankly, in a piece like this, emotion trumps technical accuracy.

There are maybe hundreds of “Niguns” (for better or worse) to choose from on-line. Not so with the dance-like final movement, “Simchas Torah,” performed here by violinist Axel Strauss.

Beethoven’s “Ghost” Trio is a work that’s often overlooked (though I’ve heard a few live performances in recent years, this will be the second in the five weeks here in Harrisburg). The nickname comes from the spooky second movement and though I doubt it originated with Beethoven (the “Moonlight” Sonata was christened by a well-meaning critic who, on the other hand, could have focused on the last movement and called it the “Thunderstorm” Sonata, instead), the nickname is not only appropriate, it’s fairly close. The music for this movement came from sketches Beethoven originally made for an opera project that had recently been discarded, setting Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” - this excerpt originally for the scene with the Three Witches.

The outer movements, however, are pure abstract music. My favorite moment in the first movement is that unexpected note sustained in the cello even before the opening phrase is completed – Beethoven rushes everyone up the scale and then not only hits what seems like the wrong note (an F-natural instead of the expected F-sharp) which then seems like it’s going to resolve to a different key completely (and too soon) before – oh, okay – slipping up to F-sharp and doing what you’d expect it to do. This happens periodically throughout the piece and often tends to head off into other harmonic directions (perhaps a sly wink to his teacher Haydn, famous for such unexpectancies).

Here’s a performance with three young performers (at the time) – pianist Daniel Barenboim, violinist Pinchas Zukerman and cellist Jacqueline du Pre. Note the text that is included at the beginning of the video clip, recounting a reaction from the world premiere, when violinist (and composer) Ludwig Spohr (or Louis, as he often styled himself) heard Beethoven playing the piano:

‘It was not an enjoyable experience. First of all the piano was dreadfully out of tune, which did not trouble Beethoven in the least, since he could not hear it. Little or nothing remained of the brilliant technique which had been so much admired. In loud passages the poor deaf man hammered away at the notes crashing through whole groups of them so that without the score one lost all sense of the melody. I was deeply moved by the tragedy of it all. Beethoven's almost continual melancholy was no longer a mystery to me.’

Here’s the second movement – perhaps a bit “over-played” considering its Shakespearean inspiration – with Martha Argerich at the piano, violinist Renaud Capuçon and cellist Misha Maisky.

After that, the opening of the third movement (here, with Barenboim, Zukerman and du Pre, again) is a return to Haydnesque normalcy but instead of playing with the pitch, Beethoven creates an unexpected tension by hanging onto the rhythm, very similar to his inside joke in the first movement. In that context, I sit there wondering where that second movement came from – it’s one of those unanswerable questions about inspiration and what connections composers make in the process of following their creativity. Perhaps he’s playing on his audience’s expectations – the playing aside, I wonder what Spohr made of that second movement (speaking of "continual melancholy") in comparison to the outer two movements?

By the way, there’s more Beethoven on the concert this weekend when Stuart Malina conducts his colleagues (with the rest of the Harrisburg Symphony) in Beethoven’s 8th Symphony.

I’ll add something later about the Piano Quartet by Robert Schumann which hardly needs an introduction. Here’s the beautiful slow movement of the piece, which the composer described as a love song to his wife, Clara, the pianist for whom it was composed.

Here’s a “video” (with score) of pianist Emanuel Ax joining members of the Cleveland Quartet in the third movement of Schumann’s Piano Quartet.

- Dick Strawser

Puccini's Bohemians: A Weekend in Paris

2011-02-22T10:19:00.006-05:00

This weekend, the stage at The Forum becomes a "time-portal" that will take you back to the Paris of young artists struggling to survive, living in garrets and falling in (and out) of love – with the help of the Harrisburg Symphony, several vocal soloists and a few choirs as Stuart Malina conducts one of the most popular operas in the world, Puccini's La Boheme.

In this "concert performance" (without complete staging, sets or costumes but with English supertitles translating the Italian), you'll meet

Mimì (sung by soprano Inna Dukach), a young seamstress who meets and falls in love with

Rodolfo (sung by tenor Dinyar Vania), a young poet who shares the garret with his friend

Marcello (sung by baritone Grant Youngblood), a painter who has an on-again/(mostly)off-again relationship with the singer

Musetta (sung by soprano Jane Redding), a high energy bombshell who sings how, whenever she walks down the street, all the men turn and stare at her (the original "Girl from Ipanema").

The cast of characters also includes two more bohemians (poor starving artists, beatniks, hippies of another age), good friends of Rodolfo and Marcello – Schaunard (sung by a baritone), a musician and Colline (sung by a bass) who calls himself a philosopher.

There are "bit parts" for the old landlord, Benoit, and Musetta's latest sugar-daddy, Alcindoro (both sung by the same bass).

There's a huge part for a large chorus in Act II – with the Susquehanna Chorale (prepared by Linda Tedford) and the Harrisburg Singers (prepared by Susan Beckley) – as crowds of revelers circulating through Montmarte on Christmas Eve, including a band of children, a toy-seller and a frustrated child who wants a toy, just short of a tantrum.

(You can read the Metropolitan Opera's plot synopsis here.)

So, join us for a slice of the artistic life, courtesy of Puccini's special group of Friends – Saturday evening at 8pm and Sunday afternoon at 3pm at The Forum in downtown Harrisburg.

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If you attended the performance of Puccini's Tosca a couple seasons ago – including Dinyar Vania as Cavardossi and Grant Youngblood as Scarpia – you might recall Stuart telling the story how his real favorite opera is Boheme, having grown up with it and, when he was in high school, coming home and playing the recording – especially the 3rd Act – over and over and over... Well, now he gets a chance to share his love for this music with the Harrisburg audience.

Boheme has remained one of the most popular operas – and sources for spin-offs like Rent – for a very simple reason. It has what many people look for in a work of art – and much of that appeal, I think, comes from its sincerity, not just great tunes and lush harmonies which are (as they say today in techno-speak) the "delivery system" for the music's content. The story is appealing and in a way combines elements of something you could enjoy from an episode of "Friends" to the heart-break of a movie like... well, pick a 'weepie' of your choice (I was thinking "Love Story"). And it's all "delivered" in a well-written, finely hewn musical package that, even if you're a musical snob, has to be admired for its craft. It is an effective work of theater, in the abstract sense, moving from scene to scene with dramatic logic), the music helps bring the characters to life (not just give them pretty things to sing), and the orchestral writing shows Puccini's skill not just as a composer but also as a musical technician.

It's also a wonderful "first opera" for anyone who'd feel reluctant to sit through a couple hours of people singing in a foreign language.

Though not the first opera I saw or heard, it was the first opera I saw that turned me on to the idea of opera – and that, thanks to my high school music teacher, Irene Christman, who played through the recording on the installment plan during several consecutive classes with a couple of vocal scores for us to follow along, then took us to Harrisburg's State Theater to see a film presentation of the opera. I can't figure out which one it was – I distinctly remember Mirella Freni (because I knew who she was) but the tenor was unknown to me or my teacher. I remember it being Luciano Pavarotti but that would've meant the 1969 recording and I graduated from high school in 1967, so...

Regardless, it will always stay with me as one of the most important musical experiences in my life.

(The illustration - left - is Mimi's costume from the original 1893 premiere production.)

Here's a sequence of video and audio clips from YouTube with the final scene from the first act: it begins with Rodolfo introducing himself to his newly discovered neighbor: "Who am I?" he sings, "I am a poet." She replies, in her aria, she's a seamstress who calls herself Mimì. Then, in a duet that closes the act, they have now fallen completely in love with each other.

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Rodolfo's Aria "Che gelida manina" sung by Luciano Pavarotti in his debut in 1961 (he was 25, then)

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Mimi's Aria "Mi chiamano Mimi" sung by Mirella Freni in a 1971 staging

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"O soave fanciulla" (Duet, End Act I) with Pavarotti & Freni (1969)

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By the time we get to that final scene, when Mimi returns to Rodolfo's garret and dies, I usually have a lump in my throat – sometimes, even from hearing just a bit of that music. While I was looking around YouTube for these clips, I found this one, and in a moment the tears began to well up – and that's just from hearing this excerpt. Now, granted, I know what's coming and I almost always have this reaction, so perhaps it is "conditioning" and even though I'm a pretty analytical kind of guy not prone to showing my emotions, it rarely fails to move me. There was even a performance one time – a touring company that came to Rochester – in which the Mimi was so bad, I told a friend after Act I, when I was ready to walk out, "she deserved to die" in the final act. However, I stayed and she improved through the rest of the opera. By the end, everything was so convincing, I was still in tears.

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The final moments of La Boheme, with Freni & Pavarotti, 1990:

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This is truly an ensemble opera that is helped by great singers but in the end it is Puccini's incredible touch with the music he gives these singers to create their characters, to underscore their emotions and define the dramatic (or comic) situations, that you realize Puccini knows how to push the right buttons.

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There was originally another act intended for the opera, between the hilarity of the 2nd Act's Christmas Eve celebrations in the Latin Quarter outside the Cafe Momus and the 3rd Act's stark emotions of broken hearts on a cold, snowy morning. While it might explain the transition between the first two acts' joi de vivre and the tragedy of the last two acts, it was probably wise of Puccini to leave it on the cutting room floor:

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Musetta's house – her 'protector' (presumably still Alcindoro, who was left footing the bill in Act II, unless she broke up with Marcello for somebody else, in between) has dropped her, refusing to pay any more rent on the place, so the furniture is being carried outside to be auctioned off in the morning. Regardless, the four young artists come by and decide they should have a party, sparing no expense for wine and having an orchestra. Musetta gives Mimi one of her beautiful gowns and introduces her to a Viscount and they dance a quadrille in the garden, arousing Rodolfo's jealousy. As dawn approaches, the furniture dealers arrive to cart everything off for the auction.
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Dramatically, the problem would be too much party music back-to-back, just following the rowdy scene outside the Cafe Momus. It explains the bitterness in the next act's bitter confrontations between Rodolfo and Mimi as well as Marcello and Musetta, as well as the reference Rodolfo makes at the start of Act IV – harking back to the very opening of the opera, two artists unable to create – to the Viscount. It also throws a slightly different light on the "entertainment" that follows, when the other bohemians return, Schaunard celebrating a sudden windfall by sharing food and drink with his friends during which they throw a dance (just among themselves) including a very sarcastic take-off of a quadrille which is suddenly interrupted by something more full-blooded, a fandango!

So this "missing act" would either have made these elements redundant or, quite possibly, they were incorporated into the last act instead. Either way, it shows Puccini's hand at theatricality: the sudden intrusion of Musetta with the seriously ill Mimi at the end of the dance sequence in Act IV is one of the most shocking transitions from comedy to tragedy in the turn of a page.

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Full disclosure - two characters in my novel, The Lost Chord (a spoof of Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol) are named after arias from La Boheme -- there's a secret agent named Kaye Gelida Manina and a police officer who works on the Vice Squad named Wanda Menvaux...

- Dick Strawser

January's Masterworks: Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique"

2011-01-12T08:52:00.005-05:00

This weekend's concerts with the Harrisburg Symphony – Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg (with a pre-concert talk an hour before each performance) – features a young pianist, 16-year-old Yen Yu Chen, winner of the second Rodney & Lorna Sawatsky "Rising Stars" Concerto Competition, playing the Ravel Piano Concerto in G. The program opens with a relatively unknown work by a composer who was something of a "Rising Star" himself when he composed it, Miklós Rózsa, who would later become more famous for his award-winning film scores.

(My previous post was an introduction to both of these pieces.)

The second half of the program is one of those "war-horses" which most concert-goers should be quite familiar with, given the frequency it's performed and how much it is loved – Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 in B Minor, subtitled the "Pathétique."

It's a work that comes with a lot of emotional baggage – given the title, the tragic, heart-rending "finale" ("final" in more ways than one), and the fact the composer was dead nine days after he'd conducted its premiere – which gives rise to a whole raft of mythology that I'm not sure is historically accurate but (like the play and movie Amadeus, about Mozart's death) makes for great theater.

After I'd talked with conductor Stuart Malina about the program and this perception of the composer's death and the symphony's back-story, I thought I'd look into my collection of Tchaikovsky's letters (an old 1970s reprint of an edition first published twelve years after his death with commentary by his brother, Modést) to see what his state of mind was when he wrote it and I found it very surprising.

Most people assume he wrote it either fully aware he was dying (he was only aware of that, according to his brother, a few days before he died, not while he was composing what became his final symphony) or that he was so depressed as a result of writing it, he committed suicide after the premiere which most people believe was a failure (true, it wasn't that well received but it was no failure). Some believe the symphony was intended as his farewell or even a "symphonic suicide note."

Then there is his death, itself – did he commit suicide? Was he ordered to commit suicide by a tribunal of his fellow law-school alumni (to avoid scandal that would, by association, bring shame on them)? Did he knowingly drink a glass of unboiled water in the midst of a cholera epidemic?

When I started researching this (such as my research is – just compiling material that is already there), it turned into, unfortunately, a very long and detailed post which, if you wish to pursue it (and of course I would highly recommend it), you can read it in its entirety at my other blog, Thoughts on a Train.

But this post is just about the music. And in fact, I'm going to make my job easier here (and presumably yours) by letting Leonard Bernstein tell you about it.

This famous analysis of Tchaikovsky's 6th looks at "how the piece is put together," primarily from the composer's use of two rather primitive "germs" or ideas – the prominent use of scales both obvious and more subtly embedded within a melodic idea; and the interval of a Perfect 4th which is the foundation of the tonic-to-dominant harmonic motion that is the simplest of all chord progressions. Out of these seemingly simple building blocks, Tchaikovsky builds his themes, gives them background and continuity and yet also creates variety between the ideas and, depending on the variety of character in the music, between movements.

The symphony is in the basic four movements – this is what textbooks would call the "symphonic form." But what constitutes a "symphony" deals with more than just this four-movement structure – "symphonic" also indicates a certain amount of "development" of its musical ideas (themes or motives) which takes these ideas and expands them in some dramatic way into something perceivable as structure whether it's something you understand or just comprehend without realizing what the composer's doing with it.

The first movement, the longest, bears the brunt of the symphonic drama. Usually, this drama may simply be the contrast between "keys" or tonality, the first theme in one key, the next in another. This sense of drama is worked out in such a way, when things are restated, brought to a well-rounded conclusion, these themes are now in the same key.

With Tchaikovsky, this drama takes on a much more literal sense, more... well, "dramatic." High drama – tragedy – violence. The characters in Shakespeare's Midsummer Nights Dream have conflicts that are eventually resolved – this also is 'drama' – but the 'drama' of Hamlet is a whole different level, both emotionally and physically.

The middle movements are a kind of dramatic respite – a graceful "Waltz" that is in the very un-waltz-like meter of 5/4, not 3/4. The third movement, usually a minuet or scherzo to previous generations of symphony composers, is a wild and exciting March that usually leaves people applauding and cheering even though it's not the end of the symphony (it just sounds like it).

The final movement is the "odd-man-out." Usually, symphonies would end with something light-hearted or triumphant – a big finish, loud-and-fast, something that brings everything to a Happy Ending or at least a positive outcome. But here, Tchaikovsky places his slow movement (which should normally be the 2nd movement, maybe the 3rd) and not just any slow movement but one of the most tragic-sounding conclusions in the orchestral repertoire.

Here is Leonard Bernstein talking about how the composer creates this music which fills these pages with the sounds we will hear as Tchaikovsky's final symphony:

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Part 2

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Part 3

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From a mildly technical stand-point (and musicians and specialists in music theory or composition can get even more technical until your eyes would glaze over in complete boredom), this is how Tchaikovsky puts the elements of his symphony together, to create what you hear and what becomes a dramatic, emotional musical statement that then leads us to want to interpret what that "means."

The problem is, music is abstract – it can be just notes on a page or about the balance of form and structural technique. Music can also imply emotional responses – happy, sad, dramatic, tense, relieved – but by itself it can't tell a story.

Music that suggests a story is called "program music" (or as the British spell it, "programme"), meaning the music is "about" some narrative that may have tunes or elements that suggest characters or plot elements that may or may not unfold the way the story does. Tchaikovsky's own Romeo and Juliet Overture doesn't follow the chronological details of Shakespeare's play but it does give you a few basic character sketches, underscores a few key dramatic points (the lovers, the duel, their deaths). You could never listen to this music and think it's about a day at the beach (well, unless your day at the beach had a very unhappy conclusion).

Tchaikovsky told his friends there is a program behind this last symphony of his – he even called it (working title) "A Program Symphony" – but he refused to tell anyone what it was. To his nephew (to whom he'd dedicated the work), he wrote "Let them figure it out."

And ever since, listeners have been taking the details of his death, so soon after completing it, and coming up with "what it means" (to them).

"What it means" is very elusive especially since nowhere did the composer leave any insights into his program.

Like his earlier two symphonies, the 6th also fits into a type of symphony that depicts Man's Struggle with Fate – that much might seem obvious, especially from the use of a "Fate Motive" (or theme) that occurs throughout the entire work. This, we know, is how Beethoven viewed his own 5th Symphony: a struggle in the 1st movement, some respite in the middle movements, before the struggle is resolved triumphantly in the finale. This is the same "plan" Tchaikovsky used in his 4th and 5th Symphonies.

But in the 6th, the struggle with Fate is different. Anyone who's read Tolstoy's War and Peace might hear one of the Imperial Balls in Tchaikovsky's 2nd movement and one of the epic battle scenes in his 3rd. And while the struggle of the 1st movement could be personal (who would not mistake that gorgeous lyrical theme for anything but a Love Theme straight out of "Romeo & Juliet" or perhaps between Tolstoy's characters Natasha and Prince Andrei?), the outcome is not triumphant: not every hero survives his battle. Perhaps in the last movement, Tchaikovsky was thinking of that great scene where Prince Andrei is lying on the battlefield (given that 3rd Movement), wounded and near death, in fact believing he is dying – and later, dies in one of this epic novel's most personal moments.

Or maybe not.

If Tchaikovsky had lived a few more years, composed a few more pieces, people would never think of this music as his own personal struggle with his demons or that he was envisioning his own death (sooner than later).

Rather than depressing him, it actually elated him – primarily because he had thought himself "burned-out," no longer able to create anything great (or even good). He was convinced this symphony was his greatest work, so far, and his reservations about the last movement were more from the audience reaction rather than any misgivings about his own confidence.

If he was thinking about War and Peace (we have no idea he was or wasn't), why not just say "Yes, you got it, that's it!" Obviously the "program" behind this music is also very personal – or possibly so trivial that it would lessen the impact of the music on the listener's emotions. We might assume Beethoven's 5th is about his struggle to overcome his deafness but what if Tchaikovsky's 6th was about his struggle to deal with his own homosexuality in a country where simply being homosexual was punishable by imprisonment and exile to Siberia? And why, then, end the symphony in "defeat"?

No one can answer these questions. But you can listen to the music and appreciate it on whatever level you want: what was going through the composer's mind to write such incredibly emotional music or how he put together such a long work with such simple basic building blocks like scales and intervals?

Here is what I consider one of the finest recordings ever made of Tchaikovsky's Pathetique with Evgenny Mravinsky conducting the Leningrad Philharmonic in a 1960 recording that (as I recall) was made while they were on tour in London. The drama is more intense, the March is more hair-raising, the finale sounds like everyone was weeping in grief and despair by the end.

(Since there is no "video" in this video, you could listen to the performance here, and download the full score here to follow along.)

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1st mvmt

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1st Mvmt beginning w/Development Section (alas, the break here destroys one of the symphony's most shockingly dramatic moments)

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2nd Mvmt

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3rd Mvmt

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4th Mvmt

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Perhaps, for some, it's a bit over-the-top, but personally, I think that was Tchaikovsky - and to me this makes the music come (ironically) more alive than anything.

- Dick Strawser

January & the New Year: Catch a Rising Star!

2011-01-10T10:40:00.006-05:00

Wishing you a Happy New Year full of health, happiness and prosperity in 2011, I'm here to tell you a little about this weekend's program with the Harrisburg Symphony, called "Catch a Rising Star" – Saturday, January 15th at 8pm, Sunday January 16th at 3pm, at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg.

(Read articles in the Harrisburg Patriot-News and the Carlisle Sentinal.)

That title certainly applies to the soloist on the program, Yen Yu Chen, who was 15 when she won the second Rodney & Lorna Sawatsky "Rising Stars" Concerto Competition almost a year ago, held at Messiah College. She'll be playing the Ravel Piano Concerto in G Major on a program that also includes the very-well-known Tchaikovsky 6th Symphony and a very-little-known work by the Hungarian-born composer, Miklós Rózsa.

The idea of a "rising star" could apply to Rózsa who wrote his "Theme, Variations & Finale" when he was 26, four years after graduating from the Leipzig Conservatory, before he became the famous composer of Oscar-winning and -nominated film scores which overshadowed his "concert" music.

Rózsa was born in Budapest in 1907 (the year Ravel composed his "Rapsodie espagnole" and fourteen years after Tchaikovsky's death). His mother was a classical pianist who had studied with students of Franz Liszt. His father, a successful businessman, had an interest in folk music. Rozsa began playing the violin when he was 5 and composing by the time he was 8. But he grew up not caring much for life in Budapest and ended up moving to Leipzig, the city we associate with Bach. Rózsa studied at the conservatory that Mendelssohn had founded and where Robert and Clara Schumann had once taught, a bastion of the German legacy.

Curiously, while Hungarian folk music was a very strong part of his "classical" style, he also had a firm grounding in a more structured Germanic approach to music.

After publishing his first works, he graduated from the conservatory in 1929, staying on as his teacher's assistant before the French organist and composer Marcel Dupre suggested he move to Paris which he did in 1932. The following year, he composed the "Theme, Variations & Finale" for orchestra. The title reminds me of those improvisations French organists like Dupre or Cesar Franck were so famous for, given a theme to improvise on in several subsequent variations before ending with some grand-scale finale, often a fugue.

Rózsa later mentioned that the theme had come to him while on a boat-ride down the Danube River – I'm assuming the stretch of this very long river that flows through Germany to the Black Sea as it passes through Budapest. However, many of his most Hungarian-sounding works were composed long after he left Budapest behind him, to live in Leipzig, Paris, London and then Hollywood.

Thirty-three years later, In 1966, Rózsa reworked the piece, expanding the orchestration, republishing it as Op.13a. It's the revised version you'll hear with the Harrisburg Symphony this weekend.

The work is one of Rózsa's few "concert works" to be heard in concert halls today – there are concertos for violin, viola, cello and piano, all of which deserve to be heard, as well – but one notable appearance of his "Theme, Variations & Finale" was on a program that marked the debut of another rising star, a young conductor named Leonard Bernstein.

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In a concert about "Rising Stars," you could argue the other two composers were already well established in their careers and in fact at the end of their careers.

Both of Ravel's piano concertos and Tchaikovsky's last completed symphony were among their very last works.

Ravel completed his G Major Piano Concerto in 1931 (he interrupted work on the G Major to compose one for Paul Wittgenstein who'd lost his right arm fighting in World War I) and the following year – October, 9th, 1932 – he received a serious blow to the head (perhaps a concussion) in a taxi accident that was regarded at the time as nothing very serious. However, shortly afterward, Ravel found it impossible to compose and sometimes became very absent-minded and within a few years began exhibiting symptoms of dementia. Later, it was determined he had suffered a serious brain injury as a result of that accident. In 1937, he underwent brain surgery, recovered briefly but died shortly afterward.

Tchaikovsky conducted the world premiere of his 6th Symphony which he had first thought calling "Tragic" (rejected because Brahms, his antithesis, had already written a "Tragic Overture") before deciding on the French term Pathétique (which has so many more subtle meanings). There has been so much speculation about the symphony's "meaning" and how the composer died, but suffice it to say ("just the facts, ma'am") that the work's second performance took place three weeks later at a memorial concert: Tchaikovsky died nine days after the Pathétique's premiere.

(I'll include Tchaikovsky's 6th in a separate post – stay tuned!)

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Maurice Ravel, perhaps best known for the insistent repetitions of his most popular work, Bolero, had a fascination for clock-work mechanisms, things we might normally call "toys." This toy-like world features strongly in works like his L'Enfant et les sortilèges where a child's toys come to life (before there was "Toy Story") which he completed four years before beginning his piano concertos.

Though we often think of composers' – or any artists' – creativity being divinely inspired, Ravel was very direct about it. He had just finished his Piano Trio, he once wrote to a friend – the only thing left was to add the notes. This may seem contrary to popular perception – that melody comes first and form later – but here is what Ravel said specifically about the G Major Piano Concerto.

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The G-major Concerto took two years of work, you know. The opening theme came to me on a train between Oxford and London. But the initial idea is nothing. The work of chiseling then began. We’ve gone past the days when the composer was thought of as being struck by inspiration, feverishly scribbling down his thoughts on a scrap of paper. Writing music is seventy-five percent an intellectual activity.
– M. Ravel
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It had been Ravel's plan to perform the premiere himself but he was unable to because of overwork and fatigue (some sources I've seen argue for this being the result of that accident in the taxi, but the premieres of the concerto took place in January and (in the USA) in April of 1932, the accident occurring in October that year). His friend Marguerite Long, to whom he later dedicated the concerto, gave it its world premiere in Paris with Ravel conducting. The first performances in America took place simultaneously in Philadelphia and Boston on April 22, 1932 (and I've seen in writing that Marguerite Long performed both of those as well – quite a feat, in itself!).

Ravel is often lumped together with Debussy as an "Impressionist," a pigeon-hole that is not very accurate for the entirety of either composer's careers. If anything, Ravel might be more of a "neo-classicist" who found inspiration in the past (for instance, Le Tombeau de Couperin evoking the 18th Century world of France's musical past) as well as in the exotic (the Balinese gamelan that inhabits the "Empress of the Pagodas" movement from Mother Goose). A very important part of Ravel's eclectic influences is American Jazz which was all the rage in Paris in the Roaring '20s.

George Gershwin was a friend of his. In the photograph taken on Ravel's birthday in 1928 while on an American tour, that's Gershwin on the far right, close to the vase of flowers. That's Ravel, with his ever-present cigarette, sitting at the piano.

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The most captivating part of jazz is its rich and diverting rhythm. ...Jazz is a very rich and vital source of inspiration for modern composers and I am astonished that so few Americans are influenced by it.
– M. Ravel
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Keep in mind Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue," intended as a cross-over between Jazz and Classical, was performed in 1924, only four years before Ravel's American tour and only five years before Ravel began work on this concerto. Perhaps because of his eclecticism, soaking up Spanish, Asian as well as 18th Century influences, Ravel was less concerned about "crossing-over" than many Americans at the time, where there was a distinct cultural separation between what was popular and was considered "culture."

Here's Leonard Bernstein playing – and conducting – Ravel's Piano Concerto in G Major. It begins with a whip crack (the opening idea, remember, Ravel said came to him while riding a train) – the slow movement evokes the harmonies and style of Mozart – and the last movement is a Jazz romp (where else would you hear the squeal of a clarinet, the roar of a trombone and a blast from the trumpets but in Jazz? – all in the first thirty seconds of Ravel's finale).

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First Movement

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Second Movement

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Third Movement

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I'll post something about Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony in a separate post.

- Dick Strawser

A Video-Chat with Stuart Malina about the November Concert

2010-11-05T18:01:00.005-04:00

The season seems like it just got started and yet here it is, November already, and 2010's almost over! Where does the time go?

It's time for the second Masterworks concert – Saturday Nov. 13th at 8pm and Sunday Nov. 14th at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg – which will feature internationally renowned guitarist Sharon Isbin playing the Rodrigo Concierto de Aranjuez on a program that includes two 5th Symphonies - one by Schubert, the other by Sibelius.

There's a pre-concert talk with Truman Bullard an hour before each concert and then after each performance, conductor Stuart Malina will host a "talk-back session" with the soloist during which the audience can ask any questions they want about the music or the performers.

The other day, Stuart and I had a chance to sit down and chat about the concert.

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The Rodrigo Concerto is usually considered THE Guitar Concerto, in addition to being one of the most popular concertos (for any instrument) from the 20th Century. The music is undeniably delightful, from the scintillating opening to the joyous dance-like finale, not to forget one of the most soulfully gorgeous slow movements in between.

Yet it was written at one of the most anxiety-filled times in 20th Century history: the horrors of the Spanish Civil War (in which it is estimated 500,000 people died) were just ending, even though they would haunt the nation for decades to come, and the clouds of the 2nd World War were already gathering on the horizon, with Hitler's invasion of Poland happening only a couple of months after Rodrigo completed his sunny, pastoral concerto.

Here is "an audio" of Sharon Isbin playing the opening movement of Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez that was posted on YouTube (there's a live performance but the sound quality is not very good): though uncredited, I'm assuming this is her Teldec recording with José Serebrier conducting the New York Philharmonic (the photo image is cover-art from a different recording).
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(This link will take you to raw video footage of a live performance recorded in the Church of St. Francis in Assisi, Italy, with the opening section of the concerto's slow movement. The sound's not too bad even if the filming is a bit amateurish – it'll give you an idea of what you'll hear, though.)

Rodrigo's title, by the way, refers to a famous royal palace that had been built by Philip II, the great Spanish king during the 16th Century, on a site originally chosen by Ferdinand and Isabella. From the late 19th Century, it had served as the "spring residence" of the Spanish royal family.

Rodrigo composed the work while living in Paris in 1939, far from the fighting in Spain physically, but never far away from his mind. During this horrible time in Spain's modern history, then, it might be easy to understand why Rodrigo would want to remind people of their nation's glorious past. There would also be a not very subtle reminder of Spain's royal heritage, following the Civil War and the establishment of Franco's dictatorship.

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In that sense, the Sibelius 5th Symphony also comes from an anxious time. Finland was still part of the Russian Empire, longing for independence, and the 1st World War had already begun to tear across Europe, called by some "The Great War" (more for its sense of almost universal involvement) and by others "The War to End All Wars" (which, alas, proved not to be true).

Again, like the Rodrigo, this is nothing you'd guess from hearing the music.

As I mention in the video-chat, Sibelius (seen right, in 1918) wrote this for his own 50th Birthday celebrations originally in 1915 but he revised it a couple of times over the next three years. So basically it occupied him for the duration of the war.

While the war may not have made any imprint on this symphony, there is one thing we know about that did inspire something in it: the great sweeping bell-like theme in the horns near the beginning of the last movement (about 1:25 into the video clip below). Sibelius described how one afternoon, his work was disturbed by the sound of swans nearby. When he went outside to see what was happening, he saw sixteen great swans take off and fly across the sky past him. This was such a striking moment and it ended up being turned into a striking musical moment as well.

Here is the Swedish Radio Symphony conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen in the final movement of Sibelius' Symphony No. 5:
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(Listen especially to the build-up of tension beginning around 8:00, as this "swan-call" motive is stretched all over the place before resolving into one of the most dramatic silences in symphonic music at 9:39.)

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Schubert's 5th Symphony would hardly seem tied to any such historical significance, yet it was written during the heady times following a generation of Napoleonic warfare. (Perhaps he still remembered being a student in 1809 when a French bomb narrowly missed the school where he was attending classes.) Between 1814-1815, Europe's crowned heads and diplomats gathered in Vienna to redivide the continent following Napoleon's defeat. The following summer, a 19-year-old Franz Schubert wrote his Symphony No. 5.

Usually, when we think of "Fifth Symphonies," we think of Beethoven's Fifth with its famous "Fate-Knocks-at-the-Door" motive and its depiction of triumph over adversity. Beethoven completed his 5th around 1806 and it was premiered two years later, when Schubert was 11.

So what did Schubert (left) think of his famous contemporary?

Keep in mind, around that time, he was studying with Antonio Salieri who had been one of the most important composers in Vienna during the earlier part of his career (the rivalry with Mozart aside: good theater, not the most accurate history – but yes, they were on opposite sides of the musical fence).

On June 16th, 1816, Schubert attended a celebration for his former teacher, honoring the 50th Anniversary of Salieri's arrival in Vienna. That night, Schubert made one of his rare journal entries, thinking how "fine and enlivening it must be" for an artist of Salieri's stature to be surrounded by so many of his students and hear music they had composed in his honor:

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"...to hear in all these compositions the expression of pure nature, free from all the eccentricity that is common among most composers nowadays, and is due almost wholly to one of our greatest German artists [i.e., Beethoven]; that eccentricity which combines and confuses the tragic with the comic, the agreeable with the repulsive, heroism with howlings and that which is most holy with harlequinades, without distinction, so as to goad people to madness instead of soothing them with love, to incite them to laughter instead of lifting them up to God."
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That was Schubert at 19 on Beethoven – who had recently completed his 7th and 8th Symphonies.

That statement was written in mid-June. Schubert began his 5th Symphony sometime during September of that year and completed it on October 3rd. (Incidentally, though it was played once by one of those amateur "reading-orchestras" Schubert played in, it was not heard publicly until 57 years later, 45 years after the composer died.)

Now, Schubert's attitude toward Beethoven certainly changed later – and not much later. The imprint of Beethoven's influence is all over Schubert's search for the grand symphonic form we hear in his Unfinished and Great C Major Symphonies, in the final string quartets, the String Quintet and the last several piano sonatas. But at the age of 19, not so much.

Here's the first movement of Schubert's "anti-Beethoven" Symphony No. 5 with Gunther Wand (who was around 80 when he recorded this) conducting a North German music festival orchestra:
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As Stuart mentioned in our conversation, this music may have been created in trying times but the composers managed to transcend them. We're certainly living in trying times ourselves when many people are concerned about national and international politics, our economic or physical well-being and certainly the state of the arts, not just in our country. Whether this music gives you the opportunity to put aside these concerns for a moment and 'escape' from reality or whether it refreshes your soul and inspires you to realize that we have managed to survive in the past, it still gives us an opportunity to see beauty in things around us when sometimes we wonder if it will ever exist again.

- Dick Strawser

The First Podcast of the New Season! Pulling Out All the Stops!

2010-09-30T17:01:00.000-04:00

Ta-daaah! The first pod-cast of the new season -- now with VIDEO -- as Stuart and I talk about the Harrisburg Symphony concert he'll be conducting this weekend - you can read more about the music on the program, here.

And join us either Saturday, Oct. 2nd at 8pm or Sunday, Oct. 3rd at 3pm at the Forum at 5th & Market Streets in Harrisburg!

Thanks to Marketing Director Kim Isenhour for filming and editing our conversation!

-- Dr. Dick

Pulling Out All the Stops: The New Season Begins!

2010-09-30T13:25:00.008-04:00

The New Season begins! The first concert of the Harrisburg Symphony's Masterworks Series is this weekend at the Forum – Saturday (Oct. 2nd) at 8pm and Sunday (Oct. 3rd) at 3pm. Stuart Malina conducts a program that includes four works – beginning with Stokowski's orchestration of Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor, originally for organ, two works for piano and orchestra – the Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise by Frederic Chopin and the Piano Concerto by Keith Emerson, both with pianist Jeffrey Biegel (left) – and the Symphony No. 3 by Camille Saint-Saëns, known as "The Organ Symphony." Small wonder, given the keyboard connections, the entire concert is called "Pulling Out All the Stops."

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One of the most famous organ pieces of all time is Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor. When audiences couldn't hear the great works of Bach in most concert halls – for lack of suitable instruments in those days – this music was fair game for arrangers to adapt them for the orchestra. And one of the most famous of these was the one made by the conductor Leopold Stokowski. It was this work, with Stokowski conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra, that opened Walt Disney's 1940 film classic, Fantasia.

The Disney animators took classical music and "accompanied" them with animations, long before the days of MTV and pop song videos. In some cases, the music "told a story," so the film interpreted that story. But in Bach's case, there was no "story," the music isn't "about" something – it's just abstract music about music. And so Disney used it as a light show to showcase the conductor and the orchestra as well as using geometric shapes (often inspired by the instruments playing at the moment) and abstract designs that might make you wonder what these guys were smoking in the animation room.

Here's a clip from the opening of Fantasia with Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor.
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(Unfortunately, the famous moment when Bugs Bunny dashes up to the podium, tugging on the maestro's coattails ("Mr. Stokowski! Mr. Stokowski!") is not included in this clip...)

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There are two works on the program, featuring guest artist Jeffrey Biegel (left) who's played Rachmaninoff's 3rd Concerto as well as Billy Joel's Piano Concerto in past seasons. On this visit, he'll play works by Chopin and Emerson.

This year marks the 200th Anniversary of the birth of Frederic Chopin, the great Polish-born composer and pianist who wrote almost exclusively for the piano. After trying to play back tunes he'd hear his mother play on the piano, then making up a few of his own, he finally was given his first lessons when he was 6 years old and gave his first concert the following year, when he wrote his first "official" compositions, two polonaises.

By the time he was 20. he had written two piano concertos but, after settling in Paris, decided he was not cut out for the life of a traveling virtuoso like his friend Franz Liszt. In fact, his nerves could barely stand performing in public at all, and most of his concerts were held in intimate salons.

The short work included on this concert is really a combination of two works. The Grande Polonaise was written first, almost immediately after the concertos as he was setting out on a career, having left Poland following Poland's failed 1830 uprising against Russian rule. Now in Paris – his father had been a French soldier who stayed behind in Poland during the Napoleonic era – Chopin was frequently homesick. The polonaise is a stately dance from Poland and spoke of a by-gone age to the many emigres who'd left their country (or what was left of it) behind.

A few years later, Chopin composed one of his long-lined nocturne-like piano solos which he called "Andante spianato" (spianato means smooth, perhaps in the sense of the unruffled surface of a lake though "spinning" would work here as well, intended or not). He decided to preface the Grande Polonaise, which he felt started too abruptly, with this calmer andante, joining the two with a fanfare in the horns. Later, he also arranged the Polonaise for piano quartet (so it could be played by an amateur pianist with a few string players in the parlor – the 19th Century amateur market for household concerts like this was a major staple for composers' incomes – and eventually for solo piano as well.

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Keith Emerson was a prodigy as well, starting to play the piano at 4 but only taking a few years of lessons when he was 8. He's best known as the pianist for the English 1970s rock band, Emerson Lake & Palmer.

His Piano Concerto No. 1 was written in 1977 for the groups' "return" album following a short hiatus, and Emerson recorded it with the London Philharmonic conducted by John Mayr (who helped him with the orchestration). Emerson wrote it "was born out of a series of variations inspired by the English countryside, paricularly the home I had at that time, which was grand early Tudor and formerly owned by Sir James Barrie (author of Peter Pan). An annex to the main house presented a huge barn studio, where my nine-foot Steinway concert grand awaited, always demanding attention I could not resist. The piano's sonorities would ring out, inspiring me while attracting wild birds to nest in the beams. I incorporated many techniques into the Concerto, such as a twelve-tone scale with Baroque ideas in fugal style. Presented in traditional form, the work tells a story of nature's cycle – its joy, its destruction and, in the block chords of the third movement, its optimistic triumph."

Jeffrey Biegel, who played a concerto arranged from some of the short pieces "in classical style" by Billy Joel a few seasons ago with the Harrisburg Symphony, returns with this bona fide concerto by Keith Emerson which he'd heard on that initial 1977 recording and which wasn't getting any performances. He contacted the composer and worked with him to bring it back to the public's awareness.

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update: be sure to read Jeffrey's comment, posted below!
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By the way, this is not the first time music from Emerson Lake & Palmer appeared on a Harrisburg Symphony program: a few seasons ago, a new trombone concerto by Scott McAllister called "Tarkus" was given its world premiere by HSO principal trombonist Brent Phillips. The concerto was inspired by ELP's half-tank/half-armadillo creation, Tarkus.

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Camille Saint-Saëns began taking piano lessons when he was 2 years old, after it was discovered he had perfect pitch. (I guess that would classify him as a child prodigy.) He wrote his first composition when he was 3 and he was still composing when he died at the age of 86. So that means he had an 83-year-long career as a composer.

Like most composers, Saint-Saëns earned a living (and quite a reputation) as an organist as well as a concert pianist. For 20 years, he was the organist at the Madeleine Church in Paris where, in 1866, Franz Liszt heard him improvise and pronounced him "the greatest organist in the world." 20 Years later, Franz Liszt died and Saint-Saëns dedicated his newly completed 3rd Symphony to his memory.

The Symphony No. 3 in C Minor is usually called simply "The Organ Symphony" though the composer's original title "Symphony No. 3 in C Minor, "with Organ" is more realistic. It's not a concerto though it's got a very prominent part to play. It's heard only in the slow movement and the finale, but it does tend to be memorable when it stands out.

Technically, the organ is only part of the orchestra. But the orchestra for this symphony also calls for two pianists at one piano (a four-hand piano duet) which has by comparison a lesser role to play. It is also scored for "triple woodwinds" which means, usually, 2 Flutes & 1 Piccolo, 2 Oboes & 1 English Horn, 2 Clarinets & 1 Bass Clarinet, and 2 Bassoons and 1 Contrabassoon, including the usual 4 horns, 3 trumpets and 3 trombones. (If you want to see a really full stage, come to hear Mahler's 3rd Symphony next April which uses quadruple winds (actually, 5 clarinet players) and brass (with 8 horns).

Even though Saint-Saëns said this symphony was in two movements – with an actual break only in the middle – each half breaks into two parts itself, all of which corresponds to the traditional four-movement symphonic plan. The first half consists of a dramatic fast opening movement (after a mysterious, slow introduction), followed by a lyrical slow movement; the scherzo and finale are connected for the second half.

The organist for this weekend's performance with the Harrisburg Symphony will feature Eric Riley, organist at Harrisburg's Market Square Presbyterian Church. Eric frequently joins the orchestra as a member of the orchestra - this time, he gets the Saint-Saëns Spotlight.

Here's a series of video clips from YouTube with the complete Saint-Saëns' Third Symphony performed at a BBC Proms Concert with the Radio France Philharmonic conducted by Myung-Whun Chung. The organist in this performance is Olivier Latry.

Part 1: "1st Movement" Adagio; Allegro moderato
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Part 1: "2nd Movement" Poco Adagio
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Part 2: "3rd Movement" Scherzo
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Part 2: "4th Movement" Finale
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I remember the first performance of the then new Forum Organ with the Harrisburg Symphony. Edwin McArthur conducted and Paul Calloway, the organist of the National Cathedral, played Samuel Barber's Toccata Festiva. Now, my archive of concerts and repertoire is out on loan at the moment, so I can't check the date or what the other piece was on the program – I suspect it was the Saint-Saëns "Organ" Symphony, what else? – but it was an exciting concert and Harrisburg was very happy to have the instrument.

The console (the keyboard and casing of the instrument which the organist plays) was actually housed in the Forum's pit – back in the days when there was a pit. This was later covered over to expand the stage not just to accommodate a larger orchestra but to improve the acoustics by getting the strings out from under the proscenium arch. So the organ was then moved into a special "cave" built behind the stage which had been used to store stands and chairs and things (mostly "things") and unfortunately, over the years, the instrument was not used very often and began to deteriorate.

As orchestra manager for the symphony in the '80s, I remember dealing with renovations to the instrument and using it for several performances, including the Saint-Saëns as well as less conspicuous parts in works like Richard Strauss' "Also sprach Zarathustra" and Mahler's "Resurrection" Symphony. The organ console would be rolled out from it's cave, the long umbelical cord (the hose for the instrument's air-supply and wiring) snaking across the stage under chairs and risers. Each time, I needed to admonish the musicians not to step, trip or fall on this hose because even the slightest puncture could render the instrument breathless, not something that could be easily fixed. The other problem was tuning the instrument which is quite an undertaking, needing to check and adjust each of the pipes – and there are 3,481 of them! Being in tune with itself is a problem for an instrument that was not kept under regular care, but one time when the organ was scheduled to be played in a concert, it was found its intonation was too low for the orchestra to adjust to and there was no time to have the organ properly tuned (an electric instrument was brought in, instead).

But now it has been refurbished again and it's ready to roll!

"Pulling Out All the Stops," indeed!

Tickets for the New 2010-2011 Season

2010-09-01T14:47:00.001-04:00

The Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra proudly offers Live Music in Real Time!

The Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra, led by Maestro Stuart Malina, proudly announces its 2010/11 season performance schedule. The season titled Live Music in Real Time features seven Masterworks concerts, four Capital BlueCross Pops Series, as well as five special events, including the annual “Stuart & Friends” concert; Picture Yourself in Paris…at the Moulin Rouge, a special fund-raising event; Harrisburg Symphony Youth Orchestra Holiday Spectacular; The Little Dragon, the first of a new Family series; and the reunion of the HSO and the Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet for the annual CPYB performances of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker ™ at the Hershey Theatre.

Both the Masterworks and Capital BlueCross Pops series offer subscription packages. The Pops series offers a Full Season subscription to the four concerts and the Masterworks series is available in four packages including Full Season, “Flex 3” and “Flex 4” subscriptions.

In addition to a discount of up to 39% off single ticket prices, season subscribers enjoy reserved seating at the Forum and a subscription to the Fanfare newsletter. Season subscribers also qualify for the Symphony’s very liberal exchange policy allowing them the opportunity to exchange tickets for a different performance date or return unused tickets for a tax credit. Ticket exchanges and returns must be handled by the Symphony Box Office at least 24 hours prior to the concert.

The Harrisburg Symphony is proud to continue “Get Hooked on the Classics,” the specially priced new subscriber program launched during the 2007-08 season. The program offers a 50% discount off the regular subscription rate to anyone who has never subscribed to the Masterworks Full Season. There are seven seating areas to choose from, presenting options for every budget.

The “Sound Foundation” program also continues to introduce students to classical music. Students (kindergarten through 12th grade) accompanied by their parents or teachers are eligible to purchase the Full Masterworks series for only $27! The “Sound Foundation” program is a part of Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra’s ongoing commitment to fostering a love of live classical music in our community’s youth. This program is valid for sections 101 and 103 of the Forum.

Please visit HarrisburgSymphony.org for more information or call the office at (717)545-5527 to subscribe.
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MASTERWORKS

PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS October 2-3

The HSO kicks off the 2010/11 Season with a sonic festival of keyboards... piano and organ. Special guest pianist Jeffrey Biegel has an electrifying technique and mesmerizing touch that have received critical acclaim and praise worldwide. The evening concludes with special guest Eric Riley and a rare chance to hear the Forum’s 3,841-pipe organ in all its magnificent glory for the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony”

Bach/Stokowski: Toccata & Fugue in D Minor
Chopin: Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante
Keith Emerson: Piano Concerto No. 1
(both with Jeffrey Biegel, Piano)
Saint-Saëns: Symphony No. 3 "Organ Symphony" (with organist Eric Riley)
(In Memory of David A. Elias, Jr. and Marie Graupner Elias)

SHARON ISBIN PLAYS RODRIGO November 13-14

Acclaimed for her extraordinary lyricism, technique and versatility, Grammy Award winner Sharon Isbin has been hailed as one of the leading classical guitarists of our time. She joins the HSO for a performance of Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez, one of the most popular concertos of all time.

Schubert: Symphony No. 5
Rodrigo: Concierto de Aranjuez (with Sharon Isbin, Guitar)
Sibelius: Symphony No. 5

CATCH A RISING STAR January 15-16

Twenty-five contestants from seven states participated in the second Rodney & Lorna Sawatsky Rising Stars Concerto Competition at Messiah College on January 22-23, 2010. Walking away with top honors was 15-year-old pianist Yen Yu Chen from Philadelphia. Ms. Chen, a student at the Curtis Institute of Music, will perform the Piano Concerto in G by Maurice Ravel.

Rozsa: Theme, Variations & Finale
Ravel: Piano Concerto in G (with Yen Yu Chen, Piano)
(Guest Artist Sponsor: Messiah College)
Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 "Pathetique"

LA BOHÈME IN CONCERT February 26-27

La Bohème may be the world’s most popular opera, and for good reason - it’s the quintessential portrait of romance, high-spirited friendship, and the idealistic pursuit of love and art. (Sung in Italian with English Supertitles.)

Puccini: La Bohème
-Inna Dukach as Mimi
-Dinyar Vania as Rodolfo
-Jane Redding as Musetta
-Grant Youngblood as Marcello
-Susquehanna Chorale; Linda Tedford, Conductor
-Harrisburg Singers; Susan Beckley, Artistic Director

SYMPHONIC REVELATIONS March 26-27

Join long-time friends Bach and Beethoven, and our very own Julius Wirth, for an intimate dalliance with life, dance, elegance, and reminiscence. Bach’s Suite No. 3 is a wonderful set of French dances that surround what is possibly one of the most beautiful, most beloved melodies of all time – the Air on the G String. While Beethoven might often be considered brooding and restless, in his Symphony No. 8 we meet the other Beethoven – one who proves to be a happy, gentle, and quite lively companion.

Bach: Orchestral Suite No. 3
Lukas: Viola Concerto (with Julius Wirth, Viola)
Ives: The Unanswered Question
Beethoven: Symphony No. 8

MAHLER'S MAJESTIC LANDSCAPES April 16-17

Mahler’s Third Symphony was conceived as a musical portrait of the natural world. Mahler was inspired by the grandeur around him and stirred at a profoundly deep, emotional level.

Mahler: Symphony No. 3
(with Women of the Messiah College Concert Choir; Linda Tedford, Conductor
Susquehanna Children's Chorale; Judith Shepler, Conductor)
(Sponsored by the Glatfelter Family Foundation)

BRAHMS BRAHMS BRAHMS! May 14-15

A night of Brahms kicks off with the Brahms Fan-Fare, arranged by our own Maestro Stuart Malina. Brahms’ only violin concerto features HSO Concertmaster Odin Rathnam in his 20th season with the HSO. This concert concludes with the Symphony No. 1, a remarkable and impressive achievement that was the result of a fourteen-year gestation period, and established Johannes Brahms as the leading German symphonist of his generation.

Malina: Brahms Fan-Fare
Brahms: Violin Concerto (with Odin Rathnam, Violin)
Brahms: Symphony No. 1
(Sponsored by The Hall Foundation)

CAPITAL BLUECROSS POPS

MANCINI & MOONLIGHT October 30-31

Take a stroll down lover’s lane with this program full of dancing and romancing as guest artists Teri Dale Hansen and Nat Chandler join the HSO. Be swept away by lush arrangements of “Moon River,” “The Days Of Wine And Roses,” “Dear Heart,” “Charade,” and orchestral favorites such as “The Baby Elephant Walk,” “Peter Gunn,” “The Pink Panther,” and “Victor Victoria.”

SIMPLY SWINGIN' with Sinatra & Friends - January 29-30

The HSO joins Steve Lippia with a romantic repertoire of timeless classics. Hear the biggest hits of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Bobby Darin, Sammy Davis, Jr., and Nat King Cole in smooth, classic, velvety style! Enjoy great hits such as Beyond the Sea, Unforgettable, Mack the Knife, Almost Like Being in Love, On the Street Where You Live, What Kind of Fool Am I, Just in Time, The Good Life, and I Left My Heart in San Francisco.

DAVE BENNETT RETURNS March 12-13

Back by popular demand, clarinetist Dave Bennett brings his sextet and vocalist Carol McCartney back to Harrisburg with a new show saluting the biggest clarinet stars of all-time: Artie Shaw, Jimmy Dorsey, Acker Bilk, Pete Fountain, and Benny Goodman.

FRANC D'AMBROSIO'S BROADWAY April 30-May 1

Best known for his role in The Phantom of the Opera, Franc D’Ambrosio is “The World’s Longest Running Phantom,” having played the role over 3,000 times. His deep, rich tenor voice and flawless delivery will delight audiences with this revue of Broadway hits and love ballads performed with the HSO.

SPECIAL EVENTS

PICTURE YOURSELF IN PARIS ...at the MOULIN ROUGE - November 7

Immerse yourself in a night of Parisian ambiance with wonderful French Bistro cuisine, music, and art. Surrounded by strolling musicians, artists-in-progress, and can-can dancers, you can stroll the Champs-Élysées for our silent auction, and wander through Montmartre for our special event selections. After dinner, enjoy performances by special guests Edith Piaf and Mimi, from La Bohème, (accompanied by Stuart Malina )...and so much more! We hope we see you there.

C’est magnifique!

HOLIDAY SPECTACULAR - December 12

The Harrisburg Symphony Youth Orchestra and its new Music Director, Tara Simoncic, ring in the holiday season at this annual concert. The region’s brightest young musicians and high school choirs present a selection of exciting orchestral repertoire and holiday classics.

The Holiday Spectacular will be held at the Forum at 3PM with general admission tickets.

GEORGE BALANCHINE'S THE NUTCRACKER™ - December 18-19

Revel in the warmth of the season as Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet dances to the sounds and orchestration of the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra conducted by Stuart Malina . December 18th at 1 & 5 PM and December 19th at 2 PM at the Hershey Theatre.

STUART & FRIENDS - March 29

Maestro Malina’s reputation speaks for itself. Experience his energy, grace and skill in this special setting as Stuart and a select group of musicians from the HSO present this enchanting program. Stuart & Friends is underwritten by Marilynn R. Kanenson in memory of Dr. William Kanenson.

THE LITTLE DRAGON April 10

Irish melodies collide with eccentric characters and jaunty dances in the Tales & Scales’ beloved Musictelling adventure about caring, courage, and the power of the imagination. Tales & Scales Musictellers join the HSO and conductor Tara Simoncic in The Little Dragon! The Little Dragon will be held at the Mechanicsburg Middle School at 3 PM with general admission tickets.

GENERAL CONCERT INFORMATION
All Masterworks and Capital BlueCross Pops performances are at the Forum at 5th and Walnut in downtown Harrisburg . Saturday performances are at 8PM and Sunday performances are at 3PM. Each Masterworks Series concert features a pre-concert lecture that begins one hour prior to the performance. Special Events have varied locations, please see specific Special Event for the location and ticketing details.

STUART MALINA
Maestro Stuart Malina is one of America ’s most versatile and accomplished conductors. In a wide variety of concerts, from masterworks and grand opera to pops, Malina’s ease on the podium, engaging personality, and insightful interpretations have thrilled audiences and helped to break down the barriers between performer and listener wherever he has worked. Malina has been music director and conductor of the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra since June 2000.

Malina made his Carnegie Hall debut in February 2007 conducting a sold-out performance with the New York Pops in an all-Gershwin tribute including “Rhapsody in Blue,” which he conducted from the keyboard. He returned to Carnegie Hall on Oct. 26 to conduct the New York Pops in a salute to the golden era of Hollywood .

Malina won a Tony Award for orchestration with Billy Joel for the musical “Movin’ Out,” which Malina helped to create with director and choreographer Twyla Tharp. He is the music supervisor for both the National Tour and the London/European Tour of the show.

An accomplished concert pianist, Maestro Malina has impressive credits as a soloist, having performed in numerous concerts in the United States , the Netherlands , and with the acclaimed Piccolo Spoleto Contemporary Music Festival.

Additional information about Malina is available on his website at StuartMalina.com.

Tickets for performances at the Forum range from $10 to $55 depending on seat location and are available online at www.HarrisburgSymphony.org or by calling the HSO office (717) 545-5227. Subscription packages and single tickets are now available!

- Kim Isenhour, Marketing Director

A Jennifer Higdon Update

2010-08-26T16:10:00.000-04:00

If you remember the performance of Jennifer Higdon's Percussion Concerto with the Harrisburg Symphony in March of the 2007-2008 Season with our principal percussionist Chris Rose as soloist, consider this post “an update.”

The composer was so impressed with his playing, she arranged the orchestral part of the concerto for band – which Chris then premiered with his “other” ensemble, the United States Marine Band - The President's Own - on May 10, 2009.

Usually, you'd see Chris in the Forum, along with other members of the symphony, in “concert black” – white tie and tails for the men, black dresses for the women. Here's a photo taken after the premiere with Master Sergeant Christopher Rose with composer Jennifer Higdon (looking very civilian) and conductor Col. Michael Colburn following the premiere of the band version of Higdon's Percussion Concerto.

I've posted it here today (with Jennifer's permission) because she'd just posted it on Facebook, which she finally broke down and signed up for (yeah, there goes a lot of composing time, I bet...).

In past seasons with the Harrisburg Symphony, Stuart Malina has conducted several works by Jennifer Higdon – music aside, they were classmates at Curtis and were born a day apart – in addition to the Percussion Concerto, there was “blue cathedral” and, this past season, 'Skyline' from “CityScape.”

Earlier this year, Higdon won the Pulitzer Prize for Music for her Violin Concerto, composed for Hilary Hahn who then recorded the work for Deutsche Grammophone. In another post, I'd written about listening to the concerto when the Liverpool performance was broadcast on-line through the BBC last summer.

That recording will now be released on September 21st, 2010.

What If Musicians Hit Only 30% of Their Notes?

2010-08-23T14:21:00.001-04:00

As summer begins to fade into fall – pending the weather and whether or not you follow a calendar whose “New Year” is predetermined by the start of school – the symphony is getting ready for its new season and musicians (back from playing summer festivals) are finishing up a much-needed respite (what others may call “vacation”) before digging into the new season's repertoire.

While over at my blog, Thoughts on a Train, I've been working hard getting my music appreciation thriller, “The Lost Chord,” posted on the installment plan, I wanted to take this moment to post something here that's part of an on-going series on the topic you can find around the web, especially on You-Tube.

Given the budget cutting and meltdown of arts funding in the country today, a frequently asked question is "Why is music important in the public schools?"

If someone in your family is getting ready for school – or perhaps already back in the swing of academic things – here is something to ponder.

Normally, I am not one for sports analogies but I like how this one drives the point right across the plate.

How important is music in our schools? If you think sports are important – and they are – think about music this way:

A baseball players with a .300 batting average is considered (so I'm told) very good – in fact, even bordering on excellent (.400 being a nearly unachievable goal: even Babe Ruth had a career average of .342).

But that really means he's only hitting the ball 30% of the time, right?

Now, imagine if you were listening to the orchestra and they only hit 30% of the notes right.

When you go to a concert, you expect the musicians to hit one out of the park every time they pick up their instruments, much less at least make contact with the note.

And speaking academically, most students (and their parents) would be very happy to have a score of 95% on a math or history test. That's enough to be awarded an A, right?

Listen to this short clip (beginning around 2:50) to hear what a band of high school musicians would sound like if they only hit 95% of their notes right!

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Jack Stamp is one of the best-known names in band music and music education in this country today, as a conductor and clinician as well as a composer and arranger. He's also head of the department and the director of bands at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. The audio of this clip (sorry there's no video to watch) was recorded at a presentation in which he talked about the importance of music education in our public schools, especially having band programs for young musicians to learn their performance skills.

Because, really, if they played less than 100%, you'd notice it and you wouldn't think they were very good if they only did as well as someone who has a .300 batting average or still got an A on a math test (who might go on to college as an engineer or a pre-med student and end up working where lives depend on their accuracy).

Just something to think about in this hazy if not quite lazy days at the end of Summer...

I'll be back soon with information about the new season set to get underway with the Harrisburg Symphony very soon. Meanwhile, check out the Season Preview Stuart Malina and I recorded back in the spring – and check out this wonderful new program for public school students to attend Harrisburg Symphony concerts!

- Dick Strawser

New Assistant Conductor & Youth Symphony Music Director

2010-06-28T14:29:00.004-04:00

The Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra announces the appointment of Tara Simoncic as the new Assistant Conductor and Harrisburg Youth Symphony Music Director.

(UPDATE: you can read David Dunkle's article about her that appeared in the Patriot-News on-line.)

“During my time as Music Director of the Norwalk Youth Symphony, I have built the program from four orchestras to six, adding a very successful mid-level orchestral winds training ensemble as well as a top level chamber orchestra that performs free concerts in the surrounding communities” says Simoncic.

Tara Simoncic joins the HSO from her current appointment as Music Director of the Norwalk Youth Symphony in Norwalk , Connecticut . She had previously been the conductor of their Principal Orchestra prior to her Music Director appointment. While with the NYS she founded and conducted the Chamber Orchestra which performed free and benefit concerts and collaborated with the Greenwich Ballet Academy. Ms. Simoncic will assist Maestro Stuart Malina as his Assistant Conductor and become the new Harrisburg Youth Symphony Music Director, filling the position of the recently retired Dr. Ronald Schafer.

In addition to her NYS position, she was also the Music Director and Conductor for the Histoire Chamber Orchestra, Conductor of the Flexible Orchestra (in NYC), Cover Conductor for the Manhattan School of Music (NYC), and Pre-Concert Lecturer and Assistant Conductor for the Greenwich (CT) Symphony Orchestra.

Her previous appointments include Guest Conductor for the Connecticut Music Educators Association High School Orchestra, Music Director for the Adelphi Chamber Orchestra (Paramus, NJ), Guest Conductor for the Omaha Youth Symphony (Omaha, NE), Assistant Conductor for the Martha Graham Dance Company (NYC), Guest Conductor of the Ballet School of Stamford (Stamford, CT), Guest Conductor for the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra (NYC), Guest Conductor for the Kinhaven Music School (Kinhaven, VT), Guest Conductor for the Kingsborough Symphony Orchestra (NYC), Guest Conductor for the New Amsterdam Symphony Orchestra (NYC), Conductor for the Seminar Orchestra at C.W. Post Music Festival (Long Island, NY), Director of Orchestras for the Wachusette Regional School Distric grades 4-12 (Holden, MA), Choir Director for the First Congregational Church (Holden, MA) and Apprentice Conductor for the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra (Knoxville, TN).

Originally from Stockton , California , Ms. Simoncic grew up in a musical family. Her father a composer and her mother a flautist, Tara was encouraged to study several instruments at an early age, but chose to focus on the trumpet at the age of six. Tara was bitten by the conducting bug while she was pursuing her Bachelor of Music degree in trumpet performance at the New England Conservatory of music. There, she founded the Stravinsky Septet, an ensemble which toured New England with a staged production of Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat and other works with similar instrumentation that were commissioned by the ensemble. Deciding to further her studies in conducting, Ms. Simoncic received her Masters of Music degree in orchestral conducting from Northwestern University . Soon after, she won the position of assistant conductor with the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra, a one-year position during which time she covered subscription concerts and conducted the orchestras pops, run-out and chamber orchestra concerts and was the conductor of the Knoxville Symphony Youth Orchestra.

In 2000, Ms. Simoncic was accepted into the doctoral program in conducting at the University of Kansas City, Missouri and appointed assistant conductor of the Kansas City Ballet but declined the position to be one of two students accepted into the first conducting class at the Manhattan School of Music. Since then, she became one of the most active conductors of her generation in the New York area, working with the Brooklyn, Kingsborough, New Amsterdam and Greenwich Symphony Orchestras and the Bergen Philharmonic. Ms. Simoncic served on the conducting faculty at the C.W. Post Music Festival ( Long Island , NY ) for three years, and has been a guest conductor at the Kinhaven Summer School of Music in Vermont. An advocate of contemporary music, Ms. Simoncic has worked with the Manhattan School of Music Composers Orchestra and was appointed conductor of the Flexible Orchestra in 2004.

Her conducting training extended to Europe, where she has studied extensively in master classes at the Canford Summer School of Music (England) and with the Bohuslav Martinu Philharmonic (Czech Republic), the West Bohemian Symphony Orchestra (Czech Republic), the Adygeya Republic National Symphony Orchestra and the Astrakhan Symphony Orchestra (Russian Republic), where she had recently been invited back as a guest conductor. She studied with Zdenec Macal, David Gilbert, Iloh Yang, Victor Yampolsky, George Manahan, George Hurst and Kirk Trevor.

Ms. Simoncic will join the HSO and HYSO staff following a trip to Italy with her current Norwalk Youth Symphony during the last week of June.

- Kim Isenhour, Marketing Director, Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra

2010-2011 - The Season Preview

2010-06-24T12:58:00.007-04:00

Stuart and I had a chance to sit down in his living room and look ahead to the Harrisburg Symphony's new season, "Music in Real Time" for 2010-2011.

You can hear the PodCast here.

We talked about which concerts he's most looking forward to (all of them, of course, but two especially stand out) and the different programs, the repertoire and soloists throughout the year. Not to mention one new role for this conductor, pianist, chamber musician, arranger and raconteur (as well, on occasion, chanteur) -- composer!

The first concert - October 2nd & 3rd - indeed "Pulls Out All the Stops," featuring the Forum Pipe Organ in a performance of Camille Saint-Saens' Symphony No. 3, the "Organ Symphony" with organist Eric Riley joining the orchestra. Jeffrey Biegel, who last played the Billy Joel Piano Concerto a few seasons ago, returns with a performance of Keith Emerson's Piano Concerto No. 1 -- and that's Emerson of Emerson, Lake & Palmer, though this is an original work, not an arrangement of "greatest hits." Biegel will also play Chopin's "Andante spianato & Grande Polonaise." The concert opens with a great organ warhorse - even though there's some scholarly argument that the work was originally for violin and maybe not even by Bach, initially: Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor, transcribed for orchestra by Leopold Stokowski and familiar through its use in the original Walt Disney film, Fantasia.

The November concert - Nov. 13th & 14th - features one of the leading guitarists on the international scene, Grammy-winning Sharon Isbin who'll perform what is generally considered the most popular concerto for the instrument, if not of the entire 20th Century, the Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquin Rodrigo. The program also features two 5th Symphonies but not by the usual suspects, when you think of "Fifths" - one, by the teen-aged Franz Schubert and the other, the one Jean Sibelius composed to celebrate his own 50th Birthday.

In January - Jan. 15th & 16th - you'll get a chance to "Catch a Rising Star" with the winner of the symphony's latest "Rising Stars" competition, pianist Yen Yu Chen, who'll play the Ravel Piano Concerto in G Major. The program opens with the little known "Theme, variations & Finale" by Miklos Rosza, a Hungarian composer whose concert works were overshadowed by his great film scores. The concert concludes with the well-known 6th Symphony by Tchaikovsky, the "Pathetique."

Following the recent success of the concert performance of the complete opera, Tosca, by Giacomo Puccini, Stuart Malina will be bringing two of those same singers back along with a few more for another Puccini favorite, La Boheme, complete with "supertitles" to provide the translation.This is an opera that has long been one of the staples of opera houses around the world and both Stuart and I fell in love with its music when we were high school (though I have quite a few years' drop on him, there). Those performances will be on February 26th & 27th.

The March concert - March 26th & 27th - features the orchestra's principal violist, Julius Wirth, as the soloist. You can hear the podcast where Stuart describes how they decided to program the Viola Concerto by Hungarian composer Zdenek Lukás - if it's a work I've never heard of before, I'm pretty sure it's going to be a discovery for 99% of our audience! ;-)

But the other works may be discoveries (or "revelations" as the concert is called) because, even though everyone will probably recognize Bach's famous "Air on the G String" (as it's unfortunately often called), you don't hear the whole Suite it's taken from that often. While Beethoven Symphonies are staples of any orchestra's repertoire, his 8th is perhaps one of those less frequently heard. Actually, Beethoven himself considered it a favorite and preferred it as a better work than the wildly popular 7th! Don't look for Charles Ives to "explain it all for you" - his enigmatic "The Unanswered Question" is like many philosophical discussions: more questions than answers but you always grow from thinking about them.

If you've heard recent performances of Mahler Symphonies here in Harrisburg - the 9th most recently as well as the 1st and 2nd ( the Resurrection) - you'll want to make sure either April 16th or 17th is on your calendar when Stuart Malina conducts Mahler's 3rd Symphony, a work that is not that frequently programmed even in places like New York City. It is, to put it mildly, an epic symphony. Mahler originally gave picturesque titles to its six different movements, including "Pan Awakens: Summer Marches In," "What the Flowers of the Field Tell Me," "What the Angels Tell Me," and the great finale, itself as long as many classical symphonies, "What Love Tells Me."

From Mahler to Brahms for the final concert of the Masterworks Season on May 14th & 15th. Concertmaster Odin Rathnam will be the soloist for the Violin Concerto, usually regarded as one of the two greatest violin concertos ever, and another epic symphony - shorter than Mahler's, perhaps, but almost 25 years in the making: Brahms' Symphony No. 1 in C Minor. But the program opens with a "Brahms Fan-Fare" by a big fan of Brahms, conductor Stuart Malina, himself. Listen to the podcast to hear him talk about the whole process of how this work will come about! (No pressure, there...)

Check the website for more details about the season - and about ordering subscription tickets. Or call 717-545-5527.

- Dick Strawser

Summertime & the Music Continues

2010-06-24T11:46:00.001-04:00

It's officially Summer even if it's felt like it for weeks – and with summer comes summer concerts.

The Harrisburg Symphony will be playing free concerts during the 4th of July Holiday all around the mid-state with great music for a family-friendly (and hopefully weather-friendly) experience.

Stuart Malina will be conducting the orchestra in a program that will include Franz von Suppé's “Poet & Peasant” Overture, dances by Dvorak and Brahms, selections from Richard Rodgers' Broadway classic “South Pacific,” Leroy Anderson's “Fiddle Faddle,” music from “Harry Potter's Wonderful World” along with a patriotic sing-along, an Armed Forces Salute – and of course, the “1812 Overture” by Tchaikovsky.

The Concerts begin on Thursday July 1st at 8pm in Negley Park, Lemoyne, a performance sponsored by the “Concert at Negley Committee.” (In case of rain, the concert will be held indoors at Washington Heights Elementary School.)

On Friday, July 2nd at 8pm, the orchestra will perform on the Quad of Lebanon Valley College, a performance sponsored by the college. (In case of rain, the concert will be held indoors at Lutz Auditorium.)

The orchestra plays along the Harrisburg Riverfront on Saturday July 3rd, beginning at 8:30pm, and that performance, sponsored by the Dauphin County Commissioners, will move indoors to the Forum in case of rain.

Sunday is July 4th – and at 7:30pm the concert in Carlisle is part of Carlisle Summerfair which, along with Citizens of Carlisle, has made the concert possible. (In case of rain, this performance will move indoors to the Carlisle Theatre.)

And then Monday's performance, on the 5th of July, will be held rain or shine at 7:30pm at the Juniata High School in Mifflintown, a performance sponsored by First National Bank of Mifflintown and the Lawrence L. & Julia Z. Hoverter Foundation.

So I hope you'll be able to make one (or more) of these performances in your area and have a great time with family and friends!

- Dr. Dick

So What Did You Think of the Concert?

2010-05-23T10:40:00.013-04:00

Stuart Malina has a poll set up at his website where you can let us know what you thought of this weekend's concert, if you attended either Saturday evening's or Sunday afternoon's performance.

Stuart's trying to find a new set-up for polls on his website, but you can follow this link to leave him your comments about the concert - or you can leave a comment here, if you wish.

As we conclude the 80th Season of the Harrisburg Symphony and bring Stuart Malina's tenth year with the orchestra to a close, it was great to see four members of the orchestra honored for their 25-or-more years of service, playing in the orchestra, all (coincidentally) from the lower range of the symphonic palette: bassoonist & contrabassonist Richard Spittel; principal Tuba, Eric Henry; bassist Charles ("Chip") Breaux; cellist Sheldon Lentz.

What was cool for me - aside from realizing how long I've been enjoying their contributions to the orchestra all these years - was realizing I was at their auditions when they were hired, back when I was the assistant conductor and (around that time) personnel manager!

More recently, the orchestra has begun a new tradition, recognizing a musician for his or her contribution to the ensemble, an award voted on by the orchestra (not the management, Jeff Woodruff, the executive director of the Harrisburg Symphony, pointed out).

Congratulations to this year's recipient, violist Marjorie Goldberg!

- Dick Strawser

Schumann Writes a Concerto on the Installment Plan

2010-05-19T23:52:00.004-04:00

This weekend's concert with the Harrisburg Symphony and conductor Stuart Malina may be called “A Tale of Two Cities,” focusing on Berlioz' “Roman Carnival Overture” and Ralph Vaughan Williams' “A London Symphony.” But in between there's a stop-over in Germany with Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto in A Minor, performed by Daria Rabotkina. The performances take place on Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum in downtown Harrisburg. Come an hour early to hear Truman Bullard's pre-concert talk.

You can read a brief bio of our soloist here which also includes a video of her solo performance with music of Scarlatti, Prokofiev, and Haydn including an excerpt from Schumann's "Symphonic Etudes."

You can read about the Vaughan Williams symphony in an earlier post, here.

This post focuses on the better-known Schumann concerto.

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The story of Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto is a fairly complicated one, and I thought it might be interesting to look at what was going on in his life around the time he started it until the time he finished it.

The story is fairly well known that he wrote the first movement as a single-movement Fantasy for Piano & Orchestra in 1841 and that his wife, Clara, one of the greatest concert pianists of the day, had urged him to write two more movements to make a full concerto out of it, which he finally did four years later.

For the first part of his compositional career, Schumann had been a composer almost entirely of piano music. Having decided the study of law was not for him, he wanted to become a concert pianist, studying with Frederich Wieck, whose daughter Clara Wieck was already an accomplished virtuoso in her early teens, having composed a Piano Concerto in A Minor of her own. It too had begun life as a one-movement work which she later expanded but in this case, it was the finale that was written first, when she was 14 (it was orchestrated by Robert Schumann), and then the following year she added the first two movements, doing her own orchestrations by then. It's interesting to think of their relationship being entwined in two piano concertos like this, both in A Minor, though that's certainly just a coincidence.

It's one of the better known love stories in classical music, this romance between Robert and Clara Schumann, but it was not an easy one.

First, there was the paternal objection since Wieck did not feel Schumann was a suitable husband for his daughter. He had not demonstrated enough talent as a composer (yet) and he had injured his hand from over-zealous practice (misusing a contraption Wieck had invented to strengthen the fourth finger) which made it impossible for him to play the piano. There were also, doubtless, fears Wieck would lose control over the income from Clara's performances and, of course, the fear that married life would distract her from her all-important career. (Keep in mind, even before she'd been born, Wieck was determined his child-to-be would be a great pianist!) There were numerous nasty legal battles but, finally, Frederich Wieck lost.

On September 12th, 1840, Robert Schumann married Clara Wieck. He was 30; she was one day shy of her 21st birthday.

During that year, Schumann wrote 168 songs.

Then, suddenly, in 1841, he began composing a symphony, something Clara had been urging him to do: it was a sign of compositional maturity and “arrival.” Between January 23rd and 26th, he sketched out a four movement symphony in B-flat (which later became known as the “Spring” Symphony) which he orchestrated between January 27th and February 20th. By March 28th, it was ready for rehearsal and Mendelssohn conducted its premiere three days later. Also on that concert, Clara Schumann appeared for the first time in public under her married name. Though his symphony was well received, it must have been obvious to Robert that Clara was the real star of the evening.

On April 12th, Robert began an Overture in E which he completed in score 5 days later. On May 8th, he finished two additional movements, a Scherzo and a Finale to create a “Suite” which he later called a Symphonette. At the premiere in December, it was called “Overture, Scherzo & Finale” though it was basically a symphony without a slow movement.

No sooner had he finished that symphonic work, he began a new Fantasy in A Minor for Piano & Orchestra which he finished scoring on May 20th. Clara was rehearsing it with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra on August 13th and gave the premiere a few days later.

On September 1st, she gave birth to their first child, a daughter, Marie.

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(typical of the casual editing one encounters on YouTube, the last seconds of the second clip are actually the beginning of the slow movement which is then continued in the third clip, posted below...)
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Ten days after having finished the Fantasy, Schumann began work on another new symphony, this one in D Minor which wasn't completed until Sept 9th. Then, on September 23rd, he “roughed out” the first movement and scherzo of a Symphony in C Major; the next day, the slow mvmt & finale. By the 26th, the sketch of this symphony was basically complete. But then he stopped work on orchestrating it.

He had become distracted by thoughts of an opera. In August, he had already begun work on the libretto for “Paradise & the Peri” which he now worked more seriously but ended up doing nothing with it for another two years (by which time it became an 'oratorio' instead).

In November, there was an important concert tour to Weimar: Clara performed and Robert was present for a performance of his B-flat Symphony.

Then in December, the D Minor Symphony was premiered along with the “Overture, Scherzo & Finale,” but the new symphony was not satisfactory and so he put it aside. It wasn't until ten years later that he completed the revisions he'd had in mind and it was only then it was finally re-premiered and published as his Symphony No. 4. The sketches of the Symphony in C were meanwhile set aside: this is apparently an entirely different symphony from the one that eventually became his Symphony No. 2, also in C Major.

There was another tour in February 1842 which saw another performance of the “Spring” Symphony which Schumann declined to conduct (claiming he was too “short sighted”). In March, he returned to Leipzig to continue work on his music journal (the famous “Neue Zeitschrift für Musik” which he'd started in 1834) while Clara traveled on to Copenhagen where she stayed for a month, playing concerts & recitals.

Schumann spent much of the time she was gone feeling depressed, “drowning in beer & champagne” and unable to compose. He worked on counterpoint exercises and the writing of fugues. There were thoughts of taking Clara to America. Her father, meanwhile, was spreading the rumor that the couple had “separated.” In the midst of all this, Schumann started studying the string quartets of Beethoven & Mozart.

Clara returned from her tour on April 26th. On June 2, Schumann began what he called “quartet essays” (sketches for a possible string quartet) which by June 4th materialized into a String Quartet in A Minor. On June 11th, he began a second quartet even before the first onet was finished. Between July 8th and 22nd, he wrote his third quartet, this one in A Major.

In the midst of this burst of activity, he wrote a libelous article that almost landed him in jail (a sentence of 6 days was commuted to a fine), after which they took a holiday. The quartets were ready for rehearsal on September 8th.

Then, on September 23rd, he began the Piano Quintet, completing the 'fair copy' on Oct 12th. (Incidentally, Stuart Malina will join the Fry Street Quartet for a performance of Schumann's Quintet at the Glen Allen Mill on July 25th, Sunday afternoon at Market Square Concerts' Summer Music 2010.)

Despite dealing with “constant fearful sleepless nights,” he soon began work on a Piano Quartet on October 24th which he finished a month later.

Presumably he took the month of November off because the next item on his calendar doesn't take place until December when he completed a piano trio in A Minor. Then, by the end of January, he completed an Andante & Variations for 2 Pianos, 2 Cellos & Horn, though neither work satisfied him. He would later revised both of them: the trio became the Fantasy Pieces, Op. 88, seven years later; the Andante & Variations were revised for just two pianos in 1843.

With the new year, Schumann became involved in other projects. In February, Hector Berlioz visited Leipzig and, rather awkwardly, Clara and eventually Robert both reconciled with Clara's father. Apparently, Wieck considered Schumann's success with writing symphonies as the mark of a new-found maturity – a bit ironic since most people these days would agree that Schumann's earlier piano pieces are his most original and most successful works.

That same month, Schumann finally began work on a long-planned choral piece, “Paradise & the Peri,” a “secular oratorio,” which he completed June 16th.

In April, Mendelssohn opened the new Leipzig Conservatory and Robert was listed as a “professor of piano-playing, composition & playing from score.” On April 25th, a second child, a daughter Elise, was born.

After completed “Paradise & the Peri” in June, Schumann struggled with various projects the rest of the year, completing nothing, though he made his conducting debut with the premiere of “Paradise & the Peri” in December. Most people found him “an indifferent” conductor as well as teacher.

In January 1844, he took time off from the Conservatory and his journal to travel with Clara for a much anticipated tour of Russia – well, anticipated by Clara and dreaded by Robert. They arrived, finally, in St. Petersburg by March 4th with a series of successful concerts including a private orchestra's performance of Schumann's B-flat Symphony. During this tour, they did not meet any of the major Russian composers of the day (Glinka, the foremost). In April, they went to Moscow where his Piano Quintet was a success. They returned to Leipzig on May 30th.

During this tour, Schumann was often “tortured” by illness and bouts of melancholy, mostly brought on by being “Mr. Clara Schumann.” He was also annoyed he was “wasting time.” He had wanted to work on a new opera based on Faust since November but for the four months of this tour, he was unable to compose. At least while he was laid up sick for a week, he was able to sketch out some scenes from Part II of Goethe's Faust).

Back in Leipzig, he gave up editorship of the 'Neue Zeitschrift' to spend more time composing but Faust was soon supplanted by an opera to be based on Byron's The Corsair which in July was replaced by an idea for a “magic opera” based on a poem by Hans Christian Andersen. Neither of them came to anything and in August, Schumann returned to Faust, completed the first three sections of what he now began thinking of as more as an oratorio but which eventually became only “Eight Scenes from Faust,” lost somewhere between not being an opera and not being an oratorio, either.

But in August 1844, he had a very serious nervous breakdown during which he was unable even to listen to music which, he wrote, “cut into my nerves like knives.”

In October, the Schumanns went to Dresden where Robert continued to be tortured by “fearful imaginings” and sleepless nights, spending each morning “awash in tears.” Dresden was rather dull and conservative by comparison to Leipzig but they moved there officially in December. During this period he began a slow convalescence.

To while away the time, Robert began teaching Clara counterpoint in January 1845, once again spending his time in the academic study of writing fugues.

On March 11th, their third child, a daughter Julie, was born.

In April, Schumann wrote two organ fugues, the first on B-A-C-H. Having obtained a “pedal piano,” he composed a series of fugues for it between April 29 and June 7.

Then, suddenly, he wrote a Rondo in A Major for piano and orchestra, followed by an Andante, also for piano and orchestra which he completed on July 16th and which he appended to the Fantasy in A Minor to create what was now the Piano Concerto in A Minor. Clara premiered the whole concerto in January 1846 in Leipzig.

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(perhaps it's just my computer, but the audio/video coordination here drives me nuts... good performance, though...)
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Schumann's health was still not good and he was forced to cancel a trip to Bonn for the unveiling of the Beethoven Monument in August. In October, he revised the finale of the “Overture, Scherzo & Finale,” put off hearing Wagner's new opera Tannhäuser which he hadn't cared for after looking at the score but changed his mind after he went to a performance in November. On December 12th, Schumann began a Symphony in C Major, finishing its first draft by the 28th, though he didn't begin orchestrating it until late February, 1846, not long after Clara gave birth to their fourth child, their first son, named Emil.

And so the lives – both personal and musical – continued for the Schumanns throughout Robert's alternating periods of creativity and illness. Only months after they had met a 20-year-old composer and pianist named Johannes Brahms who had showed up on their doorstep with a bundle of sonatas under his arm, Robert Schumann attempted suicide in February, 1854, by jumping off a bridge in Düsseldorf, neighbors fishing him out of the Rhine and carrying him home. A few days later, at his own request, he was taken away to what was then called an insane asylum. By the time he died there in 1856, Clara never saw him again.

It is one of the sadder stories in classical music as well, though far removed from the sparkling music of the concerto he composed on the installment plan in the first years of their marriage.

Considering he was himself originally a pianist who had written so much wonderful piano music and that he was married to one of the foremost pianists of the day, it's odd that he didn't write more for the instrument – another concerto or two, perhaps. He certainly would have had a built-in performance commitment for anything he would compose.

Ironically, there are two wonderful single movement works for piano and orchestra written later in his career which are usually overlooked today, both in terms of performance as well as recordings. The first is the “Introduction & Allegro appassionato” in G Minor, also known as “Konzertstück” (or Concert Piece) for Piano & Orchestra which he sketched in mid-September, 1849, in three days, the year before he wrote his last symphony (the last one to be composed, that is), the famous “Rhenish” Symphony and the elegiac Cello Concerto in A Minor. In 1853, now settled in Düsseldorf, he wrote the “Introduction & Allegro in D Minor” over the period of a week between August 24th and 30th, followed a few days later by a Fantasy in C Major for Violin & Orchestra. There were a few shorter pieces between that and the Violin Concerto in D Minor he began on September 21st and completed on October 3rd, just a few days after he'd met Johannes Brahms.

This violin concerto has a very strange history of its own, but that needn't concern us, here. But still, one wonders what we might have had if Schumann had decided to add a few more movements to these two short works and turn them, also, into complete piano concertos. Classical music, of course, is full of such “What Ifs.”

- Dick Strawser

Schumann's Piano Concerto with Daria Rabotkina

2010-05-19T23:38:00.000-04:00

The soloist for this weekend's concerts with the Harrisburg Symphony is Daria Rabotkina. She will be performing the Piano Concerto in A Minor by Robert Schumann with Stuart Malina and the Orchestra, Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Forum.

She is a young, Kazan-born pianist now living in Philadelphia who combines a phenomenal technique with sensitive musicality and musical mastery. Rabotkina has appeared in many major concert halls in Moscow, New York and San Francisco and has performed with the San Francisco Symphony, Kirov Orchestra, the New World Symphony, among others, collaborating as a soloist with conductors like Michael Tilson Thomas, Valery Gergiev and Vladimir Feltsman. A laureate of the Montreal International Musical Competition, the Sendai Competition in Japan and the World Piano Competition in Cincinnati, Daria Rabotkina gave her first solo recital at the age of ten.

You can read my "up-close & personal" posts about the Schumann Piano Concerto here and about the Vaughan Williams Symphony that's also on the program, here.

Dick Strawser

Vaughan Williams' London Symphony: A Personal Recollection

2010-05-17T13:33:00.005-04:00

This is Part 2 of an "up-close & personal" post about Ralph Vaughan Williams' Symphony No. 2, "A London Symphony" that Stuart Malina will conduct with the Harrisburg Symphony at this weekend's concerts, Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 3pm. You can read my earlier post about the symphony here.

This is a more personal recollection about the piece.

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We all have favorite composers or pieces of music that have been important to us when we were growing up. Sometimes, our attitudes to them change as we develop and redefine ourselves with age and the events of a lifetime that occur around us.

I was still in high school when I bought my first Vaughan Williams recording, sight unseen or perhaps more accurately “sound unheard.” The description of the 5th Symphony's opening on the back of the album cover was enough to talk me into spending allowance money on a composer I'd never heard before (except for an early song I didn't like). With some trepidation, I put the record on but quickly fell in love with it. In short order, I purchased several other Vaughan Williams recordings and borrowed biographies from the library – including the one by his widow, Ursula Wood Vaughan Williams.

I liked him even before I found out he was a cat person - in fact, even before I found out I was a cat person, myself!

Since so many of his works were written in his later years - his 5th Symphony was written when he was 70 and most figured it would be his last, yet he wrote four more and was getting ready for a recording session of his 9th when he died in his sleep at the age of 86 - we most often see him pictured as a rumpled old man in a rumpled old sweater or three-piece suit. The top photo was taken closer to the time he composed "A London Symphony."

Here is a wonderful photograph of Ralph Vaughan Williams and his second wife, the poet Ursula Woods Vaughan Williams (see left).

(You can read my post on the 50th Anniversary of Vaughan Williams' death here.)

His “London Symphony” became part of my growing collection not long after that first recording. I have only heard it live once, when a guest conductor whose name I can't remember, a very old man from England who was a friend of the composer's and had a long history of conducting his music (but not Sir Adrian Boult), came to town to conduct the Rochester Philharmonic while I was a grad student as Eastman.

Judging from what we composition students smuggly thought was “cool” by that stage of our lives and musical awarenesses, I was wondering how I would react to hearing this again, even if it were only five years after I'd first bought the recording.

It was during the slow movement when the “big tune” comes swelling up for the climax about seven minutes in that I realized I had a tear streaming down my cheek.

There was always something about this passage – especially the end of the phrase – that grabbed me emotionally. Perhaps it's my English roots,courtesy of my grandmother and her family from England if not exactly from London, that reacted to this music like they rarely react to any other music I've heard. But there I was, tearing up at this beautiful, simple tune.

Then I glanced over at a friend sitting next to me, a composer who had an even keener interest in avant-garde music than I (though he was also a fan of James Joyce's Ulysses) and who was often loudly derisive as students can sometimes be toward old-fashioned, "out-moded" composers. And I noticed he was quietly brushing aside a tear on his cheek...

I don't know what it about that moment that had this effect on me. It doesn't happen with every beautiful tune and it's not just tonal music that is capable of getting me like that (the ending of Berg's “Lulu” is just as effecting to me as the ending of Puccini's “La Boheme”). I could describe the passage in technical terms but that only describes what he's doing, not why it has this emotional impact on me.

The theme comes in in B-flat (I think: I don't have a score handy to check) but it's a modal tune like many English folk songs, here in B-flat Major but with an A-flat instead of an A-natural in it. This swings back and forth with D-flat Major but with a G-natural instead of G-flat in it. This alteration of a D-natural one time and then a D-flat the next gives it a kind of Major/Minor inflection that usually gives me a harmonic tug-at-the-heart anyway, what trendy people like to call a "frisson." But when he adds an unexpected G-flat to the extension of the phrase in B-flat Major, another “minor inflection,” I just lose it. I have no idea why.

It's been years since I've really listened to the symphony. I know I'd played it on the radio a few times, especially when the new Chandos recording of the original (and longer) version of the symphony'd been released a few years back, but how many times I've listened to it since my days at Eastman in the early-70s would probably number between 9 or 10 times.

And yet, after spending so much time with Berg's “Lulu” these past few weeks (and seeing it live at the Met over the weekend), after years of listening to so much of Elliott Carter's more challenging “high fiber” music which I love and after all my own stuff that I've written in the past almost ten years since I started composing again which would hardly seem compatible with Vaughan Williams' style – often derided as the “cow looking over the fence” school of music – here I was, last night, listening to Sir John Barbirolli's recording of Vaughan Williams' “A London Symphony,” and I heard this same spot coming up again and teared up almost instantly - and this, in the midst of news about the oil spill in the Gulf, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the economy and unemployment and all the negativity in the incessant campaign ads (not that they will end once the Primary Election passes into history after tomorrow), here is a single, simple phrase of music that can have the power to still affect me so deeply.

And then I recall the lines from H.G. Wells' novel, Tono Bungay (which I've never read) that inspired the ending of the symphony,

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"Light after light goes down. England and the Kingdom, Britain and the Empire, the old prides and the old devotions, glide abeam, astern, sink down upon the horizon, pass – pass. The river passes – London passes, England passes...."
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and I am reminded why art, why music especially is so important to me: because, once all that other stuff passes, the music remains.

- Dick Strawser