George Frideric Handel was born a German and died a naturalized British subject. Accordingly, his long and varied career as a baroque composer took him throughout Europe, and his music shows influences from English as well as German and Italian traditions. This concerto grosso is one of twelve which constitute Handel's Op. 6. It was first published in 1739, at the beginning of the final phase of Handel's career. Prior to
this, he had found great success as an opera composer; however, the market became strained and Handel, who by this time had become a household name, began composing what we remember him most for today: his English-language oratorios.
The concerti grossi, few of which exceed fifteen minutes in length, were intended as interludes for concerts which mainly featured Handel's oratorios. Stylistically, they follow in the vein of Corelli's multi-movement concerti, scored for a concertino of two violins and one cello, along with ripieno strings and continuo - winds would have been included depending on availability, during this era.
The first movement has a stately tone of solemn majesty, featuring descending sighing lines which alternate with more sustained passages from the solo concertino. The second movement is a brisker Allegro, consisting mostly of variations and transformations upon the material introduced in the first two bars. The third movement, the only segment not focused on the G Major tonality, is set in the relative E minor. The fourth movement is largely fugal, but has a playful humor, including a surprise quiet ending. The concerto concludes with a spirited, vivacious gigue.
The chamber orchestra at my school performed this last october, and it was one of my favorite things that they did all semester. We also performed it with the addition of two oboes, which very well might have been done back in the day. The piece is not too long and has just the right amount of vivacity and stateliness.
Paavo Jarvi and Cincinnati Symphony.
Program notes for ICSO 3/3
Britten's opera Peter Grimes tells the bleak story of a misanthropic loner fisherman who faces the unforgiving accusations of the townsfolk after his apprentices suffer unforeseen but accidental deaths. Tortured and unstable, Grimes is driven to suicide in the raging, stormy sea. Inspired by George Crabbe's poem "The Borough," Britten's work takes a more sympathetic view towards Grimes, and explores the darkness of a
man hopelessly marginalized. The opera premiered in 1945 and became one of Britten's first critical and commercial successes. The Four Sea Interludes extracted from the opera comprise a series of vignettes
evoking the sea in its myriad symbolic states throughout the story. Their existence highlights the seaside setting's centrality in the opera; while the town is fictional, the opera is pervaded with the eerily haunting beauty of the coast along Britten's native Suffolk.
At only about three minutes per movement, each of the four portrayals is brief but highly illustrative. The first, Dawn, is drawn from the transition between the prologue and first act, and sets an austere stage. It utilizes only three main elements: a thin, high, and cold melody of sunlight piercing the clouds, given by violins and flutes; the gentle rising and falling murmur of the surf, featuring clarinet and violas; and ominous, dramatic swells from the brass. In Sunday Morning, which precedes act two, the sunny tolling of church bells overlays digressive, meandering melodies in the strings and fragmented conversation in the winds, suggesting the townsfolk at worship against the backdrop of a lively ocean. The congregation scene depicts the townsfolks' callous bigotry towards Grimes.
In Moonlight, the most serene of the four movements, an unceasing and ever-more-yearning series of swells mimics the tide at nighttime, accentuated by glints of light from percussion and woodwinds. Underlying the nighttime serenity is a muted ominousness, though, and the fourth movement's Storm is the realization of all that was portended before it. The referenced storm actually takes place in the first act of the opera – however, the turmoil it reflects festers in Grimes himself and grows continually, making these seascapes also function as a reflection of Grimes' emotional state. The movement is full of violent swells and brutal crushing dissonances. Short-lived relief comes in the form of a few glowing, suspended arcs of melody, moments of brief hope in which the embattled Grimes imagines a possible safe haven. Ultimately, however, they are fleeting and must succumb to the tempest, which surges forward to a savage, oppressive victory.
(end program notes)
the opera itself, which we watched a couple days ago, is kind of a strangely paced work. the music that gets put into these four sea interludes as well as the passacaglia is definitely the best thing about the entire work. the thing about the opera itself is first, that none of the characters really inspire much sympathy. while this is sort of the point - peter grimes is unlikeable, but that shouldn't make us condemn him or make him deserving of his fate. the second thing about the opera is that a lot of the action in it, especially action which is supposed to convey the pettiness of the townsfolk, ends up being kind of superfluous. there's something about modernist art that struggles too hard to find art in the plain and the everyday, and for a genre so incredibly dependent on drama, it is either very, very difficult or just plain makes no sense at all to try to stage pedestrian action, even if it is "true."
anyway, these pieces are fantastically effective at evoking the cold grandeur of the sea - i think that's what the weird harmonies suggest the most to me. the atmosphere is incredibly stark, but the content itself is not focused, hence the meandering tonalities, melodies, and chords. very interesting stuff.
if you remember those kreisler pieces liebesfreud and liebesleid, this was originally going to be called "liebesgruss," which means the same thing in german - because his betrothed was german-speaking. he wrote this as an engagement gift, in july 1888 when he was 31 (his wife-to-be gave him a poem as her own gift, which he later set to music).
this is early elgar, and reflects a pretty young and optimistic composer, before he began to focus on his own alienation from both higher level music and social circles. he wrote enigma in 1899, which was his first breakthrough. but this is music of a different, simpler, very appealing sort.
here is a very lovely rendition by kyung wha chung.
through the years elgar and others have released many different versions/instrumentations of this piece which is really a song. the violin/piano arrangement is the original.
really very little needs to be explained about this piece :)
