Many of Bach's cantatas and oratorios include instrumental sections, such as sinfonias or overtures, which are musical masterpieces in their own right. Bach freely interchanged his compositions as he saw fit, borrowing from his instrumental works as needed to fill out his vocal works, and vice versa. This Concerto in D major is based on the first three movements of the Easter Oratorio, which according to musicological research may well have been performed separately as a three-movement instrumental concerto. The first two movements (Allegro and Adagio) are taken verbatim from the Oratorio. The third movement is based on the Oratorio's following choral number, with the original orchestral opening and accompaniment, and vocal lines arranged for instruments. The first and third movements of this concerto are scored for a large orchestra of trumpets, timpani, oboes, bassoon, strings and continuo. Majestic openings contrast with more quiet, introspective sections, including a section featuring solo violin in the first movement and a section with a small violin-oboe-continuo chamber ensemble in the third movement. The second-movement Adagio is a mellifluous oboe solo over string accompaniment, serving as an introspective contrast to the exuberant outer movements. Mike Tietz
This concerto is truly a work of superlatives. It was the last concerto Beethoven composed, and is seen by some as the end of his “heroic” period. The title “The Emperor,” although in common use now, is not Beethoven's; it became attached to the concerto after Beethoven's death in 1827, probably due to the nobility and expansiveness of its themes.
Beethoven composed this work in 1809 during the siege and bombardment of Vienna by the French under Napoleon. Due to his growing deafness, it was the first of his piano concertos where the premiere was played by a pianist other than himself (by Friedrich Schneider in Leipzig in 1811, and by his pupil Carl Czerny at the Vienna premiere in 1812). It was also the first concerto in which a composer integrated his cadenzas into the score itself; indeed, it is notable that the piece actually starts with a piano cadenza!
After the opening cadenza, the orchestra states the familiar first martial theme, which includes a turn, descending arpeggio quarter notes, and a dotted eighth-sixteenth-half note motif, all of which make their appearance as subthemes later in the first movement. The second theme also makes its appearance in the opening orchestral tutti, in E-flat minor — a soft step-wise slow “march” immediately reprised in E-flat major as a beautiful melody played by two horns. This basic thematic material is used by Beethoven throughout the first movement, interspersed by richly ornamented piano passages and cadenzas.
The key relationships are also notable. Besides the usual familiar keys (E-flat, B-flat, A-flat), Beethoven repeatedly moves into more distant keys, particularly C-flat major/B minor (with a “third” relationship to the concerto's overall key of E-flat). Also notable are a tendency for themes to move step-wise by a half-tone into different keys.
The following adagio is in B Major (again that “third” relationship). Its opening theme is actually based upon a tune which Beethoven originally intended for a military band (!) and then magically transposed into an ethereal “pilgrim's song.” After the opening, the theme is repeated twice, once by the piano alone, then by a flute-clarinet-bassoon choir against the piano's accompaniment. At the end of the adagio, a step-wise downward movement from the bassoons to the horns brings the tonality back from B major to B-flat (the fifth of E-flat). After a tentative prelude, the pianist launches full throttle into the robust last movement, a classic joyous rondo with hunting theme overtones. The rondo theme is repeated four times, and interspersed with variations by soloist and orchestra. In the coda the piano plays part of the rondo theme accompanied by the timpani. A last dash by the piano and orchestra leads to the concerto's grand conclusion. (May 5, 2002)
Ludwig van Beethoven was aware that he was following in the footsteps of giants as he began composing his first symphony. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, already dead eight years in 1799, had blazed across the musical firmament like a meteor, leaving lesser composers despondent and scrambling to incorporate his stylistic innovations. Franz Josef Haydn, still active in Vienna, was famous as the "Father of the String Quartet" and brought the symphony to a perfection recognized in all the capitals of Europe. Beethoven's first effort at symphonic writing built squarely upon the work of these two models: four movements in the order Fast-Slow-Minuet-Fast; a texture in which the melody dominates, but with digressions into the older, contrapuntal style; harmonies which were clearly delineated, changed slowly, but served always to propel the music forward; above all, a sense of balance and proportion in all the aspects of composition.
What Beethoven could only have suspected, but that we now know, is the craft, inspiration, power, and vigor that he poured into the form handed down to him. The work we hear today is in no sense a youthful experiment, but it is instead a fully-developed masterwork by a young genius, and has earned a place among the great monuments of musical art. (October 28, 2001) Robert Radmer
Revolutionary in its time, Beethoven's 5th is seen by many as the “quintessential symphony.” Beethoven composed it in 1808 (at the same time as his “Pastoral” Symphony) and it was premiered in December of that year. There have been apocryphal stories and descriptions read into this symphony - that it signifies “fate knocking on the door,” that parts of it may reflect his “immortal beloved,” etc. - but in the end, it is the nobility and innate humanity of Beethoven's composition which have caused it to be universally embraced.
The first movement, dark and with a driving ferocity, is built upon the celebrated opening motif of three short notes and one long note. While there are intermittent lyrical respites heralded by the horns and bassoons, the movement is compact and concise, and otherwise built upon the 4-note opening. The second movement, in the subdominant of A-flat, has a warm lyric theme introduced by the violas and 'celli. This is followed by a martial theme by winds, brass and timpani, with ensuing variations on both themes. The third movement is again dark, but with a mysterious opening. A second theme introduced by the horns, with three short notes and one long note, recalls the first movement's main theme. After a vigorous trio and reprise, the end of the third movement leads, via a hushed transition, to the glorious finale, in one of the defining passages of the symphonic canon. The fourth movement opening must have come as quite a shock to Beethoven's audience; it was the first time in which piccolo, trombones and contrabassoon had been featured together in an orchestral work, and they are part of the orchestral explosion which occurs after the crescendo at the end of the third movement. In contrast to much of the rest of the symphony, the last movement's themes are optimistic and joyful. A momentary reprise of the third movement theme, and a recapitulation of the opening, lead to an accelerated coda and triumphant ending. (February 2, 2003)
This extraordinary work was composed for tenor Peter Pears and horn player Dennis Brain in 1943. It consists of six songs set to English poems framed by a solo horn prologue and epilogue. While many of the poems deal in some fashion with sleep, decay, or death, each has its own distinct character, beautifully set off by the interplay between the two soloists and the strings.
The Pastoral (“The Day's grown old”) by Cotton describes a late afternoon scene in the countryside with flocks of sheep, lengthening shadows and sunset. “The splendour falls on castle walls” (“Blow Bugle Blow”) by Tennyson evokes the heroics of a bygone age, with bugle calls echoing and dying in a craggy landscape. For Blake's doleful Elegy (“on its face, about a rose and its destruction by the worm that finds it”), Britten has composed horn and tenor melodies based on minor second motifs. It leads directly into the Dirge, a haunting 15th-century anonymous poem about death - and whether salvation or damnation awaits the deceased, depending on his/her conduct in life. The Dirge is also notable for its structure, a multi-voiced fugue played by the strings and horn over an ostinato sung by the tenor. Ben Jonson's hymn to Diana the huntress is set as a spritely hunting tune, while Keats' Sonnet (“O soft embalmer of the night”) is a paean to sleep. (February 2, 2003)
Voyage is a string-orchestral version of the choral setting of Richard Wilbur's translation of Baudelaire's L'Invitation au Voyage. The lyrical, seamless vocal lines translated themselves naturally to strings, and the burnished imagery of the poetry finds a happy companion in the richness of the instrumental choir. (October 25, 2003) Richard Stout
De Falla was a quintessentially Spanish composer who partially developed his style while living in Paris between 1907 and 1914, where he became well-acquainted with Ravel, Debussy and Dukas. He originally composed the music for The Three-Cornered Hat in 1917 to accompany a pantomime based on a story by the late 19th-century Spanish write Pedro Alarcón. The famous impresario Diaghilev persuaded de Falla to turn the music into a full ballet, which was premiered in London in 1919 with sets by Picasso and choreography by Massine. De Falla later arranged the music into 2 separate orchestral suites, the first of which we are performing today.
The story focuses on an ugly and misshapen miller and his beautiful wife, who is very much in love with him; the Corregidor, a local magistrate who wears a large three-cornered hat as a sign of his office; and a series of amorous pursuits and mistaken identities (with a happy ending).
After a short introductory fanfare, the piece opens to an afternoon scene in a small Andalusian village. The miller and his wife, amid their daily tasks, are trying to teach a bird to tell the time; they kiss, then dance. Announced by the bassoon, the Corregidor appears; he is captivated by the pretty miller's wife, but leaves the scene after a disapproving glance from his own wife. The miller's wife dances a rousing Fandango, featuring a typically Spanish meter alternating between 3 and 2. The Corregidor appears again; the miller's wife politely curtsies, and then begins a flirtatious dance, teasing the Corregidor with a bunch of grapes which she keeps just out of his reach. The Corregidor stumbles and falls, and storms off. The miller and his wife dance again, reprising the Fandango theme, to end the Suite. (May 5, 2002)
This piece represents one of the highest achievements of Mozart's art. It is at once a symphony and a concerto, and showcases both the violin and the viola (the latter being an instrument particularly loved and played by Mozart himself). The orchestra sets the mood at the outset in a magnificent opening section - majestic in style, with elegant contrasting sections, and featuring one of the most dramatic crescendos in all of the musical literature. The soloists make their subtle entrance entwined with the end of the opening orchestral section. Mozart gives the soloists their own distinctive themes, with orchestral accompaniment interspersed with vigorous symphonic sections; a lengthy double cadenza leads to a rousing ending. The lovely second movement is set in the contrasting key of C minor, which Mozart uses to convey themes of great poignance and emotion (albeit in his restrained classical style), with its own cadenza for the soloists. The third movement is a spritely rondo, with lively themes taken up by the orchestra and soloists in turn. After a final rising flourish by the soloists, the piece ends joyously. Mike Tietz
In the 1780's, Mozart's fame was, amazingly, already fading in Vienna; but in Prague, then capital of Bohemia, Mozart was celebrated as a rock star would be today. He made a triumphant four-week trip in January of 1787, to be present at, and later conduct, performances of The Marriage of Figaro and also to perform on keyboard and conduct a symphonic concert, as well as generally just to be the toast of Prague. So popular was Figaro that Mozart remarked in a letter that its melodies were all one heard played, even by the street musicians around Prague. Later that year, Mozart would undertake to write the opera Don Giovanni for production in the city, and his last opera, La Clemenza di Tito, would also be written for Prague.
The Symphony no. 38 has magic in every measure. His ability to retain both an overwhelming expression of his personality, plus classical stylistic grace, within a technique which allowed him to survey and synthesize influences even from different style periods, is nearly incomprehensible. In the Prague symphony, one can hear so many facets of Mozart's musical expression and genius: total command of the symphonic style, elements of lyric and comic opera and vocally-influenced writing, a complete mastery of counterpoint, and on and on even a foreshadowing of the chromatic evolution of harmony.
The slow introduction of the first movement recalls Haydnesque majestic treatment, but has also a developmental quality reminiscent of Mozart's keyboard fantasias. The string color of the allegro reminds one of the opening of the beautiful Symphony no. 29, but is suddenly interrupted by a spirited outdoor wind band playing a little fanfare reminiscent of non piu andrai from Figaro.
The beautiful second movement has been said by one writer to have inspired the slow movement of Schubert's first symphony, performed by the Broadway Bach Ensemble last year. Unlike the late Haydn symphonies, Mozart's Symphony No. 38 is only in three movements, as was early practice for Mozart and apparently still fashionable in Prague.
Mozart's last five symphonies are often grouped together and lauded as achieving new depth and accomplishment in the symphonic form. The wind instrument playing in Vienna at the time was said to be particularly advanced, and one can hear this in demanding passages and in the complex scoring of the symphony. Zaslaw claims that symphonies had taken on a more serious role, that they were "expected to exhibit artistic depth rather than serving merely as elaborate fanfares to open and close concerts." What reaches us so powerfully in the music of Mozart is perhaps his direct and disarming humanity: like many of the great ones, he had to deal with making money and relatives and on and on. Nonetheless, his great accomplishments and proclivities in symphonic writing didn't save him from some blunt fatherly advice. Leopold warned Wolfgang about writing at too difficult a level for orchestras. The "Father Knows Best" of his time told the composer that bad performances might result. "...for I know your style of composition -- it requires unusually close attention from the players of every type of instrument; and to keep the whole orchestra at such a pitch of industry and alertness for three hours is no joke."
Well, dads will be dads, and what concerned Leopold just happens to be our delight. (October 25, 2003) Richard Stout
The fifth concerto for violin, K. 219, is one of a series of great works for Mozart's "other" instrument. We associate Mozart, and rightly so, with the keyboard. But Mozart's skills on the violin were quite accomplished. Scholars believe Mozart performed his own violin concertos. This concerto was written in 1775, while Mozart was in his less-than-happy tenure in his home town of Salzburg. This period of Mozart's output saw early successes in opera and a massive output of concertos - all five recognized violin concertos were written in 1775, in addition to the first of the great piano concertos.
The concerto begins with a fast orchestral introduction. The violin solo, however, enters in a more Haydn-esque, adagio tempo. What is unusual is that not only is the tempo momentarily changed, as if the violin solo entered suspended in time, but instead of the grand, pompous slow introductions of Haydn, this is almost like inserting a slow concerto movement right into the beginning of the piece. Everything picks up again quickly, and the violin solo plays a new theme, overlaid exactly on the material of the first orchestral introduction. This ability of Mozart's reminds the listener of Bach, where the composer can have a complete musical idea or create an entire pre-existing movement, then add still another layer of music to this music, the final product working just as well as the original. (Mozart dramatically demonstrated this concept in his own arrangement of Handel's Messiah.) The slow movement of this concerto contains impossibly genial, nearly polyphonic textures and harmonic treatments, all within a framework of seemingly effortless, sublime "galant" grace. The third movement carries the idea of sections with contrasting moods and tempi further. The easy triple meter gives way to an "alla turca" section, which some believe to be actually more Hungarian-inspired than Turkish. (October 27, 2002) Richard Stout
French composer Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) almost defies characterization in terms of musical style. He was a member of the famed composer group known as "Les Six" and played a prominent role in 20th-century music. He wrote many well-known works for the stage (Les Mamelles de Tiresias, Les Biches, Dialogues of the Carmelites), as well as numerous chamber works and concertos. His Sinfonietta is one of his few large-scale orchestral works. It was commissioned in 1947 for the BBC, and premiered the following year. While Poulenc originally conceived of it as a short, 15-minute work (hence the title), it blossomed into a more substantial four-movement symphony, full of vigor, beauty and wit, with equal prominence given throughout to strings, woodwinds and brass. The first movement begins with a serious and dramatic minor-key opening, with subsequent rising motifs passed around the orchestra. There is an unusual slow interlude in the middle of the movement in which solo winds are prominently featured, and a calming major-key ending. The second movement is a lighthearted scherzo, with three witty themes introduced by the strings. The Andante cntabile features winds and strings in melodies written by Poulenc in late-Romantic, almost Brahmsian, style. The Finale is a romp, with an abrupt introduction, several incisive and witty themes, and a surprise ending. Mike Tietz
In the early to mid-twentieth century, as the revival of interest in early music continued and intensified, composers explored the possibilities of this music using a modern orchestral sound. Some of the more notable are the Pulcinella Suite of Stravinsky, the Stokowski Bach transcriptions, the Ricercare from the Musical Offering by Bach/Webern, and the Suite of French Dances arranged by Paul Hindemith. The Ancient Airs and Dances of Respighi falls into such a category. In each of these composers' efforts, what is basically an arrangement or transcription of existing earlier music inevitably shows the contemporary stamp of its arranger, and the techniques and expression which characterize that particular composer or arranger's contemporary musical passions as well.
The lute music Respighi used as his source was written for a very quiet and intimate instrument. Respighi manages to find a way to imbue these pieces with his own particular kind of broad orchestral color. Traditional dance forms, in addition to their Italian heritage, also likely appealed to Respighi's sense of color and variety, lending themselves to the kind of instrumental treatment he used in his own compositions. (October 27, 2002) Richard Stout
Both Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Ralph Vaughan-Williams were intensely interested in the folk music of their native soil. Each composer attempted to create a distinctive national style by incorporating local folk tunes, rhythms, and harmonies into their art. The two works that we are to hear today are excellent examples of this process. The "Fantasy on Russian Themes" sets the solo violin in an active mode, with the brilliance and power to compete directly with an exuberant orchestra. Here, too, the violin is given solo moments of an improvisational nature, but rather than the inward-looking ruminations of the "Lark," we are presented with what are merely lyric interruptions in an otherwise boisterous, robust scene of a country gathering. Here joyous peasants participate in the highly social activities of dancing, singing and drinking among family and friends. The two works together are an interesting study in contrast, and provide an enchanting view into two artistic minds as they envision a showcase for the solo violin. (October 28, 2001) Robert Radmer
Franz Schubert wrote the Overture in B flat in 1816. By this time, he had already written four symphonies and several other overtures. Schubert was a good violinist as well as pianist and held a principal position in his school orchestra in Vienna. Legend has it that the orchestra would rehearse every night with the windows of their rehearsal room open, stopping traffic as the Viennese would pause to listen. That Schubert was steeped in the symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, one of which the school orchestra would play every night, is apparent in both the style of Schubert's writing, as well as his deep knowledge of the capabilities of the orchestra. Even though this lineage is readily apparent, one can also already detect Schubert's individuality, in his ever warm mood, and particularly in his presentation of themes in even more remote keys than was usually practiced before. (October 25, 2003) Richard Stout
Franz Schubert grew up in the most important symphonic center of his time, Vienna. Schubert's teachers, Salieri and Holzer, were primarily opera composers; but Schubert's inner drive propelled him to an amazing and early symphonic output. Schubert composed nine symphonies before he was thirty. Beethoven was already thirty before he wrote his first symphony. (Like Mozart when he wrote the A major violin concerto, Schubert was a teenager when he wrote the first symphony, a mere lad of 16.)
Schubert, also like Mozart, was an accomplished violinist and played concertmaster in his school orchestra. One can see the influence of the Viennese symphonic models his school orchestra rehearsed and performed - Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven - especially in the rhythmic drive of the first movement. The second theme, particularly, carries an almost Eroica-like character. The second movement is truly a bridge between the customary elegance of Mozart and the beginnings of a new consciousness in art of the time: a certain heavier, darker mood permeates this movement, whose depth is so startling for having been written by an adolescent. The third movement shows more of the experimentation in moving into remote key areas for which Schubert became known, particularly in his chamber music and songs. The symphony comes to a close in a vibrant movement which also shows the young composer's emerging formal innovation. Yet, the personality of the master makes an unmistakable impression at the beginning of the last movement: it reminds one much of many of Schubert's joyous song ideas. (October 27, 2002) Richard Stout
Sousa reigned as the “March King” in the latter part of the 19th and early part of the 20th centuries. His musical output was prodigious, consisting of marches (well over 100), operettas, suites, songs, arrangements, etc. His “Belle of Chicago” march dates from 1892 and was meant as a tribute to the ladies of the Windy City. (February 2, 2003)
During his long and productive life (1681-1767), Telemann became one of the most celebrated of baroque composers. His output was vast, ranging from operas and cantatas to concertos and intimate chamber works.
One of his most charming pieces is the programmatic Don Quixote suite for strings and continuo. The suite opens conventionally enough, with a formal French-style baroque overture. The movements which follow, however, depict different scenes from the adventures of Don Quixote, Cervantes' famous knight, and his squire, Sancho Panza.
It begins with the “Awakening of Don Quixote,” with string drones evoking sleep, followed immediately by the “attack on the Windmills,” with furiously rushing string passages. “Sighs for Princess Aline” features accented descending eighth notes characteristic of 18th-century passages evoking “tender” emotions. “Sancho Panza Swindled” has a rough peasant atmosphere, depicting the squire being tossed in a blanket. “Rosinante Galloping” evokes the smooth stride of Don Quixote's horse, while “The Gallop of Sancho Panza's Mule” shows the ungainly “start-stop” step of the squire's transport. The Suite closes with “Don Quixote at Rest,” also featuring string drones. (May 5, 2002)
The years from 1720 to 1750 were, from the perspective of the present, dominated by Johann Sebastian Bach; but for a musically aware person of the period Georg Philipp Telemann was the foremost musician of his day. His music, while firmly rooted in the contrapuntal intricacies of the Baroque style, served as a bridge between the old methods and the emerging Classical style of simple textures, clear harmonies, and elegant melodies. Telemann founded the first series of public concerts, taking music from the spheres of court, church and opera house into the realm of audiences who wished to gather simply for the pleasure of listening. He saw that instrumental music in these other spheres was merely an adjunct to ceremony, contemplation or amusement, and that music could and should be appreciated as an abstract art, unadorned, and not subservient to other goals. His insight revealed a path that composers, performers, and audiences have trod ever since, leading directly to our concert today. Although Telemann was the most prolific of 18th-century composers (a period when prolific composers abounded), he still found time to travel frequently and widely across Europe, absorbing musical influences from a wide variety of composers and nationalities. The "Concerto Polonois" was a result of a visit to Cracow, Poland, and it incorporates characteristic elements of Polish folk dance and presents them in the new compositional style. (October 28, 2001) Robert Radmer
Both Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Ralph Vaughan-Williams were intensely interested in the folk music of their native soil. Each composer attempted to create a distinctive national style by incorporating local folk tunes, rhythms, and harmonies into their art. The two works that we are to hear today are excellent examples of this process. "The Lark Ascending" draws its inspiration from the mysticism of the English countryside, setting several folk tunes in a quiet manner, conveying a calm, peaceful and transcendent mood to the listener, with the solo violin observing and commenting on the scene from afar. The work begins and ends with meditative reveries from the solo violin. (October 28, 2001) Robert Radmer
Vivaldi, himself a violinist, wrote over 500 concertos, and interestingly enough, besides the 230 for violin, wrote more concertos for the bassoon than for any other instrument. Even though, like Bach, Vivaldi was forgotten for decades, the resurgence in scholarship of baroque music in the late 19th century brought him back into recognition. In his own time, Vivaldi was actually quite influential, having established some standard-practice techniques of baroque composition and serving as a model for the young Bach. Even though he borrowed his own material liberally, as was the practice at the time, he was nonetheless very inventive, especially in string writing. He devised different expressive techniques in string articulation and bowing. One can hear this transparently in the bassoon concerto we are performing, a graceful string texture backing up the remarkable solo bassoon fireworks and melodic display. (October 25, 2003) Richard Stout
Carl Maria von Weber was one of the pioneers, if not the preeminent pioneer, of German Romanticism in music. The Andante and Rondo Ungarese (Hungarian Rondo) was originally written, in 1809, for viola solo and orchestra. Von Weber later re-worked the piece for bassoon solo (1813), upon request of Georg Friedrich Brandt, bassoonist of the Munich Orchestra. The Andante is a set of short variations. The rondo marks one of the early points of Germanic fascination with things Hungarian in its rollicking melody and dance-like character. Later well-known examples of this fashion are Brahms' Hungarian Dances and the finale of his violin concerto. (October 25, 2003) Richard Stout