Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 in E minor, Op. 39

Written 1898, revised, published 1900.

the school orchestra performs this symphony this coming weekend, which means i had to write these program notes for it. i wrote an analysis post on the third movement at the beginning of this blog, which you can find here.

i really love this symphony. it's quite youthful and full-blooded, but with some quintessentially sibelian qualities: how textural it is, for example, with rhythmic intricacies that can only really be there if everyone truly locks in to the important parts. the first movement has this magnificent soaring line that gets handed off between brass players and strings. the second is beautiful and serene except for this gradually building agitato in the middle, which has a really stirring section of hemiola - basses and string pizz in 3 against a melody that is fundamentally in 2. the third is that vital blend of scherzo alternating with gorgeous harmony, and the fourth movement is a "fantasia" - long, juicy, discursive themes; winding, spread-out (basically sonata) form.

here's a recording we have been listening to - really good stuff. i don't know what's up with this image, but the recording is fantastic. jansons/vienna.

and here are your program notes.

Sibelius was thirty-three years old when he produced his first effort at a full symphony, after several years of writing mostly tone-poems for the full orchestra. In fact, his most well-known composition, the tone poem Finlandia, was produced earlier in the same year as this symphony, and shares its quintessentially Finnish patriotism. The work lacks the compactness and austerity of his later symphonies, but makes up for it with lush romanticism and youthful vigor. Sibelius premiered the work himself in April 1899, and later that year revised it into the version we know today. The symphony opens with a long, discursive, and solemn clarinet solo over a quietly portentous timpani roll. As it concludes, we enter the Allegro energico and the movement proper, which is in a brisk, tempestuous 6/4 meter. The strings give the primary theme, a sustained note followed by a quick rhythmic flourish. This is quickly expanded to a grander statement by the full orchestra. The second theme, given by the winds, is pointed and lighthearted. Three gray pizzicato unison notes conclude the exposition. The development of the movement is long and meandering, featuring a long chromatic section of falling wind lines. The movement concludes after completing the sonata form, and is punctuated by two firm E-minor pizzicato chords.

The distant key of E-flat major is home for the warm and nostalgic second movement. After a lyrical theme presented by hushed strings, the bassoons present their answer, which wanders and gradually accelerates, gathering the rest of the the winds and brass along the way. This is a microcosm for how the remainder of the movement progresses: the middle tranquillo section is dominated by a serene horn choir, but the opening themes are brought back more and more darkly and urgently until they build to a rapid swirling climax – and suddenly, stop. Exhausted, the music hangs over apedal E-flat before the strings return with a variant of the opening theme, interrupted by striking silences, as if the music pauses for breath, before coming to a gentle rest.

The third movement, a romping scherzo set in C major, is in standard ternary form (A-B-A). The movement makes extensive use of pointillistic wind writing, string pizzicato, and hemiolas. Uniquely, the first section's theme is given by the timpani, which plays a prominent role throughout. The scherzo's galloping is suddenly interrupted by a single sustained chord in brass, bass, and bassoons which hovers unresolved for several measures, before moving on to begin the middle section in E major. This section is calmer and more flowing; the ends of phrases are elongated by fermatas and grand pauses, as if pausing briefly for reflection. But on the last of these lapses, tuba and winds wrench the music back to the opening tempo, and the scherzo
returns, capering to a rollicking close.

Sibelius writes “Quasi una Fantasia” at the beginning of the last movement, suggesting a rhapsodic, improvisatory feeling to a movement that mostly follows sonata form. The slow introduction, scored for impassioned unison strings, is an ardent, unapologetically bold restatement of the melancholy clarinet solo which opened the symphony. This soon segues into a fast Allegro molto, which is rhythmic and urgent. The music builds steadily in tempo and dynamic, rushing headlong into a fermata and stopping short after a rushed tumbling descent in the violins. Without overture, the second theme enters in C Major, expansive and lush. A short bridge in the winds concludes the exposition and we return to the Allegro molto tempo to begin a long development. Sibelius elides the the recapitulation by beginning a development of the second theme that gradually morphs into its official return, this time even more fervent, and set in the dominant key of B major. This theme is taken to its apex before spilling back into the home key of E minor. A desperate, furious climax follows, featuring strings cascading over each other and sustained chords from winds and brass. The symphony ends with two bleak, E-minor pizzicati.

Cage: Concerto for Prepared Piano and Orchestra

i won't pretend to understand most of this piece, but i would like to talk a bit about the setup and things that are involved in performing it, since we did so just the other week here at school.

this piece is three movements (without break) in 21 minutes, and involves a highly prepared piano along with a bunch of fairly nonconventional percussion. since i wasn't involved in the piano preparation, i'm just going to list the objects that are needed here and move on to a discussion of the other performance setups.

objects needed for the piano: 8 screws, 40 bolts (including headless, black, stove and furniture bolts, bolts in thin rubber casing, 1 bolt with weather stripping etc.), 4 short strips of rubber (or 8 wedges carved from soft rubber erasers), 4 rubber bolts, 1 US penny, 1 strip of felt, 11 strips of soft plastic (wire insulation), and a plastic bridge.

this list is courtesy of Tzenka Dianova, from "John Cage's Prepared Piano: the Nuts and Bolts"

the most problematic item above is the plastic bridge, which is not well described (or even really described at all. the idea is that the bridge rests on the sounding board and produces microtones. the suggestion in this book is a plastic ruler which was trimmed to fit under the indicated strings.

the piece is described as a kind of a middle ground between written out music and cage's "chance" music. he uses a technique called "gamut" which is where he creates and (geometrically) moves across rectangular charts of notes, chords and sonoroties to derive his music. in the first movement, the orchestra music uses one of these charts while the piano is improvisatory and like "free composition,"; in the second, a different chart is created for the piano part, and in the third, both piano and orchestra use the same chart. 

below is a recording from youtube.

the piece calls for a number of very unconventional percussion implements, among them a metal slinky suspended from a height and flicked with a fingernail. you can hear this at about 8:08. obviously because of the nature of the instrument it has to be amplified.

another electronic aspect is the boom box/radio which is supposed to be "set to a local station" and played at certain points in the score (usually for no more than one or two seconds). this introduces another element of chance and can result in some spectacularly awkward moments in the performance. (i think 3:29 is one of these, as is 8:46.)

the piece is scored also for an electric "buzzer" which should be audible at just after 8:00, although i can't seem to discern it in this recording (it should be pretty much corresponding with the thunder sheet sound). i think for this we just used a buzzer button amplified.

other unusual implements include a metal garbage can (2:17), various types of maracas and shakers, thunder sheet, and a "water gong," which is a gong that is struck and then lowered/raised into a tub of water, which bends and alters the pitch. there are also a number of points at which one of the percussion people has to go in and scrub some sort of metal apparatus along the piano strings as the piano player plays (orchestral - there is another pianist who plays both a prepared piano as well as a celest, in addition to the concerto soloist)  (5:43 is one example of this sound, as is about 6:03); we also amplified this. piano strings can take a lot of abuse, as long as the soundboard isn't messed with too much.

the piece is so spare that we decided to perform it with most of the lights dimmed and stand lights for all the performers. it gave it a sort of eerie and surreal feel. this piece is quite difficult to get into - the only thing i catch on to really is the d minor chord that opens the piece :P

but it's good to keep an open mind. enjoy!

if you would like to see a nice video of this piece being performed, there is a video of the IC chamber orchestra performing it here. i think both the buzzer and the slinky are much more successful in this performance, you can hear both in close proximity from about 22:53 to 23:00. in particular our slinky sounded less like metal rattling and much more like a toy gun :)

Hinton: Reminiscences of César Franck

This is a different sort of entry that i'm posting simply in the name of information dissemination. i'm currently doing a project on cesar franck's symphonic poeme Psyche (a fantastic work which i will surely also post here in the coming weeks), and in the process of searching for sources written in english about his life and times, i stumbled across a record of this booklet written by his only significant student in England, a man named John William Hinton (1849-1922). it's a tiny little pamphlet that was pretty difficult to track down - not a well known work but brief and insightful towards Franck. the little folder i received through the library system contains a set of small yellowed pages that are all separated from each other and basically coming apart, so i decided that it would be a good idea to transcribe it.

below you will find the complete text and page numbers to john hinton's personal reminiscences of cesar franck. maybe someday the fact that this is on the internet will help someone in their research. with the exception of a couple typesetting things, this is everything exactly as you would see on the printed copy.

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Cesar Franck

Some Personal Reminiscences

by J.W. Hinton, M.A., Mus.D.

(Trinity Coll., Dublin)

Author of “Organ Construction,”

“Story of the Electric Organ, &c. &c.

London: William Reeves

83, Charing Cross Road, W.C.

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Printed by Whitehead & Miller.

15, Elmwood Lane,

Leeds.

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Reminiscences of César Franck.

So many books and press notices have appeared dealing with Franck's biography or discussing his art methods, that every thoughtful musician (even if acquainted only with a few of the great tone-poet's works) must feel less surprise at the sudden outburst of posthumous celebrity than regret in realising how completely Franck was ignored or misjudged by his contemporaries – by the many who could not appreciate his genius, and, alas, also by the few who would not.

While ample materials now exist from which Franck's life may be reconstructed, it is unfortunate that, with the exception of Vincent D'Indy's book, Cesar Franck (Paris, Felix Alcan, 1907*), and of a few other publications, nearly all the documents are veritable “Gospels according to St. Luke,” written by persons who never knew Franck intimately.

Alongside of such valuable testimony as that of M. Vincent d'Indy (the St. Peter of the Franck

*English Edition, by Mrs. Newmarch (John Lane, 7/6 net).

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disciples), I venture to hope that the personal reminiscences of a humble disciple and friend of the master may possess a measure of interest, and this hope must be my excuse for acceding to request of friends that I should publish a few of these recollections.

Further, and separately, some prefatory apology is necessary for the many details of my own biography included. These details, however, are unavoidably present, to explain when and how I came to know Franck. Moreover in fairness to myself, and in the interests of truth and accuracy, I could not permit readers to infer that I was continuously Franck's pupil; for while it is true that our acquaintance and friendship was spread over more than twenty years, yet I only enjoyed the privilege of his instruction for a few short periods separated by considerable intervals.

It was towards the end of 1865 that I first saw Franck. I was then a “big boy” (though doubtless I should have resented this appellation at the time), and nothing was farther from my thoughts than the idea that I should one day adopt the profession of music. Indeed my father was too deeply imbued with the well-known tenets and prejudices of Lord Chesterfield for such an idea to have been even thinkable.

It was as an act of indulgence, intended to be an incentive or bribe, that during a visit to Paris my father treated me to a course of “first class” harmony lessons, from a “first class” man. This concession to my penchant for music I was supposed to justify and repay, by more close and

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earnest study of Greek irregular verbs, and of other things equally uncongenial to me. Considering that my previous music teacher was one whose main vocation was to tramp country roads collecting rates and taxes, it will be obvious that I could not have been adequately prepared to at once benefit from Franck's lessons.

I shall, however, never forget his wonderful patience and kindness, and though he commenced by telling me “vous ne savez rien du tout” (which of course ruffled me considerably), further meeting my querulous reply that I was “out of practice” by adding “vous n'avez jamais su,” I nevertheless soon got over my temporary resentment, and began rapidly to acquire clear and definite knowledge – if of necessity but elementary. Better still, I came to love my studies, and firmly resolved to learn more at the first opportunity. Some part of the time allotted to my lessons was devoted to improving my piano playing, which might then be summed up as ability to render very indifferently a few of Sydney Smith and Brinley Richard's pieces. These Franck refused to consider, and substituted Mozart's Sonatas, of which I still have the copy containing his fingering and corrections of my inaccuracies.

After the completion of this short course of “finishing” lessons, as they were intended to be (but which were really only the starting point of my career) I received no musical tuition until the autumn of 1867, when again with my father in Paris, which city he was wont to visit for three months nearly every year.

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Of this visit I possess a rather curious and valuable memento. Having succeeded in obtaining permission to renew my lessons with Franck, I eagerly availed myself of the short course possible, and submitted to him a copy of Best's edition of Bach's 48 Preludes and Fugues (which had been given to me, but I had not yet studied). This book he took away, returning it to me at the last lesson with the first twelve numbers (both Preludes and Fugues) fingered in places of difficulty, and marked with pedalling for optional use on the organ. After some words of practical advice generally he exhorted me diligently to master the whole work, he on his part having done all he could to facilitate the unaided study thereof. I did this, more or less – I fear rather less than more, but, without any further tuition or coaching from any source, I passed my Mus.B. Exam in the University of Dublin (1870).

From the beginning of 1868 to the autumn of 1872 (a period covering both my College career and the time of the Franco-Prussian war) I did not see Franck or correspond much with him, and it was not until 1873, by which time I had decided to follow music as a profession, that I resumed my studies with him – for a somewhat longer period than on previous occasions.

Franck then admitted me as an “Elève auditeur” at his class in the Conservatoire, the class so well and lovingly described by Mr. Vincent D'Indy (p. 225 op. cit.). At that time the pupils were Samuel Rosseau, Georges

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Verschneider (son of M. Charles Verschneider Barker's partner in organ building), Jean Tolbecque, two lady students, and myself. D'Indy also attended the class, but it seemed that Franck put him on a plane rather above us generally. No suspicion of favouritism was, however, thereby suggested. It appeared quite natural and in accordance with the fitness of things that the pupil able to assimilate most rapidly and in the largest amounts should not be stinted in his appetite.

Many are the memories which cling round that class-room, though not a few have passed from me. Plain-song accompaniment, organ playing, and extemporisation in sonata, or fugute, form, were the three main branches of study there taught. In the first I felt no interest, but what I did acquire came in very useful to me years afterwards.

The attendant who blew the organ (the bellows of which are located in a small room under the instrument) was one Jean Lescot, and later in the day he was to be found at the opera in full evening dress checking tickets and passes with great importance and dignity. Lescot was a useful man to know, so I often preferred to relieve him in blowing rather than grind through some particularly arid specimen of Plain-song. Jean Tolbecque, too, often slipped round to the bellows chamber, endeavouring to be unobserved when he knew he had not prepared his work, and as Franck would not unfrequently grow interested and enthusiastic in helping pupils whose work was satisfactory, the

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time limit was sometimes exceeded, and Tolbecque succeeded in getting passed over.

Further than this, I used to bring written work to Franck at intervals; this was generally at 9 in the evening after he had finished his daily routine of teaching.

Franck's success with his pupils was largely due to his power of eliciting from them earnest and well digested work.

“Don't try to do a great deal, but rather seek to do well”; “no matter if only a little can be produced”; “bring me the results of many trials, which you can honestly say represent the very best you can do”; “don't think that you will learn from my correction of faults of which you are aware, unless you have strained every effort yourself to amend them.” Such were his words, and if he noticed evidences of lack of interest or insufficient intensity of effort in the work submitted he would severely, but kindly, decline to correct it, and the pained expression of his countenance would generally shame the pupil into more serious application.

Wrong accidentals in playing particularly annoyed him. I do not think, however, that it was the mere jar on his nerves that upset him, so much as the fact that he failed to understand how the player could (even for a moment) forget the tonality or lose his perception of the sense of the harmony – such things seemed to him inconceivable, monstrous in fact. Under these circumstances he would shout, and even rave like a madman if the offence were repeated. This fury was however quite harmless; no word

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of his was ever personal or sarcastic – his wrath was against the sin, not against the sinner.

No one who has not known Franck intimately will ever realise what a phenomenally hard worker he was; working perhaps hardest of all in the “holidays,” when a little reading of good literature afforded the only breaks in days wholly occupied in composing or scoring. Franck invariably rose at 5 a.m., winter and summer; moreover it was his habit, no matter how hard pressed he might be, to reserve at least some brief interval in the day for meditation, reflection, and probably prayer - “Le temps de la pensée,” as he called it. Now it must be quite obvious that such continued work could only be possible for one gradually disciplined thereto by hardships, only be understood when we recall his early history and surroundings.

At the age of 11 Franck was already a youthful prodigy on the piano, and travelled with his father, giving pianoforte recitals. Poor little Franck! he can never have played games or known the happy careless youth of most children.

When h was 12 years old his father removed to Paris in order that the boy should have the best musical training possible, and at 15 he competed for the highest prize in piano playing at the Conservatoire. On this occasion, by some impulse of youthful “cussedness” he chose to play the sight-reading piece in a key a third lower, accomplishing this incredible feat with perfect ease and accuracy. Cherubini, the “Maestro” examining (despite all the unlovable

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qualities attributed to him by Berlioz), showed remarkable fairness; for though bound to disqualify Franck for this irregular action, he personally requested the council to grant the young virtuoso a special “grand prix d'honneur” for piano playing – the only one ever granted by the Conservatoire, from its beginning to the present day.

A similar eccentricity did not serve Franck so well when he competed for the organ prize. Noticing that the sonata subject would work with the fugue subject, he treated the two together, evolving a complex fugue; for this he was again disqualified, but eventually allowed a SECOND prize, as an act of mercy.

Having abandoned the profession of travelling virtuoso, which indeed was one most uncongenial to his retiring and studious disposition, the resources of the Franck family were thereby materially reduced, and he was compelled to work early and late in teaching at such remuneration as offered. Franck's early marriage, which took place in 1848, naturally did not tend to relieve him from the strain upon his energies. Even so, however, he neither could, nor would, give up his time for study, and thus became as it were an automatic expression of work, continuing until his death to occupy every moment of a career unchequered by any of those periods of inactivity, or reaction, which have so often delayed the development of, or utterly wrecked, many promising geniuses.

At the time of his marriage Franck was organist of the church of Notre Dame de Lorette,

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and we learn from M. D'Indy that on the day of his wedding, the insurgents in the Revolution of '48 had constructed a barricade in front of the church. Over this the happy couple were safely conducted by the belligerents, and no harm was done to them.

It may not be uninteresting to recall that the then new organ at Notre Dame de Lorette was the first Cavaillé organ erected in Paris, having been completed in 1836, five years before the opening of the magnificent instrument at St. Denis (Sept. 21^st, 1841), often erroneously assumed to have been Cavaillé's first organ in Paris.

The following condensed schedule of the contents of the Notre Dame de Lorette organ brings before us the instrument Franck, had to use and, moreover, is typical of the condition of large organs in France at that time.

SCHEDULE OF STOPS

Great and Choir Organs, CC to F, 54 notes; Swell to Tenor F, 37 notes; Pedals AAA to A, two octaves.

GREAT.

1. Open Diapason, 16 ft. 12. Grand Cornet, VII. ranks.
2. Ditto, 8 ft.
3. Bourdon, 15 ft. 13. Grand Furniture, IV. ranks.
4. Stop diapason, 8 ft.
5. Flute (Clarabella), 8 ft. 14. Small Furniture.
6. Salicional, 8 ft. 15. Sesquialtera, III. ranks.
7. Principal, 4 ft. 16. Bombarde, 16 ft.
8. Flute, 4 ft. 17. Trumpet, 8 ft.
9. Twelfth, 3 ft. 18. Clarion, 4 ft.
10. Fifteenth, 2 ft. 19. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

12. Grand Cornet, VII. ranks.

13. Grand Furniture, IV. ranks.

14. Small Furniture.

15. Sesquialtera, III. ranks.

16. Bombarde, 16 ft.

17. Trumpet, 8 ft.

18. Clarion, 4 ft.

19. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

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CHOIR

1. Bourdon, 8 ft. 8. Seventeenth.
2. Open flute, 8 ft. 9. Cornet, V. ranks.
3. Dulciana, 8 ft. 10. Mixture, V. ranks.
4. Flute, 4 ft. 11. Trumpet, 8 ft.
5. Principal, 4 ft. 12. Clarion, 4 ft.
6. Twelfth, 3 ft. 13. Contra Fagotto, 16 ft.
7. Fifteenth, 2 ft.

8. Seventeenth.

9. Cornet, V. ranks.

10. Mixture, V. ranks.

11. Trumpet, 8 ft.

12. Clarion, 4 ft.

13. Contra Fagotto, 16 ft.

SWELL

(Enclosed in a Venetian Swell.)

1. Bourdon, 8 ft. 6. Cor Anglais, 16 ft.
2. Flauto traver, 8 ft. 7. Trumpet, 8 ft.
*3. Harmonic Flute, 4 ft. 8. Hautbois, 8 ft.
4. Flegeolet, 2 ft. 9. Clarion, 4 ft.
5. Cornet, III. ranks. 10. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

6. Cor Anglais, 16 ft.

7. Trumpet, 8 ft.

8. Hautbois, 8 ft.

9. Clarion, 4 ft.

10. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

PEDALS

1. Open Wood, 16 ft. 4. Trumpet, 8 ft.
2. Ditto, 8 ft. 5. Large ditto, 8 ft.
3. Ditto, 4 ft. 6. Clarion, 4 ft.

4. Trumpet, 8 ft.

5. Large ditto, 8 ft.

6. Clarion, 4 ft.

As an organist Franck was principally remarkable for his wonderful extemporary development of themes. He would study a subject closely for a few moments, his countenance assuming such visible signs of intensity as will not be readily forgotten by those who have seen him, and then as it were would “let himself go.” At the end he invariably criticised himself, saying “I did not do this, or that,” “I haven't done quite what I intended” - or more rarely, “well I think I have succeeded pretty well this time.” These extemporary voluntaries came to be both a presure and an artistic duty to him, and if he did not quite realise what he desired, or if the warning bell rang for him to stop just as he was piling up a close “Stretto,” he would be visibly

*The earliest introduction of the harmonic Flute is to be noted, and, almost the first instance in Paris of the Venetian Swell.

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pained, and seemingly formed the resolution to “get his own back” next time by still greater concentration of energy. Franck's “registration” on the organ was sober, if compared with that of Léfebure-Wély, and in no degree intended to captivate the general public; but while the modern resources of the organ were not neglected by him, it is unquestionable that beauty in the design and combination of ideas, not variety in colour display, was his principal quest. In this connection it seems unavoidable to note that the great builders-up of organ literature from Bach to Rheinberger have seldom given any indication of the stops to be used, evidently conceiving that that the highest excellence of organ music should reside in its design and architecture, so to speak, or in other words in beauty of line and proportion, which would lose in dignity and become largely unintelligible if prettily “picked out in colours.”

Indeed, such “interpretations” of Bach and of other Organ Classics are as now, alas, but too common, rather suggest the cheap oratory of some lay readers and others in our churches, who “patronise” the Word of God by bestowing upon it such emphasis and punctuation as embodies their conception of what they appear to think the Almighty OUGHT to have said.

Franck's six pieces for the organ (Op. 16) were his first really important work for that instrument. They were composed in 1862, when organ music in Paris received such a healthy stimulus from Hesse's visit, and his recitals on the newly erected organ at St.

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Sulpice, but it was not until 1868 that they became known. Franck gave a copy of these to my father, asking him to secure English rights of performance, but unfortunately he found himself unable to give effect to this commission. Early in 1868 Franck played the No. 1 of this series at the opening of the organ at Notre Dame (Guilmant also producing his Marche Funèbre et Chant Séraphique on the same occasion). It was of Franck's six pieces that Franz Liszt said, “They have a place alongside of the works of Sebastian Bach.” My copy, which I greatly treasure, bears the inscription, “Souvenir Affectueux, a Mr. John Hinton,” together with Franck's signature.

Little can, I think, be said for some of Franck's smaller organ pieces – mere “pot boilers” - which were mostly written in his early necessitous days specially to meet the very limited powers of French village harmonium players. Doubtless some of these bear later dates, but Franck, as Handel and others, often revived parts of his early writings, and of this I have documentary evidence.

Speaking of these pieces, one can only say that passages in them bear the imprint of a master hand – that is all. When, however, we come to his Three Chorals, we find ourselves in presences of a stupendous manifestation of musical genius, for therein Franck has continued the work of Sebastian Bach, and surpassed him.

A vivid memory is evoked in my mind as I think of the pleasure I experienced when he

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told me I could come to Notre Dame to the organ while he tried the stops and fixed the registration of the pieces he was to play. As I ascended the tortuous staircase and viewed the impressive pile from near the roof, visions of Quasimodo, and of many others who moved in that wonderful mediæval atmosphere created by Victor Hugo, seemed to flash across my mind, suggested by each quaint carving, or dim recess.

If I may hazard an appreciation of Franck's art, I should say that he was essentially a symphonist, and that it is in his superb quartet for strings and other concerted pieces that we find him at his best. D'Indy reluctantly concedes that Franck's church music is singularly unequal and disappointing, moreover assigning some causes which explain this. He also frankly admits that in opera Franck was perhaps scarcely at home; his strong mysticism and leaning towards sacred art did not, I think, conduce to special aptitude in dealing with conventionalised forms of stage music.

It only remains to add that I took part in the first production of Redemption, and of some other of Franck's works.

Poor Franck! he was not gifted as a conductor; the business and disciplinary duties of that office were completely beyond his grasp, and consequently most of his first performances were sad fiascos.

Nevertheless, kind soul that he was, he seemed soon to forget, and he never had a hard word to say to any performer, no matter how badly they had served him.

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In 1887 (at which time I resided in Guernsey), I journeyed to Paris to be present at the Franck Festival, portions of Les Béatitudes and various other pieces from his pen being performed at the Cirque d'Hiver, under the conductorship of Pasdeloup. Here again ill fortune ensued. The music had been insufficiently rehearsed and was badly rendered. Pasdeloup (then almost in his dotage) started the Variations Symphoniques at double the pace intended, resulting in a “scramble,” a hideous and painful travesty of the music.

At that time Franck was just entering upon a new lease of activity as a composer, and much of his best work was done subsequently; but, alas! this golden period was destined to be all too short: for one day in crossing the street, perhaps meditating upon some combination of musical themes, he was struck down by the pole of an omnibus.

From this accident he rallied for a while, but internal troubles developed, and the end came on November 8^th, 1890. His remains were interred at Montrouge, but subsequently they were removed to a more fitting resting place in the Montparnasse Cemetary. R.I.P.

Dvorak: Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 "From the New World"

I wrote these notes last week for the upcoming concert. i'm posting them now because i have them, but honestly, i won't bother trying to improve too much on them even though they could obviously be more detailed - who needs another recap of the new world symphony? it's only one of the best-loved, most accessible symphonies ever written - if you find these notes short, you should just go listen to it. i also did an individual movement post on the scherzo last year which you can find here. i won't even post a recording here, just go find one. if you find yourself needing more mental stimulation, play the last movement and try to identify every time one of the previous movements' themes comes up.

as printed in the 2012 Ithaca College symphony orchestra block 1 concert program:

From 1892 to 1895, Dvorak lived in New York as the director of the National Conservatory of Music, and this fruitful period (during which he drew much inspiration from American folk music) would yield his most celebrated works. Among his output during these years are his tenth String Quartet No. 10 in F Major, the “American,” the famous cello concerto in B minor, and this work, by far the most popular of his nine symphonies, which he penned from December 1892 to May 1893 on commission by the New York Philharmonic.

With its wealth of captivating, memorable themes, this symphony has found lasting popularity worldwide. Dvorak made a point of studying the spirit and identifying characteristics of Negro and Native American folk music, which he deemed “practically identical”: he believed that these sources were the treasure trove that would anchor the American musical identity. However, though he made a conscious effort to incorporate the folk music's idiosyncrasies, he never used anything but original themes in this symphony. (This is also true of most of the folk-music-inspired works he composed, for example his lively and nationalistic Slavonic Dances.) The musical influences represented here have been traced not only to Negro and Native American tunes, but also heavily utilize rhythms from his native Bohemian. The work's charm is not in the use of folk material per se, but rather in Dvorak's ability to develop those exotic influences within a classic symphonic form, scoring them authentically yet idiomatically for standard orchestral instruments.

The first movement begins with a slow introduction: a plaintive melody is scored for celli, and punctuated by a horn call. Soon the subdued mood gives way to a more dramatic outburst in the strings, timpani, and horns; this leads us to the movement proper, which is a brisk Allegro Molto in sonata form. It is this movement which Dvorak most closely associates with his effort to embody the native American spirit within characteristic “national” melodies. The first of these themes is a rising and falling arpeggio, developed vigorously and dramatically; the second theme, first given by solo flute and then violins, is more lyrical, but retains the rhythmic lilt of the first.

The second movement a Largo, is introduced by grandiose brass chords that lead us to the key of D-flat Major. The famous english horn solo which follows is one of the most iconic tunes in all of symphonic repertoire, and Dvorak credits this and most of the material in the movement to the inspiration he drew from Longfellow's poem Hiawatha. The serene mood of the theme contrasts with the more melancholy middle section, which is in the enharmonic minor key of C-sharp and begins with a wistful oboe solo, accompanied by fluttering, undulating figures in the strings. The transformative moment is a soft, surprise cadence in C-sharp major, which lifts the music in a more lively direction leading to a great climax. The english horn theme and opening material return largely unaltered, save a gorgeous variant given by the strings, steadily reduced until the music seems to pause, mid-breath. Solo violin and cello dance alone for a moment, before being joined by the rest of the string section to bring the movement to a close.

The scherzo, which returns to the key of E minor, also derives its inspiration from Hiawatha, specifically the scene in which the Indians dance at Hiawatha's triumphant return from battle. It is representative of Dvorak's scherzi in all the best ways: a compelling pulse with fetching, danceable rhythms that can be traced to Dvorak's folk roots. The contrasting trio is more lighthearted and dulcet; it is set in the relative C Major.

Dvorak describes the fiery last movement as a recall and synthesis of all the themes of the previous movements. The powerful introduction heralds a striking theme given by the horns. With every reintroduction of prior themes Dvorak adds new material and innovative twists, and the movement climaxes with a chord progression analogous to that which began the second movement. The final section brings the symphony to a thundering coda, ending on a chord that dissolves into silence.

Ravel: Daphnis et Chloé, Suite No. 2

this piece is consolidated into one post because a) its movements don't divide well as they are played attacca and b) as component parts of a much larger composition, it doesn't really make sense to divide them up anyway.

this has some weird tempi changes/relationships but overall i think achieves the clarity that ravel had in mind. this is a version performed without the optional wordless choir. i have to say, i like the (relative) spareness of the version without the choir, but they do have some great chords and lines that are only really implied by the rest of the orchestration (though there are "instrumental alternatives" written in the orchestral parts).


the full ballet was premiered in June 1912 by Diaghilev's Ballets Russes conducted by Pierre Monteux. the context is interesting because not even a year before that debussy premiered his prelude to the afternoon of a faun, and stravinsky's firebird and petrouchka were both premiered during the three years it took Ravel to produce and orchestrate Daphnis et Chloé. though it was, strictly speaking, "ballet music," ravel called daphnis a “choreographic symphony in three parts.” suite no. 2 represents the final third, comprising three movements which chronicle the reunion of the two young lovers after Chloe's kidnapping at the hands of pirates; their dramatic tribute to the god Pan, who was responsible for Chloe's rescue; and the Bacchanalian celebration that follows.

orchestrationally, Ravel is at his very best in this suite, which has become the most-performed version of this music since the relatively lukewarm reception to the full ballet (and maybe the most-performed orchestral work of his, period). he uses a huge orchestra:
flutes, alto flute, piccolo, oboes, english horn, clarinets, e-flat, bass clarinet, (three!) bassoons, contrabassoon
four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba
two harps, celesta
and a huge bevy of percussion instruments: timpani, cymbals, bass drum, field drum, snare drum, castanets, tambourine, glock.
and of course the wordless SATB choir.

Program notes follow:
The suite begins with daybreak (Lever du jour), and Ravel paints a luminous picture of a sacred grove with a brook represented by murmuring winds, harps, celeste, and strings, along with birdcalls from piccolo and solo violins. Soon daylight breaks and luscious melodies are passed throughout the orchestra, as the two title characters are reunited amid lush harmonies. The second movement, Pantomime, is remarkable for its extended, meandering wind solos. The transformation is ushered in by a solo oboe which calls a halt to the undulating figures in the winds and strings. A shepherd explains to Daphnis and Chloé that if Pan has saved Chloé, it is in honor of his doomed love for the beloved Syrinx. Daphnis and Chloé begin the reenactment of Pan and Syrinx's love story. Their dance is marked by fluid rhythms, elastic and languid tempi, and a famously difficult flute solo depicting Syrinx (who was transformed into a reed pipe, placing her forever out of reach). The music swings abruptly from mood to mood, now tenderly hesitant, then playfully flirtatious, then sweepingly grandiose – but throughout it retains a note of wistfulness, ultimately unfulfilled. The movement concludes with a broad and brilliant statement by the trumpets.
The unmistakable commencement of the post-drama celebration (Danse générale) is marked by a switch to a whirling meter in five. A motor of running triplets alternates throughout the orchestra, punctuated by bright interjections from trumpets and soprano clarinet. The music begins at a portentous distance but soon swells to a wild, volatile celebration, with subito soft moments followed by explosive outbursts. These increase steadily in intensity and frequency to build to a thrilling conclusion.

i find this entire suite totally compelling. i love ravel. there is something that i find so intuitive about his (initially) most non-intuitive stuff - his sense of rhythm when he mixes meters and gives offbeats to everyone else, his weird hesitations in the middle of phrases, the pressez fowards. ravel is awesome.

Clyne: rewind

because i will have to start writing pretty regular program notes and studying a large variety of scores, i've decided to revive this beginning with the notes that i had to write for the upcoming concert. this is a piece that was written in 2005 by mead composer-in-residence at chicago symphony.



there is a video on the cso website in which clyne talks about the composition of this piece, but i can't get it to load under any circumstances.

this is actually a pretty cool short piece in which she is inspired by both visual imagery and dance choreography. the key image is that of an analog video tape being quickly rewound, with “fleeting moments of skipping, freezing, and warping.” she also drew a lot of inspiration from the dance choreography of her friend kitty mcnamee, whom she admires for its use of gestures which repeatedly appear throughout a piece to “build and bind its narrative structure.”
the overall sound is a pretty cool sense of electronic tension which you're hit with almost immediately. a dramatic sustained note opens the piece, colored by lurching crescendi and diminuendi. strings enter with agitated sixteenths that are accented in unexpected places, creating a tautness that repeatedly but unpredictably grows and explodes. there's that stringy, noisy sense that you get when you listen to lots of electronics.
clyne also employs a number of different techniques to recall "warping and skipping": a high whining pitch is supplied by bowed crotales (small brass disks usually struck with a mallet); brass and strings are instructed to “bend” pitches and perform slow glissandi over many bars. in the cso video, she mentions that the gesture she credits as the “kernel” for the entire piece is the piano's cluster chords, which the player is instructed to play by striking the keyboard with their entire forearm (a gesture she remembers performing in frustration during the composition process before she realized she could actually use it).

there is one part close to the end which is at about half tempo and involves some string solos. suggestions on what this part represents? maybe the rewind mechanism is stalling but continuing to try to rewind.

the part which brings the piece to a literal level (and also into clyne's specialty of electronic music) is the last thirty seconds: as most of the orchestra falls silent, a short, pre-recorded segment of the piece is played in high-speed reverse for the final thirty seconds. so i think in most score/part sets for this a pre-recorded CD is included with the high quality .aiff file. we've put this on an ipod, which will be piped over the auditorium sound system. the "press play" instruction is given to the second percussion player, so it's actually controlled from within the ensemble. the writing around the entrance is such that the recording emerges from the texture, so i think in the case of slight delays in the playback or whatever it won't matter quite so much, and the file is merely played straight until the huge chord at the end which just cuts everything off.

Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 2, Op. 52 "Lobgesang" - I. Sinfonia (cont.): Adagio religioso

III.
this movement has been criticized as being sanctimonious. i'm not really sure mendelssohn had it in him to write anything bordering on irreverent, but i find this movement quite beautiful regardless of what he intended.
d major, the first and only theme is a choir-like hymn given by the strings in a sort of mini-rounded binary form, the second phrase with the winds exploring a bit of A Major before the strings yank it back into D major.
from 2:00 begins a short section. i'm really not sure why litton gets so much faster in this recording, i would prefer he just kept his former tempo and let the harmonies do the tension-building. but anyway, this section features a bit of an agitato string accompaniment with a little bit of anguished interjections from the winds.
this leads us into a restatement of the theme at 2:38 in the wrong key of A major  (the accompaniment figure remains to give it a bit of a push). the difference here is that when he blossoms the theme, instead of a major predominant chord, we get a d minor chord (iv in a major). this requires us to take a bit of a detour so he introduces a bit of a new material to finish it. but since we are in the wrong key, he cadences in a surprise G7-C and takes some time to do a short development on the opening themes, over a gentle rolling accompaniment of thirty-second notes which will last until the end of the movement. this development lasts until 4:03 where finally he gets to bring back D Major with the delicious g minor chord at 4:13. he repeats all this material in the right key.
4:53 represents the big A7 chord which will allow us to cadence affirmatively in D Major, and he puts a punctuation on that with the big arpeggio in the violins at 5:15. coda begins right after this, and takes us to a cadence which concludes the sinfonia quietly and sets us up for the cantata to follow.

Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 2, Op. 52 "Lobgesang" - I. Sinfonia: Maestoso con moto - Allegro - Allegretto

The structure of this symphony is a bit complicated. "lobgesang" translates roughly to "hymn of praise," and it is mendelssohn's one choral symphony. the wiki page is pretty uniquely unhelpful for those looking at this symphony from an orchestra view. the orchestra plays three orchestral movements, all chunked together in a "sinfonia," and then the chorus joins for ten more movements, bringing the whole thing to a healthy total of over an hour (about 70 minutes), which was pretty extreme for a symphony (beethoven 9 is 70-80 minutes at a pretty glacial pace).

anyway we shall just cover the sinfonia, which itself is comprised of three smaller movements.
I. Maestoso con moto - Allegro
II. Allegretto
III. Adagio religioso

written in 1840 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the invention of the printing press, it nevertheless makes no explicit reference to writing or printing, instead using primarily sacred text which often refers to the general idea of enlightenment, which was strongly tied to the culture of printing and reading. but it was also known as the "gutenberg cantata" and he also insisted on the genre label as "symphony-cantata," suggesting that he really wasn't thinking much of beethoven 9 when he composed it, formally. musically it has much more in common with bach's cantatas, which were also written with recitative-aria form.
while this symphony is published as no. 2, it was written fourth of the five. mendelssohn was quite hard on his other symphonies and never was satisfied with either of his most popular symphonies, the scotch (#3) and the italian (#4).
the symphony is scored for 2/2/2/2 4/2/3/0, timp + str, adding two cornets, an organ, and of course the SATB chorus for the latter movements.

these two videos are the first two segments of the sinfonia, which basically act as two different movements played attacca, the first in the home key of Bb major and the second in the relative minor of G. the recordings are andrew litton and the bergen philharmonic.

I.
the first movement is in a standard sonata-allegro form. there is a grand fanfare of a b-flat major theme first given by the trombones and echoed by the rest of the orchestra, and this is one of the most important themes in the symphony, recurring throughout the sinfonia as well as the cantata section, set to the words "alles was odem hat, lobe den herrn" or "all things that draw breath, praise the lord." the exposition proper begins at 1:04 and features a typically joyous mendelssohn theme characterized by dotted-rhythm arpeggios and a leap upwards descending by scale. he starts this theme twice and then springs off into one of his characteristically frenzied cascading runs, upon which he once again imposes the fanfare theme at 2:08 and even takes it through some development culminating in a big C major chord acting as the dominant of F (minor). instead he then gives us the second theme set in A-flat major (f-minor's relative major) at 2:40. as typical, the second theme is more lyrical, characterized by lots of parallel thirds. with a surprise c major chord (III of A-flat) he pivots into f-major, which will set us up for the animato at 3:20, introducing a bit of new material in the vein of the first theme and wrapping up the exposition nicely at the big f-major cadence at  4:21.
this part is the development, which goes on steadily using the fanfare theme as the primary modulating motive. he reaches a point where the strings are in e-flat, and uses the brass fanfare as the motivator for further modulation, eventually ending up at 5:31, a long section featuring running triplets in the strings and a big pedal Bb which destabilizes the fact that it's actually a I chord and perpetuates the development. there's a big pause after a long set-up for a g minor cadence. instead he does a development of the second theme set up in e-flat major but quickly springing upwards to a build-up to the recap (beginning of the second vid), which begins right at 0:46.
not much more to say about this movement, both the first and second theme material are abbreviated, with the second theme being stated in the right key of Bb at 1:07 with no gap/misleading key setup in between and the animato material at 1:39 also in the right key. 2:48 is the beginning of the coda, which begins like the development but takes us into a big cadence of Bb instead of other keys. the cool part is he jumps back into the maestoso version of the fanfare theme at 3:47 to conclude the "movement."
then cue a pivot from the tonic into the relative minor and we're off to the second movement.

II.
this movement is simpler and shorter, characteristic of a typical ternary or song-form second movement. in 6/8, the flanking sections are waltzlike and melancholy. the a-section is itself a sort of rounded binary, with a first section that repeats and a section that explores the dominant major (D), rounding off with a recall of first section material that wraps up in a gray unison pizz on g.
the middle section starts at 7:00 in G Major and features a 6/8 version of the fanfare theme we have come to know so well, presented by a wind chorale (one set of program notes i found describes this section as the sacred to the flanking sections' "secular."). it alternates every four bars or so with string material taken straight out of the A section. it cadences at 8:23 in g major and there is a bridge section with pizz bringing it back to the A section. all the thematic material returns to the home key, proven by a g minor coda at 9:14. like the first section, the movement itself ends with two final pizzes.