Showing posts with label orchestral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label orchestral. Show all posts

Monday, January 6, 2014

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.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Britten: Four Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes, Op. 33a

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.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Ravel: Piano Concerto in G Major

this has been my absolute favorite piano concerto for at least a year now, and i'm not sure anything will change that too soon. it is being performed here next week, and so i have written program notes for it. they are necessarily brief because of the nature of the concert, which involves a lot of selections, but actually halfway through writing them i just turned on the capslock and wrote, I FUCKING LOVE THIS CONCERTO AND YOU SHOULD JUST LISTEN TO IT BEFORE I RUIN IT WITH PALTRY WORDS. and that's how i feel. but this is my best effort at it.

and this is the only recording anyone in need of a recording should watch:
he gets a real grace and elegance and effortlessness, and all while looking like it takes no effort at all. of course, just for shock value, the recording of bernstein conducting this WHILE AT THE PIANO is also worth a gander. argerich also has a beautiful rendition.


One of two piano concerti Ravel composed, this dazzling jazz-influenced work premiered to long-lasting success in 1932, with Marguerite Long at the piano and Ravel himself conducting. Though it sparkles pianistically, its color and character derive in equal part from Ravel's distinctive use of the orchestra, which is as vital in this work as in any of his exclusively orchestral compositions.
The first movement opens with a single whip crack and a sprightly first subject presented by the winds above a light accompaniment and scintillating flourishes in the piano. Gradually the entire orchestra joins in the theme, until the piano emerges with a rhapsodic discourse, punctuated by blues figures from the winds; the second theme ascends, lyrical and more introverted, is introduced quietly by the piano. Syncopated accents characterize the motorlike return of opening material, and the exposition concludes with a flourishing cadenza that brings back material from the opening. The dreamlike development is a thoughtful extension upon the first theme, featuring string harmonics, a harp solo, and massive colorful outbursts from the orchestra. The second theme's development crests into the same motor of sixteenths which incessantly drives us forward to the boisterous, brassy descending scale that concludes the movement.
The transcendent second movement spotlights one of Ravel's most ethereal strokes of lyrical genius, and one of his most hard-won. The first subject, presented initially only by the solo piano, exists serenely for several minutes, until a solo flute breaks the reverie and allows the rest of the orchestra to enter. The second subject is darker and accompanied by dissonant rising chords in brass and winds, but retains the stately loveliness imparted by the incessant waltz-like chords in the solo piano. After a brief and lushly dissonant zenith, the first theme is brought back by an extended English horn solo, around which the piano flows gently and continually to a glowing close.
The third movement is a moto perpetuo, a tour de force by both soloist and orchestra. It opens with four explosive chords which recur throughout the movement, and features difficult solos for almost all the wind and brass instruments. The movement switches between a sixteenth-note running motor and a galloping triplet figure, and ends abruptly, with the same four chords that open the movement.

Moe: No Time Like the Present (1996)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHFCdQx9wNA

ok, this is not the best recording you can get out there, but the only one i think that's commercially available is the one of the original commission by pittsburgh symphony and i'm not sure i can legally upload it. plus, this recording is one of me! this is the run-through I did of this piece last week when i ran rehearsal. and these are the program notes that i wrote for the concert that this orchestra is performing it on next weekend.


Eric Moe's No Time Like the Present is a muscular, energetic, and invigorating five-minute exploration of orchestral rhythm. Commissioned in 1996 by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, it was premiered in 1998 by then-music director Mariss Jansons. It seeks to respond to the proposition of what might have happened had Stravinsky spent his time in the States absorbing the rhythms of Detroit's Motown rather than Los Angeles's Hollywood.
The work opens with a vigorous motor of sixteenths which underlies fragments of jagged and “funky” rhythms distributed among solo wind and brass, and interrupted by bars of siren-like triplets. A horn solo emerges to inaugurate a rhapsodic contrasting mood, characterized by solos which move to piccolo, english horn, and eventually, strings. These are punctuated by outbursts from the brass and percussion, which flare forth and then melt away as quickly as they came.
A solo bass clarinet colored by trombones commences the final section, a series of angular, increasingly extended and instrumentally-layered swells that crest in sudden explosions and unexpected silences. Bold triplets in the horn urge the music forward to a percussion-driven climax which ends abruptly, leaving only the soft glow of a cluster of harmonics in the celli, like an “afterimage” of the explosion we have just witnessed.
Moe is an American composer and concert pianist who is currently Professor of Composition and Theory at the University of Pittsburgh.


Wednesday, September 19, 2012

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.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Haydn: Symphony No. 59 in A Major, "Fire" Symphony

i am also only doing one entry for this symphony, which is very early haydn (circa ~1767, perhaps earlier). the nickname, as with most of haydn's, is more or less unrelated (at least, to the actual music). while one who was  looking at it in hindsight might be able to attribute the name to the perky opening and the quick tempo marking of the first movement, the symphony is not very much more or less fiery than any other symphony that haydn wrote during the time. the leading theory is that parts of it were used as the music to a play by Großmann called "die feuersbrunt" or the conflagration. but it was presented as a gift to the court of his patron esterhazy in full, after this



2 ob, 2 hn, strings
I. Presto
II. Andante o piu tosto allegretto (andante or a faster allegretto)
III. Menuotto
IV. Allegro assai
unfortunately i'm unable to provide a recording for this. hopefully i will find one someday, but i guess you'll have to live with a quick synopsis. because of this, i won't do my usual analysis type style since that's really dull if you don't have a recording to reference.
note the fast tempo marking of the first movement, which is probably the most interesting. the firsts do a quick pickup, but then the melody goes to the other strings while the firsts saw off on on a repeated A. then there is a gentler theme. a nice note i read says that the effect is as if two characters in a play have been introduced. the drama effect is a big force in the symphony, with the character being driving and insistent rather than normal sunny A major.
the second movement, in a minor, is actually in 3/4, which is a bit unusual. it's also not too slow, and sounds more like a minuet than anything else for a while. it has the character of a galante. there is also a crazy moment at the recap, where the horns, playing for the first time in the movement, burst in with a FF fanfare type figure over the quiet theme that vanishes almost as soon as it's played.
the third is a relatively fast (for the time) minuet, in A major switching to A minor during the trio.
the fourth opens with a brilliant horn duo in open intervals, which is answered by oboes before bursting into a rushed and lively string gallop.


i'm sure i will find a recording to update this with someday. until then, see if you can't keep an eye out for this very charming short symphony.