|
Concert
December 2007
PROGRAMME NOTES
by
Michael Bell
(Louis-)
Hector BERLIOZ
Le
Corsaire – overture, Op. 21
Born at Cote
St. Andre, near Grenoble, in 1803 and died in Paris in
1869 aged 65. Berlioz was the son of a doctor and
was sent to Paris to study medicine but studied music
instead - first privately and then, as a somewhat
rebellious student, at the conservatory. He is the
greatest musical figure in the French Romantic movement.
The romantic writers Hugo, Dumas, Balzac etc.
were his friends, as were the romantic painters with
Delacroix at their head, and the romantic musicians,
Chopin and Liszt. Like several other of
his works, this Overture was sketched by Berlioz
early in life (1831), revised and finally perfected in
1855 - the time of L’Enfance du Christ and the
Te Deum.
Although I
have known and enjoyed this overture since my teenage
years I have always been somewhat uncertain as to what
constitutes a “corsair”. My dictionary rather
unhelpfully suggested “a privateer”. “Buccaneer” seemed
more acceptable and “pirate chief” best of all. Berlioz
himself seemed somewhat uncertain. His admiration for
Lord Byron, shown in Harold in Italy,
suggests inspiration may have come from a poem Byron
published in 1814 – but on one occasion Berlioz
programmed the piece as Le Corsaire Rouge after
the hero of James Fenimore Cooper’s sea novel
The Red Rover.
Corsair
Conrad is a Byronic character of many vices, but with
the virtue of chivalry. He sounds interesting but, when
Byron in his introduction refers to the fatal
facility of the octosyllabic verse, I decided to
plump for Cooper. His writing was compared favourably to
Sir Walter Scott’s. His characters were
long-winded but his stories, combining bloodthirsty
scenes with improbable plots, were full of life and
distinguished by the sombre poetry of solitude and
danger.
So. take
your pick of Byron or Cooper, as the overture’s surging
opening gives way to a plaintive lyrical section
followed by an intense development. And fasten your
life-jackets as the brass steer us triumphantly into
harbour.
Pyotr
Il’yich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840 – 1893) Russia
Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64 (1888)
Tchaikovsky
wrote his
Fifth Symphony in 1888. During its composition, and even
later, he expressed both delight and disgust with the
work: It is a failure. There is something repellent,
something superfluous and patchy. The Symphony appears
too colourful, too heavy and drawn out. It might be
that this private and personally secretive (because of
his homosexuality) individual may have felt that he had
given too much of himself away.
Early
critics mostly condemned the work but it steadily won
the approval and, indeed, love of performers, audiences
and musicologists and now stands, together with
Tchaikovsky’s Fourth and Sixth, as amongst
the most frequently performed symphony of any ever
composed.
And
deservedly so, because in the sheer quality of the ideas
and the range of emotion so vigorously explored and
vividly expressed within them, it represents the
composer at his best - working in the tradition of
Berlioz and Schumann and influencing later
figures such as Mahler and Shostakovich,
but remaining at all times Tchaikovsky’s own distinctive
creation.
In his
symphonic fantasies and a fantasy overture
Tchaikovsky was able not only to empathise with the
characters he portrayed but to write music that captured
their full spectrum of feelings e.g. the youthful ardour
of Romeo and Juliet. With the Fourth Symphony,
however, a profound shift took place. Tchaikovsky’s own
feelings became his subject matter.
Among
Tchaikovsky’s peers, the public and the press, Brahms
was considered the leading symphonist. His First
Symphony – nicknamed Beethoven’s 10th” –
was an austere, noble and earnest piece of composition.
Like Brahms, Tchaikovsky venerated Beethoven, but was
not so enthusiastic about Brahms: There is something
dry and cold which repulses me. He has very little
melodic invention. Scarcely do we hear an enjoyable
melody than it is engulfed in a whirlpool of unimportant
harmonic progressions and modulations, as though the
special aim of the composer was to be unintelligible He
seems ashamed to speak the language which goes straight
to the heart.
Tchaikovsky’s language does go straight to the
heart and makes an impact that is immediate and
visceral. The Fifth is a simpler, less troubled work
than the Fourth or Sixth but the idea of an inescapable
fate was identified by the composer in a narrative for
the first movement:
I.
Andante
(Introduction) –
Complete
resignation before Fate, or, which is the same
thing, before the inscrutable designs of Providence.
Allegro
con anima
1. Murmurs,
doubts, laments, reproaches against.....XXX
2. Shall I
throw myself into the embraces of faith!!!
(By writing
XXX it is assumed that Tchaikovsky is referring to his
homosexuality.)
The whole of
the slow, sombre introduction (dark colouring provided
by the clarinets in their lowest register) is taken up
by the “Fate” motto theme which appears in all four
movements. The movement then trudges along in a
fatalistic, march-like gait that echoes the opening of
Zemphira’s Song, a Pushkin setting by the teen-age
Tchaikovsky. The mood is lifted as the woodwind weave a
tapestry beneath the strings’ first statement of the
main theme and then join with the horns in the first
iteration of the horn calls that are so integral to the
movement. The movement presents a succession of
spirited themes which reflect the brilliant colours of
Tchaikovsky’s orchestration, but it is the sombre,
defeated mood that has the final word.
II.
Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza:
The slow
movement begins with eight measures of hymn-like chords
which are followed by one of Tchaikovsky’s great
melodies, based on the last of his 12 Songs, Op. 60 “The
mild stars shone for us.” This rapturous theme
(converted into a pop song Moon Love in 1939) is
sounded by the French horn and later dramatically
interrupted by a return of the “Fate” motif.
III.
Valse – Allegro moderato:
The ballet
was never far from Tchaikovsky’s thoughts. Instead of a
Scherzo in this symphony he provided a Valse
which might have stepped from one of the ballets. The
charm and elegance of the dance takes on a darker hue,
briefly, when the”Fate” motto, played quietly by
clarinets and bassoons, is heard near the end.
IV.
Finale – Andante maestoso/Allegro vivace:
The finale
opens with the “Fate” theme, though now in the major.
The
Allegro vivace brings with it another a suggestion
of the ballet – the energetic rhythm of a Russian dance.
The coda is of an exceptional length and here the “Fate”
theme returns once again in the minor. Then, after an
impressive pause (less discriminating audiences than
yourselves have been known to break into applause at
this point!) the motto reaffirms itself in the major
with a march-like accompaniment from the trumpets and
horns. The return of the first theme of the Allegro
of the first movement brings the work to an apparently
triumphant conclusion. (“Apparently” – for, as at the
end of Shostakovich’s Fifth symphony, we wonder whether
this is a real victory or a false, hollow one. Perhaps
Tchaikovsky, at least on this occasion, wrestled with
his inner torments and prevailed).
I append the
following contemporary reviews for your consideration:
“The Musical
Courier” after the United States premiere of 1889:
The second
movement showed the eccentric Russian at his best; but
the Valse was a farce, a piece of musical padding,
commonplace to a degree; while in the last movement,
slaughter, dire and bloody, swept across the
storm-driven score.
“The Boston
Evening Transcript” (1892):
The furious
peroration (of the Finale) sounds like nothing so much
as a horde of demons struggling in a torrent of brandy,
the music growing drunker and drunker. Pandemonium,
delirium tremens, raving, and above all, noise!
Better
perhaps to leave the last word to the wise British
critic, Donald Francis Tovey:
My general
impression is that from first to last Tchaikovsky is
thoroughly enjoying himself. And I don’t see why we
shouldn’t enjoy him too.
Georges
(Alexandre Cesar Leopold) BIZET (1838-75) France
Petite
Suite “JEUX D’ENFANTS”, Op.22
Children’s Games
is a set of twelve charming pieces for piano duet,
composed in 1871, five of which Bizet
orchestrated with his customary light touch. The music
became widely known from its use in the ballet Jeux
d’enfants.
The three
movements you will hear this evening are:
March
(Trumpet and Drum):
A crescendo and diminuendo of brisk
trumpet calls accompanied by the rattle of drums clearly
describe the approach and gradual disappearance of a
troop of, presumably toy, soldiers.
Impromptu
(The Top):
The whizzing
of a spinning top is depicted by the violins. They are
accompanied by a dance melody given out first by the
woodwind and then by the pizzicato strings.
Galop (The
Ball):
The last
movement is a picturesque and lively dance. Daintiness,
delicacy and melodic charm are displayed by the full
orchestra (significantly minus trombones).
Gabriel (Urbain)
FAURE (1845 – 1924) France
Masques et bergamasques – suite, Op. 112
Masques
et Bergamasques
is a 20th century musical homage to the world
of the fetes galantes of the 18th
century. It originated as a commission by the Prince of
Monaco to accompany a divertissement of dancing
and singing which told the story of how members of a
commedia dell’arte troupe would spy on the amorous
encounters of aristocrats in its audience.
Written
quite late in Faure’s life, Masques et Bergamasques
(in English, Masks and Bergamasks – a bergamask
being a rustic dance) the composer described the piece
as like the impression you get from the paintings of
Watteau. It was first performed in Monte Carlo on
April 10th 1919.
The
orchestral suite consists of four movements:
1.
Overture 2. Minuet 3. Gavotte
4. Pastorale
Sir
Edward (William) ELGAR (1857 – 1934) England
Three
Bavarian Dances – orchestra, Op. 27 (1897)
In 1896
Elgar composed Scenes from the Bavarian Highlands
- six settings for chorus and orchestra (or piano)
of words written by his wife, Alice, as a memento
of a holiday the Elgar’s had enjoyed in Bavaria in 1894.
A year later he arranged three of the series as purely
orchestral movements which were first performed at the
Crystal Palace on 23 October 1897. These dances are the
best kind of light music – the first is bright and
robust, the second shows Elgar in his gentle pastoral
vein, and the third is an Elgar finale in miniature –
lively at first, then broadening and finally quickening
to end in a blaze of orchestral colour.
The three
Dances (with sub-titles provided by Alice Elgar to
recollect favourite places visited during the holiday)
are:
1. The Dance
(Sonnenbichl)
Allegretto giocoso
2. Lullaby
(in
Hammersbach) Moderato
3. The Marksman
(Bei Murnau)
Allegro vivace
Elgar,
unlike Britten, was not a connoisseur of poetry
and it was maybe only for the sake of marital harmony
that he decided to compose a song cycle using some of
his wife Alice’s words. The purely orchestral version
spares us her words for The Dance:
Come and
hasten to the dancing
Merry eyes
will soon be glancing
Ha! My heart
upbounds!
Come and
dance a merry measure
Quaff the
bright brown ale my treasure
Hark! What
joyous sounds!
Well,
despite the absence of vocalisation in our concert I
hope you harkened unto and enjoyed our joyous sounds and
perhaps later, whilst quaffing the bright brown ale in
some appropriate tavern, you may be encouraged to raise
your voice in song to celebrate a pleasurable evening of
good music.
|
