| Concert - Dec 2006 |
| Written by Mike Bell |
| Friday, 01 December 2006 00:00 |
|
9th December 2006
PROGRAMME NOTES
by Michael Bell Friedrich (Freiherr) von FLOTOW (1812-1883) Germany “Martha” – opera in 4 acts (1847-Vienna) Overture Flotow wrote around 24 operas in various languages. His biggest success came in the middle of the 1840s - first with his opera Alessandro Stradella (1844) and then, three years later, with his most enduring work of all, Martha (1847). The opera is a simple, delightful work with a great deal of melodic charm and it holds a very special place in the affections of opera lovers the world over. There is a chance for local colour, for the scene is set in that splendid country – operatic England (populated by Donizetti’s Emilia di Liverpool and Anna Bolena, and by Bellini’s Puritans). The original libretto, in French, was adapted from a three act ballet, Lady Harriette, or the Servant of Greenwich, for which Flotow composed one of the acts. Flotow had the libretto freely translated into his native German language, the heroine’s name was changed and the setting moved up the river Thames to Richmond in Surrey. Flotow’s opera does not sound English, (the use of a beautiful Irish folk tune, The Last Rose of Summer further complicates matters!) – but that may be because Friedrich von Flotow came from a German aristocratic family. His father, a captain in the Prussian hussars, had planned a career in the diplomatic service for his son, until the boy’s musical aptitude became apparent. When he was 16 he studied piano and composition at the Paris Conservatoire with Anton Reicha, a pupil of Mozart and Haydn. He was also greatly influenced by the works of Rossini, Meyerbeer, Donizetti and Adam. Gounod and Offenbach were amongst his close friends. Whether we consider the opera French, German, English or Italian (It was always sung in Italian in the early 1900s when the famous tenor aria M’appari was a favourite of Enrico Caruso’s) the charming and tuneful Overture pictures the shifting moods of comedy, romance and dramatic conflict. The brief, serious opening is followed by a horn solo of great loveliness which is developed into a resounding climax. A bright, restless theme is stated, then a passage of cheerful gaiety and a rustic tune, accompanied by a jangling tambourine, pictures the bustle of Richmond Fair. The two main themes are then reprised, varied and combined, and the coda sets off at a merry pace leading to a brilliant conclusion. Alexander Porfi’yevich BORODIN (1833–1887) Russia
Musical picture - “In the Steppes of Central Asia” (1840) The illegitimate son of an Armenian prince, Borodin was a medical man and a distinguished Professor of Chemistry. He worked tirelessly for students’ rights at The St. Petersburg medical school and he founded a School of Medicine for women. Science is my work and music is my fun, he said. In his somewhat limited spare time he looked after his asthmatic wife and cared for numerous stray cats which he rescued from the streets of St. Petersburg. His death was sudden – he dropped dead at a party. Borodin’s musical gifts were remarkable: a fascinating vein of melody, enhanced by picturesque harmony and orchestration. It is a pity, therefore, that he found himself unable to devote more of his time to musical composition - (the business with the cats seems a bit unnecessary) – for in 25 years he only completed 21 works, three of which were orchestral – two symphonies and a musical picture In Central Asia dedicated to Liszt and written to celebrate the Silver Jubilee of Tsar Alexander II. The first performance in 1880 was conducted by Rimsky-Korsakov. The work, now entitled In the Steppes of Central Asia, is of exceptional quality. It is beautifully scored and uses a single, wistful, oriental-sounding tune played on the cor anglais. Despite the cats, Borodin found time to write his own programme note for the first performance, thus saving me a job. Here it is: In the silence of the monotonous deserts of Central Asia are heard the strains of a peaceful Russian song. From the distance we hear the approach of horses and camels and the melancholy notes of an oriental melody. A caravan emerges out of the boundless steppe, escorted by Russian soldiers, and continues safely and fearlessly on its long way, protected by the formidable military strength of the conquerors. It slowly disappears. The tranquil songs of conquerors and subjects mere in harmony, echoes of which linger on as the caravan disappears in the distance. If a single piece encapsulates the extent of Borodin’s ability – this is it. Antonin DVORAK (1841 – 1904) Bohemia
Symphony No. 7 in D minor, B141 (Op. 70) (1884-85) The Seventh symphony (the second to be published) was the earliest of Dvorak’s nine symphonies to captured and hold popular approval. For some time Dvorak had been anxious to start a new symphonic work as a result of hearing Brahms’ recently composed Third symphony. (Brahms was Dvorak’s most influential champion, as well as his sternest critic). An invitation from the London Philharmonic Society provided Dvorak with the final spur to embark on the new work. He took enormous pains with it and during its composition he wrote, with passionate sincerity, to a friend: Everywhere I go, I think of nothing but my new work which must shake the world and may God grant that it will. It was completed in little over three months and was first performed at the St. James’ Hall, London in April 1885. The composer conducted and he wrote a couple of days later: It was immensely successful and at the next performance will be a still greater success. The symphony is highly organised and powerful, but it reflects the conflict which beset the composer throughout his life. Although Dvorak was a Czech nationalist, he lived at a time when his country was dominated by German-speaking lands and the temptation to surrender himself completely to the influence of German music must have been very great – especially after Brahms’ kindness towards him. Thus we find different strands in his music. This Seventh symphony (among the six greatest symphonies since Beethoven – Tovey) is in the German tradition and it was followed by the genial charm and humour of the Eighth symphony and then by the less strictly “symphonic” but more popular New World symphony, in which the folk-idiom of a remote people is borrowed. Dvorak’s success in each style is an indication of the broadness of his sympathies. I. Allegro maestoso: Brahms’ influence is strong in the first movement which opens dramatically and mysteriously with a hushed theme on violas and cellos beneath a restless bass tremolo. This is followed by a passionate and menacing tempest of immense uncompromising power. The themes are bold, direct and urgent and the moments of repose are few. Even these are generally accompanied by a restlessness in the lower strings, which never permits the tension to relax below the surface, until the calm and relaxed concluding bars revert to the gloom and mystery of the opening II. Poco adagio: If Brahms was an inspiration in the first movement, the Wagner of Tristan and Isolde makes appearances in this the longest movement of the work (or so I am told!). This opens with a simple 8-bar tune for the clarinet, which is continued by flute and oboe. The movement is one of the finest examples of Dvorak’s ability to write a succession of incredibly beautiful and inspired melodies, and weave them into a pattern without disturbing the emotional appeal of the music itself. A horn solo comes as an ecstatic and uplifting surprise and after the final climax the music dies away in an atmosphere of deep tranquillity. III. Scherzo (Vivace): Dvorak injects a distinctively Czech spirit into this Scherzo, which is based on the rhythm of the Furiant – a folk dance of his country. The mood here is more carefree, but the ingenuity of the movement lies in its combination of rhythms at the opening. The upper strings play a tune in duple time while bassoons and ’cellos have a counter-melody in 6/4 time, (not easy!) and this conflict dominates the whole vigorous Scherzo. The idyllic and pastoral Trio, recalling the Wagnerian mood of the slow movement, is in striking contrast. It begins with one of Dvorak’s long, meandering melodies of extreme beauty. IV. Finale (Allegro): The Finale, like the first movement, has two strongly contrasted main subjects. The heartfelt first theme, which has a distinctly national flavour, is announced at the start of the movement and soon reappears on flute and clarinet. The tragic mood, which has predominated so far, is only relieved by the arrival of the second subject - a smooth and lyrical theme introduced on the ’cellos, with ornamentation provided by the violins. It is a broad, warm and confident line which vies with other more violent ideas as the movement proceeds. The coda provides a powerful and fitting conclusion, working up to a tremendous climax (molto maestoso) when all the pent-up fury is magically dispersed, before the final chords triumphantly conclude what has been called the greatest of Dvorak’s symphonies. INTERVAL
Jean (Julius Christian) SIBELIUS (1865 – 1957) Finland Karelia Suite, Op. 11 (1893) – Intermezzo and Alla Marcia Sibelius wrote a considerable amount of incidental music for the theatre, and one of his earliest successes was music written to accompany a pageant celebrating the history of Karelia. The pageant was organised by the Viipuri Student Association to fund-raise for Karelian artistic activities, to counteract Russian cultural domination. The Intermezzo is a wonderfully evocative piece with shimmering strings and distant horn-calls. Karelians, from the south-eastern part of Finland are noted for their fun and spontaneity – characteristics exemplified in this well-known, delightful March. The infectious tune saunters through various accompaniments, including being played in canon with itself. There is a bigger, brassier section, before the opening music returns to bring the piece to a triumphant conclusion. Gustav(us Theodore von) HOLST (1874 – 1934) England
A Somerset Rhapsody – orchestra, H87 (Op. 21/2) (1906-7) Holst was born at Cheltenham and died near London, aged fifty-nine. He composed as soon as he could hold a pen and played various instruments. He began professional life as a village organist and conductor of village choral societies, and then at nineteen went to the Royal College of Music, where he spent five years, studying composition under Charles Stanford. He earned his living by playing that splendid instrument, the trombone, at first in theatre orchestras and then in the Scottish Orchestra. Approaching thirty he laid down his trombone and taught music in various schools in and around London. From 1906 he directed music at St. Paul’s Girls’ School. Holst became involved in the folk-song revival in the early 1900s when Cecil Sharp, Vaughan Williams and others were collecting the tunes from a rapidly contracting rural England. A Somerset Rhapsody, dedicated to Cecil Sharp, was written at his request in 1906. It was originally called Two Selections of Folksongs and was performed in the Pump Room, Bath, by the Pump Room orchestra conducted by Holst, on 3 February 1906 as part of a lecture given by Sharp. The next year Holst revised the work and it was first performed on 6 April 1910 at the Queen’s Hall, London, by the New Symphony Orchestra conducted by Edward Mason. Despite some echoes of Wagner which Holst was attempting to avoid, the bitter sweet tang which he gave to the folksy harmonies led to his first real critical success. Over a chord held by the second violins, the cor anglais plays the Sheep-Shearing Song (“It’s a rosebud in June”) which is taken up by the violins. Soon a march-tune, High Germany, breaks the pastoral mood and the cellos introduce a third folk-song, The Lovers’ Farewell. The central climax comes when woodwind and brass let rip with “High Germany”. Holst now recapitulates “The Lovers’ Farewell” and the work ends with the expected return of the “Sheep-Shearing Song”. Holst told a critic friend of his that he had arranged the tunes to form a kind of narrative: Into a quiet country scene comes the sound of approaching soldiers. A youth who is courting a girl is persuaded to enlist and go to war. The soldiers march into the distance and the pastoral quietness returns. The girl is left alone. SIBELIUS -The Swan of Tuonela (No. 2 of Four Legends – Op. 22)
Solo COR ANGLAIS: Julia Barton
Sibelius, one of the greatest masters of the 20th century, belonged to a generation of highly individual musical personalities. Like Delius, he needed the right environment. Sibelius, the dreamer, found this in his native Finland, rich in superstitions and legends and in the sound of the forest and vast nature. This extremely beautiful piece was to have been the prelude to a planned (but largely uncomposed) opera, The Building of the Boat, based on the Finnish epic, the Kalevala. Sibelius’ subtle orchestration - the cor anglais as the Swan and strings divided into fourteen parts, some playing col legno (with the wood of the bow) -creates a cold reflection of the strange, magical beauty of Finnish mythology. The inscription at the head of the piece reads: Tuonela, land of death, surrounded by a large river on whose black and rapidly flowing waters the Swan floats majestically, singing. DVORAK -American Suite in A, B190 (1895)
This piece, completed in the spring of 1894, began life as a Suite for Piano. A year later Dvorak made the 5 tuneful movements even more attractive with his bright orchestration. Like the New World symphony, which was written two years earlier, it was influenced by Dvorak’s visit to America and it is written in the “folk idiom of a distant people” viz. that of the native American. Although it has been overshadowed by the hugely popular symphony and critics have generally found little good to say of it, I hope you will agree that it is well worth hearing. |