Debussy: Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune (Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun)

Debussy's ten-minute tone poem for orchestra takes its inspiration from the eponymous poem by Stephane Mallarme, and was meant to be the prelude to a ballet choreographed by Valery Nijinsky. Though the ballet is rarely performed, Debussy's prelude has proven to be nothing short of one of the most important watershed works in modern music history. Ambiguous in its meter, capricious in tonality, and full of the impressionistic colors which were Debussy's unique legacy, the prelude is a loose montage of scenes from a torpid afternoon in which the mythical faun vainly pursues a pair of elusive wood nymphs. He reaches them only in a sensual, dream-filled slumber in which he is united with them and nature. The language in both the textual and musical poems is suffused in light, unrealized passion, and vivid languor.

The famous opening flute solo is representative of the faun, who plays his pan-pipe in the woods. From the beginning our sense of tonality is tricked and tricked again, as the flute oscillates between the two notes of a tritone; the melody hints briefly at E-major, but then the orchestra enters in B-flat major, the most unexpected key possible. There is a silent bar as the music seems to ponder this turn of events, before trying again. Wandering interjections from horns and harp wreathe the flute, padded by soft strings. The harmonies wander, but every time it seems to be reaching a point of arrival, of realization or resolution, the goal shifts or evaporates altogether.

With the entrance of a solo clarinet and muttering celli, the shadows of the nymphs appear, and the consequent pursuit and flight are shown by fleeting, unresolved scales, muted brass, and tantalizing pizzicati. As the music grows more animated and passionate, the orchestration grows lush and colorful, but the sweetest moments are also the most hushed and delicate, undulating just underneath the surface. This is the ethereal world that persists to the end of the piece, drifting in between enchanted yearning and fleeting luxuriousness. And what to make of the resolution: clear, unambiguous E Major, a certainty which has eluded us the entire piece? The faun escapes to sleep, forsaking his pursuit, but realizes his desires in the other world of slumber: “Farewell to you... I go to see the shadow you have become.”

Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique (IV & V)

Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, notable for its program and its innovative instrumentation, features a dream of a very different sort of love: that of an artist driven to despair, whose opium-induced dream features the object of his love in increasingly grotesque, desperate contexts. The real-life inspiration for Berlioz's masterpiece was an Irish actress named Harriet Smithson, with whom he fell desperately in love after seeing her play the role of Ophelia in a 1827 production of Hamlet. After many years of receiving his unrequited love, eventually she saw the Symphonie Fantastique performed in 1832, and fell in love with him. Though their marriage ended unhappily, they never lost their affection for each other.

The fourth and fifth movements of the programmatic “symphony” follow a diverse set of three movements in which the artist finds himself in all types of situations but continues to be haunted by the image of his beloved in every context, a persistent musical idée fixe characterized by passion but “endowed with the nobility and shyness which he credits to the object of his love.” In desperation after finding his love unrequited, the artist drugs himself with opium, and the fourth and fifth movements form the substance of the resulting dream. In it, he has killed his beloved and been convicted and sentenced to death; he is forced to take part as both victim and onlooker at his own execution, an inexorable march to the guillotine witnessed by an enthusiastic crowd. In his final moments the haunting idée fixe returns once more, a final vision of love cut brutally short by the blade, followed by his head bouncing down the steps and the cheering of the enthralled crowd.

With the concluding movement, the artist's funeral is twisted into a witches' sabbath, “a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters” who materialize in a flurry of ghostly groans, outbursts, cackling, and other ominous noises. The clarinet once more introduces the beloved's melody, but no longer shy or noble, it gallops in with wicked, vulgar glee: she has come to attend the witches' sabbath, and a “roar of delight” meets her arrival and inaugurates the witches' round dance. This grotesque orgy is followed and augmented by the tolling of funeral bells along with the well-known Dies irae (Day of Wrath) chant, presented by bassoons and tuba. The round dance returns in a fugue form, resolute but marred by uneven phrases and outbursts of twisted, mirthless brass. At its apex is combined with the Dies irae in an increasingly wild and frantic rampage that whirls relentlessly to its only possible conclusion: glorious, devastating triumph.

Franck: Psyché, symphonic poem for chorus and orchestra, M.47 - Libretto

I'd like to return to a piece that I have been in love with for a long time now. I will cover it musically soon, but for now here is a translation of the libretto. The piece premiered in 1888 to mediocre reviews. It was a 
symphonic poem, a three-part, seven movement work for orchestra and women's chorus which took its inspiration from the Greek myth of Psyché and Eros. However it was never published as such. Its most common form in performance was -and is - in the arrangement Franck wrote for four-hand piano and chorus, or in the four orchestral fragments that Franck later extracted (which is almost the only form it is heard in today).
The chorus is used only in certain climactic points during the piece (three of the seven movements), and addresses the character of Psyche through the drama, similar to how the Greek chorus was used in dramatic plays. You'll notice in the text that it tends to describe and dramatize the action.
As it was never published, the original libretto attributed to Sicard and Fourcard is terrifically difficult to find. I was originally looking for a direct transcription to go with this, but that will have to wait. Here is a translation which was done by Mike George and Mark Seto (libretto and program description respectively).

PART ONE
Psyche’s Slumber (Sommeil de Psyché) (orchestra): Psyche is sleeping and dreaming; while she dreams, she has a premonition of absolute, otherworldly happiness.
Psyche Carried Off by the Zephyrs (Psyché enlevée par les Zéphyrs) (orchestra): Suddenly the air trembles, filled with strange noises. Psyche, carried off by the Zephyrs, is transported into the gardens of Eros.

PART TWO
The Gardens of Eros (Les jardins d’Eros) (orchestra and chorus): More beautiful than beauty itself, Psyche rests among flowers, greeted like a sovereign by Nature in celebration: voices whisper in her ear of the power of Love. She awakens, gently touched. The voices sing again, and speak of the invisible bridegroom who approaches. Delighted, she listens, she waits. The voices still sing, but more seriously: “Remember,” they say, “you must never know the face of your mystery lover… Remember!”
Chorus:
Love! Source of all life!
Young, strong god with the strength to conquer!
Hail, O hallowed power,
Hail, O charming ruler of hearts!
You fill everything with holy joy,
In your wake the furrows turn fertile.
Mother Earth produces with rapture
When the ineffable kiss
From the brightest sun, her bridegroom, beams down on her.
O white sister of the lily, gentler than the dawn
And more beautiful than beauty itself,
Do you not long to feel a sweet desire bursting open
In your tormented breast?
Listen to the invisible lyres in the distance
Sighing gently on the melodious air!
Your mysterious bridegroom is coming,
To your innocent breast, to share this divine ecstasy.
For you the palace gates are thrown open.
But, Psyche, remember that you must never
Look at the face of your mystery lover.
Obey without understanding your ever virtuous fate.
Psyche! Remember.
Psyche and Eros (Psyché et Eros) (orchestra): The spirits have fallen silent: another voice already resonates, soft but penetrating: it is that of Eros himself. Psyche responds hesitantly… soon their souls merge… All is passion, all is light, all is happiness… forever, if Psyche can remember.

PART THREE 
The Punishment – Psyche’s Suffering and Laments (orchestra and chorus): Psyche did not remember! “The punishment begins,” the voices declare, but she weeps. Eros will forgive her, perhaps. Psyche weeps; she feels infinite sorrow, because she has known infinite happiness. Consumed by impotent desires, she visits the earth to suffer, and to die with a sorrowful and supreme fervor for the ideal love which she has lost forever, but which she still hopes for…
Chorus: 
Love, your secret is known. 
Woe on her! Among the sweet mystery, and pure happiness, 
Her heart was filled with an eternal youthfulness.
Her punishment begins and its pain is cruel.
Far from the gardens and sacred temples of Eros, 
She wanders aimlessly, 
On paths that are rough under her bruised feet. 
A lonely traveler on a sad journey, 
Sobbing with regret at the mystery of 
The blue gardens and sacred temples of Eros. 
And the dark night grows even deeper, 
And the wind alone hears her hopeless cries! 
There is no glimmer of hope. 
Love, Psyche has discovered your secret, and yet she weeps. 
Take her back to the blue gardens and sacred temples. 
Apotheosis (orchestra and chorus): Eros has forgiven, the mysterious choir announces, and the whole world rejoices. Rest, poor Psyche! Your desire, which outlasts your death, is lifted up to God and God descends to you; his mouth repeats the same love, Nature sings the same revelry. And here in the arms of her immortal bridegroom, Psyche leaves the world in triumphant glory!
Chorus: 
Eros has forgiven. 
Heaven and earth quake with delight! 
Psyche, lift up your pallid forehead. 
Let the pain of your first mistake 
Be forgotten for ever. 
Heavenly couple, soar into the light. 
The miracle of love is at last complete. 

Attributed to “Sicard and Fourcaud” 

Martinů: Toccata e Due Canzoni (1946)

The last in a set of a couple program notes I've written over the last semester.

Youtube has two recordings of this piece as far as i can tell. Both are pretty decent, but I include the live one here for a few reasons - the other one does not indicate the performers, it is not a video (only a sound recording with a nevertheless very nice picture of Martinu), and I'm reasonably sure that they do change the printed/composed bowing at the beginning to make it easier (it's a slurred ostinato that is extremely difficult to coordinate within and between the sections). But if you are curious you can check out the somewhat cleaner other recording here.
I. Toccata: Allegro moderato (1890-1959)
II. Canzone I: Andante moderato
III. Canzone II: Allegro
It's an unusual format, and became more so as he composed it - originally he wanted the latter two movements to be the "light" to the Toccata's "dark," the songs (literal translation for "canzone") to the Toccata's dance. But they ended up being equally weighty.


Bohuslav Martinů was an early 20th-century composer known for his prolificness and
versatility across a daunting abundance of genres. But of all the forms he experimented and, indeed, excelled at writing, his favorite was the concerto grosso.
This affinity shows itself strongly with this underperformed gem, composed in 1946 during his stint living in the United States, just after he had finished his Fifth Symphony. Martinů wrote that while the symphonic genre offered the broadest scope and "boundless dimensions," the formal, dynamic, and emotional limits of the concerto grosso were of a restrainedness which he enjoyed and blossomed under. He originally conceived of the piece as a return to "less obvious emotion, less noise, and much more music in a condensed form." However, after writing the fairly heavy toccata, his original intention for the canzoni to be light and simple underwent a metamorphosis, and they became much more dramatic and lyrical.

The Toccata, marked Allegro moderato, is a brilliant and compelling perpetuum mobile, featuring murmuring interwoven divisi strings which meld with a restless grumbling piano line. However, despite its incessant persistence in rhythm and in texture, there is an overarching lyricism which makes itself felt in the rhythmic figures as well as the brief but soaring fragments which overlay it. Throughout the movement the piano plays
a pivotal role, a conduit between the wind and string sections' continual sixteenth notes.

The two canzones take complimentary moods, one dignified and the other fierce, but both possessing the same rhythmic consistency and integrity as the toccata. Canzone No. 1 is solemn and stately, beginning with dark octaves and a highly chromatic melody in the solo piano. This line is fragmented and augmented by the rest of the orchestra, before the music coalesces into a luminous middle section featuring solo strings and glowing chords from the rest of the orchestra. The climax is an anguished series of falling triplets and chromatic lines; the movement closes as it began.

The second canzone alternates almost startlingly between the aggressive 6/8 which opens it and a much more lyrical theme. The orchestra plays alternating rhythms that seem to vie with each other for dominance over the meter before slowing to a 3/4 middle section which hovers in melancholy and gorgeously expressive unison lines in the violins. But the Allegro of the opening then returns with a vengeance, extended into a furious climax. The closing section, marked Adagio, is a recall of many of the textures and motifs which have dominated this rigorously rhythmic piece. The piece ends in a glorious, incandescent D Major.

Poulenc: Aubade, concerto choregraphique for piano and 18 instruments

Youtube has four very decent recordings of this piece (possibly more, but these were my highlights)

Claire-Marie Le Guay with Christophe Mangou and the Orchestre Nationale d'lle de France. I like this one because aside from being very well executed, it's a video and you can see (sort of) the unusual instrumentation and the configuration, which is one that Poulenc includes himself in the score of the piece.
Sviatoslav Richter
Pascal Roge
Jacques Fevrier

I. Toccata (Lento e pesante - Molto animato)
II. Récitatif: Les compagnes de Diane (Larghetto)
III. Rondeau (Allegro) - Entrée de Diane (Piu mosso)
IV. Toilette de Diane (Presto)
V. Récitatif: Introduction à la Variation de Diane (Larghetto)
VI. Andante: Variation de Diane (Andante con moto - Animer - Emporté)
VII. Allegro feroce: Désespoir de Diane
VIII. Conclusion: Adieux et depart de Diane (Adagio - Più mosso)

Poulenc's 1929 Aubade was written for and financed by the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Noailles, the latter of who was one of 20th-century Paris's most forward-thinking and visible arts patrons. Its unusual instrumentation - it is one of a fairly exclusive group of orchestral concert pieces that does not include violins - is a result of the ensemble that was budgeted for the fete given the evening of the premiere at the Noailles' mansion on June 18th, 1929.
Poulenc was a master of compositional balance, toeing the line between levity and depth, clarity and richness. This piece, now known more or less as Poulenc's first piano concerto, was originally conceived as ballet music and was premiered with choreography by Bronislava Nijinska (George Balanchine choreographed the public premiere some months later). It chronicles the story of the Diana, Roman goddess of the hunt and of chastity. The action of the ballet depicts her anguished struggle with her fate-decreed bonds of abstinence; its name refers to a Middle Age piece played or sung outdoors at dawn, and references the fact that the plot here begins at daybreak and ends at dawn one day later. While the Aubade has since become exclusively a concert piece - in fact, Poulenc cautions performers and audiences not to overcredit the programmatic aspect of this piece - it is still evident that Diana's plight of solitude informs the character and emotional shape of this piece.
The Aubade opens with a stark brass fanfare, and the first of the eight short segments (which are performed without pause) consists mostly of a frenzied solo piano cadenza channeling Diana's distress and loneliness, at odds with her eternal chastity. The orchestra's reentrance signals the awakening of Diana's companions, and the music is at first grim and foreboding but then slides into a graceful rondo, with the piano stating each subject and theme before ceding it to the orchestra. Diana's entrance at the Piu mosso is marked by a brightening of timbres and quickening of pace. The third segment, marked Presto, is a merry, quick and lively depiction of the companions as they dress Diana for her day, and its pert ending marks the conclusion of the first half of the piece.
The following Recitatif is more solemn, beginning with dissonant flourishes from the bassoons and oboes, and marked by firm dotted rhythms. Diana is handed a hunting bow, upon which she proceeds to dance alone in a lovely but resigned Andante introduced by solo clarinet and flute. The end of this dance is marked by a pale oscillation in the flutes, a foreshadowing of the ending. The penultimate movement, Diana's despair, is a furious and fierce outburst. It is over as suddenly as it began, however, and in the end succumbs to bleakness and loneliness. The clarinets give a flurry of protest, but in the end, a lonely solo cello line leads us to the austere coda, which features a stern brass statement overlain by a seemingly neverending series of A-minor oscillations in the upper winds and solo piano. Eventually these, too, recede into the unelaborate ending of a single low A piano strike.

Haydn: Symphony No. 104 in D Major, "London"

Joseph Haydn's final symphony is rather arbitrarily nicknamed, being the last of twelve symphonies that Haydn wrote in London during his second and last visit to England. It premiered in 1795 to great success, and was the capstone on a group of symphonies that came to represent the height of late Classical-era symphonic writing, sealing Haydn's reputation as the "father of the symphony." For its time, it was a symphonic tour de force, lasting twenty-five minutes, thoroughly and compactly assembled with splendour and lighthearted brilliance, and truly meant to move the symphony from the aristocrat's ballroom to the public concert hall.

The first movement opens with a slow, grandiose introduction in D minor. The following Allegro is set in straightforward sonata form, with a playful theme in D Major which appears in A Major as the second theme as well. After repeating the exposition, the development begins with the strings in B minor; it climaxes with a dominant chord which is immediately cut off for a dramatic, unexpected silence before the recapitulation begins. The movement is closed with a brief triumphant coda in D Major.

True to form, the inner movements of this symphony are both distinct and full of character. The second movement, set in G Major, sets up a whimsical theme that serves as the basis for the rest of the movement. The middle section is stormy, but with typical tongue-in-cheek humor it is interrupted with abrupt silence, and in short order brings back the opening theme with classical ornamentations. The melody stalls and wanders into other keys, ending on a strange D-flat Major chord. A lonely flute solo lingers before the orchestra tentatively reenters and then confidently reasserts the main theme; horns bring the movement to a quiet close,
mischievous in its lack of fanfare. The Menuetto returns to the main key of D Major, a stately Allegro which ventures into a more lyrical trio in B-flat major, featuring expressive lines from the oboe and bassoon.

The finale is, as its tempo marking indicates, exuberant and plucky,opening with a lively theme for the violins set in piano and accompanied by a pedal D which promises more. Shortly thereafter, the orchestra bursts in with vigor; much of the movement features the sprightly scales in the violins. The apex of the moment centers
around a singular interval - a half step in the strings which widens into a yawning tenth before the D Major tonic returns with the rest of the orchestra, bringing the movement and symphony to a jubilant
ending.

Husa: Serenade for Wind Quintet, Strings, Harp and Xylophone (1963)

This piece was also performed by the chamber orchestra last semester. To be honest I found it kind of hard to access, but this is a good recording and very lyrical and takes the necessary time, and well-balanced to show off the important lines. These are the program notes I wrote for that concert.

Karel Husa's career as a composer took him from his birthplace, Prague, through Paris, where he studied with Arthur Honegger and Nadia Boulanger. In 1959 he became an American citizen and spent many years in Ithaca as a lecturer at both Cornell University and Ithaca College, retiring in 1992. His seldom-performed Serenade was composed in 1963, about a decade into his tenure at Cornell. In his later years Husa's music became increasingly atonal, but the mood of this fifteen-minute Serenade is, overall, bright and engaging. It was premiered by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra in 1964.

This work's unusual instrumentation is a diversification upon the original inspiration, a piece called Évocations de Slovaquie (Evocations of Slovakia) written for clarinet, viola, and cello in 1951. The three movements are named for the Slavic mountain, the night, and a lively folk dance; however, these titles are more symbolic than strictly programmatic. A largely serial work, the Serenade nevertheless employs inviting, plaintive tunes and driving rhythms inspired by Slavic folk music.

The serenade opens with a stark, jagged clarinet solo, and the rest of the first movement unfolds in mirror form, as if to mimic the shape of the movement's eponymous mountain. The first section is in a moderate 6/8 scored thinly for winds and harp; strings join in the second section, which is firmer and more regular in rhythm. The music accelerates into a more frenetic middle section, which then slows into abbreviated versions of the first two segments, ending with pointillistic series of pizzicati and harmonics in the strings.

The second movement is marked "tranquillo possibile" - as tranquil as possible. Long melodic wind lines mesh with muted strings until the mood is interrupted for a perturbed, agitated middle section marked by rapid, furious scales and aggressive pizzicati. The movement ends quietly, as it began. In the third movement, driving rhythms and articulations evoke a vigorous folk dance, which accelerates into a celebratory close.