George Frideric Handel was born a German and died a naturalized British subject. Accordingly, his long and varied career as a baroque composer took him throughout Europe, and his music shows influences from English as well as German and Italian traditions. This concerto grosso is one of twelve which constitute Handel's Op. 6. It was first published in 1739, at the beginning of the final phase of Handel's career. Prior to
this, he had found great success as an opera composer; however, the market became strained and Handel, who by this time had become a household name, began composing what we remember him most for today: his English-language oratorios.
The concerti grossi, few of which exceed fifteen minutes in length, were intended as interludes for concerts which mainly featured Handel's oratorios. Stylistically, they follow in the vein of Corelli's multi-movement concerti, scored for a concertino of two violins and one cello, along with ripieno strings and continuo - winds would have been included depending on availability, during this era.
The first movement has a stately tone of solemn majesty, featuring descending sighing lines which alternate with more sustained passages from the solo concertino. The second movement is a brisker Allegro, consisting mostly of variations and transformations upon the material introduced in the first two bars. The third movement, the only segment not focused on the G Major tonality, is set in the relative E minor. The fourth movement is largely fugal, but has a playful humor, including a surprise quiet ending. The concerto concludes with a spirited, vivacious gigue.
The chamber orchestra at my school performed this last october, and it was one of my favorite things that they did all semester. We also performed it with the addition of two oboes, which very well might have been done back in the day. The piece is not too long and has just the right amount of vivacity and stateliness.
I performed this piece last semester with the chamber orchestra at my school. This was the nicest recording of it I found at the time - a good conductorless version with really great wind soloists.
Here are the program notes I wrote for it at the time, including Copland's own description of the eight segments.
Composed under commission in 1944, the "Ballet for Martha" lacked a name until just before the premiere, when choreographer Martha Graham chose the title from a poem called "The Dance" by American author Hart Crane. In truth, the name bears virtually no relation to the music or the ballet, causing Copland much amusement when he repeatedly received comments about the music's power to evoke the scenery of
mountains in spring. However, regardless what imagery this music may conjure in one's mind, the harmonic language is unmistakeably American, and it won Copland the Pulitzer Prize in Music in 1945. That same year, Copland rearranged the ballet music into an orchestral suite which retained most of the original music.
The suite is a continuous twenty-three minutes, and was originally scored for a chamber ensemble featuring thirteen instruments: flute, clarinet, bassoon, piano, and one desk each of the string family members (except the single double bass). He would subsequently score a version of the suite for full orchestra, which is more frequently performed. Copland also authorized the chamber version to be performed with an expanded string section, which is the version performed here today.
The action of the ballet features a pair of pioneers celebrating their newly-built farmhouse in Pennsylvania and their upcoming marriage. They are visited by various neighbors and advisors, and experience the spectrum of emotions that come with starting a new life in an unfamiliar place. After phases of both joy and uncertainty, in
the end the couple stands ready to face their new life with quiet courage.
The eight sections of the suite proceed thusly (text in quotation marks indicates Copland's own prose):
1. "Very Slowly. Introduction of the characters, one by one, in a suffused light." This serene section features gentle solos over an ever-present A Major tonality.
2. "Fast. Sudden burst of unison strings in A major arpeggios stars the action. A sentiment both elated and religious gives the keynote to this scene." Copland indicates "vigoroso" for this bright and lively tune, which later becomes superimposed upon a more expansive string texture. 2:38 in the video.
3. "Moderate. Duo for the Bride and her Intended--scene of tenderness and passion." This section is introduced by a lilting irregular rhythmic figure, which then dissolves into more intimate and expressive but muted sonorities in far-off keys. 5:25
4. "Quite Fast. The Revivalist and his flock. Folksy feelings--suggestions of square dances and country fiddlers." This section is sprightly and dancelike, depicting the exuberance of the spiritual revivalists. This eventually crests into an eloquent and grandiose statement, leaving a pronounced impression on the protagonists, who quietly reflect on these themes. 8:43
5. "Still Faster. Solo dance of the Bride--presentiment of motherhood. Extremes of joy and fear and wonder." After an irregular transitional section, the following presto is a sort of moto perpetuo, featuring highly syncopated tunes above a neverending tattoo of eighth notes. But with an abrupt silence the music lurches into a more deliberate, firm tempo, cadencing with a firm resolve in C Major. 12:08
6. "Very Slowly (as at first). Transition scenes reminiscent of the introduction." The music here is very similar to that of the slow introduction, but set in A-flat Major, a half-step lower, perhaps illustrating the mellowing effects of maturity and experience. 15:05
7. "Calm and Flowing. Scenes of daily activity for the Bride and her farmer-husband. There are five variations on a Shaker theme... sung by a solo clarinet..." This well-known hymn, otherwise known as "Simple Gifts," becomes more and more elaborate and excitable with every variation, until the final iteration, which is stated in glorious and dignified fashion. 17:06
8. "Moderate. Coda. The Bride takes her place among her neighbors. At the end the couple are left 'quiet and strong in their new house.' Muted strings intone a hushed, prayerlike passage. The close is reminiscent of the opening music." 20:12
I had a lot of fun working on this piece, but it was a huge nut to crack on four rehearsals' time. you can check out some of my performance here if you wish.
The first movement is featured here, though hopefully sometime I will find the time to do the rest of it. Program notes for ICSO 3/3
Can't go wrong with Argerich.
Prokofiev's third and most enduringly popular piano concerto was premiered in 1921 (though sketches of the second movement date as far back as 1913). The bulk of the composition was completed during the summer of that year, which he spent in Brittany, France. He premiered it himself that December with Frederick Stock and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Vital and witty, this three-movement concerto is a pillar of the
twentieth-century piano repertoire.
The first movement opens with a quiet and lyrical clarinet solo, which the strings also quote. The introspective mood does not last long, however, as the strings rush forward with sixteenth notes to begin the Allegro, and the piano bursts forward with the main subject, a lively chattering theme. A slower, more wistful theme is articulated first by the oboe over pizzicato strings, which the piano develops before accelerating into a series of cascading triplets which crescendos into a grand restatement of the Andante theme, now given fully and expressively by the entire orchestra. The music segues into a long, discursive development of this theme. Then, with four quietly expectant chords intoned by the winds, the Allegro is brought back with a vengeance. The recapitulation features abrupt, jagged tempo changes that highlight each returning theme. The recapitulation of second theme winds down gradually, as if out of steam. But just before the listener catches his breath, the piano enters for the final flourish, a continuous run of sixteenths which drives forward inexorably to a thrilling close.
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.
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.
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.
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.
