So far for this blog I’ve listened to pieces from 1607 (Monteverdi’s “L’Orfeo”) to 1941 (Bernard Herrmann’s Symphony No. 1), so for this week I thought I would select a more modern piece. Last June I took the Interlochen Arts “30-Day Classical Music Challenge,” and on June 8th I tweeted my response to “a song you discovered this month” (below), and that song happened to be Bryce Dessner’s “Concerto for Two Pianos.” I had heard it on the radio a few days before. Of course, I couldn’t choose that concerto for this blog because I had, in fact, heard the piece, so I ran a Google-search on other works by Dessner and I landed on a piece for string orchestra called “Réponse Lutosławski.” At that time, I discovered that Dessner composed “Réponse Lutosławski” as a homage to Witold Lutosławski’s seminal composition “Musique Funèbre,” another work for string orchestra completed in 1958 to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Béla Bartók’s death.
Lutosławski wrote the work in tribute to Bartók’s work as a pioneer in ethnomusicology and for his experimentation in tonality and form. In reading about “Musique Funèbre,” I came across this information in an article by Michael Klein for the American Symphony Orchestra: “Lutoslawski wrote that after a performance of his Symphony No. 1 in 1949, the Polish minister of culture ‘stormed into the conductor’s room and in front of a dozen people announced that a composer like me ought to be thrown under the wheels of a streetcar. It is interesting that this was not meant as a joke—he was really furious!’ The seriousness of communist control of music had become evident in 1936, when Stalin’s government attacked Shostakovich’s opera Lady Macbeth as a formalist work. In truth, the term ‘formalism’ was ill-defined, allowing officials to censor anything they didn’t understand.” Lutosławski’s words called to mind Vladimir Lenin’s quote, “We must not stand with folded hands and let chaos develop as it pleases. We must systemically guide this process and form its result.” Can you imagine an artist having to deal with a “Minister of Culture” who imposes standards and control over the creative spirit so that the government can “guide the process” and “form the result”? Where would classical music be today were it not for the artistic advances and works of creative pioneers like Bartok and “his experimentation in tonality and form”? In “Réponse Lutosławski,” Dessner paid tribute to Lutosławski. In “Musique Funèbre,” Lutoslawski paid tribute to Bartok. To whom might Bartok have paid homage? Most certainly it would have been someone who bucked the Ministers of Culture, the imposed standards, and the authoritative structures of control. I realize that I’m veering off track for a bit before getting to Dessner’s “Réponse Lutosławski,” but the idea of one composer influencing another who inspired yet another, reminded me of a favorite poem of mine by E. E. Cummings, “old age sticks" (below on the right).
Witold Lutosławski paid tribute to Bartók in “Musique Funèbre,” and Dessner honored Lutosławski in “Réponse Lutosławski,” a five movement piece for string orchestra co-commissioned by the National Audiovisual Institute of Poland and the Mexico National Orchestra. It was first performed by the Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra at Teatr Wielki-Polish National Opera in Warsaw, Poland on November 29 2014. In the video at the top of this post on the right, the movements begin at these times:
I listened to the piece this week (I also discovered that I could follow along with Dessner’s score, HERE), and as you can see by my rating below, I loved it. The first movement, “Resonance,” is as haunting as it is melancholy, but it does not convey a feeling of being distraught. Instead, the rhythmic pulse of the slow triplets and eighth notes under the sliding tones in the upper registers of the violin are steady and calming. There is a steady feel in the fugue-like “Preludio,” too, although there are subtle disturbances brought on later by dotted eighth notes and ricocheted sixteenth notes. The mood tightens as the movemet nears its end with “soft agitations,” “rhythms barely articulated,” and effective uses of sforzandos. “Des Traces” begins with a steady drip of sixteenth notes played by the violins in a round, and soon mists a mournful melody by the viola. Depth is added with the cellos and basses as the melancholy continues; however, after a key change, the mood changes significantly to one of determination and grit, affirmed by a corybantic incantation on the violin and percussive bouncing of bows on the viola and slapping of wood on the cellos and basses. Later, the cellos pick up the incantation to drive the piece forward, and finally some lengthy half notes and whole notes allow you to catch your breath. “Warsaw Canon” is deferential and solemn, almost prayer-like. The final movement, “Residue,” begins with a dissonant chord, soon followed by a lament on the violin. Slow, weighty, dissonant chords continue throughout this movement, and they reminded me of the eerie moaning sounds caused by the wind through the organ in the home of Norma Desmond in “Sunset Boulevard” -- and talk about a perfect, doleful image of “residue” as “Réponse Lutosławski” concludes but the fading star of Norma Desmond in her deteriorating mansion. True to E. E. Cummings’ intimation of “owing old,” Dessner said of Lutosławski, “I like to think that his music opened a window in a certain direction for me, or pushed open a door, through which I could then pass and take my journey with the music.” Most certainly, the work of Dessner will open a window or unbolt a door for another up-and-coming composer.
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How did I land on Schubert’s Piano Quintet in A Major this week? In the past, I have listened to pieces I’ve never heard before, like Franck’s Symphony in D Minor, but most have been works I’ve never even heard of before, like Monteverdi’s “L’Orfeo” or Aaron Copland’s “Symphony for Organ and Orchestra.” I had no idea that Copland wrote a symphony or organ and orchestra. Who knew? For this week, though, I thought I’d listen to a piece that I have heard of, but one that I’ve not ever listened to. Schubert’s “The Trout” fit the bill. I’ve always heard about this piece, “The Trout,” but I’ve never actually listened to it or heard it at a concert. Of course, there is a chance that I’ve heard it play on the airwaves of a classical radio station, but if so, I don’t remember it. However, as you can see from my rating below, now that I have listened to it, I loved it.
The opening melody of the first movement (noted in the purple box below) lies between rippling triplet figures on the piano (noted in the red boxes below), an arpeggio motif that is then traded between the instruments as the melody flows from one player to another. In addition, a reliance on triplets throughout the movement keeps the mood brisk and buoyant with occasional shifts to sixteenth notes to further the piece’s effervescence. The second movement, marked andante, sustains the buoyancy of the piece with continued triplets and a pattern of sixteenth notes with dotted eighth notes that gives the movement a lilting bounce, and the third movement, a scherzo, maintains the energy of the piece with an upbeat tempo, staccato quarter notes, and an effectively jovial use of sforzandos. Of course, the fourth movement features variations on Schubert’s earlier song “Die Forelle,” and though the third variation is the most high-spirited of the set, the final variation brings in a graceful accompaniment line from “Die Forelle” utilizing five sixteenth notes of a double triplet (the first of six counts being a rest) followed by two eighth notes which evokes a rippling, sparkling brook to be sure. There’s a dramatic twist or two in the final movement brought on by some accentuated chords, a few minor tones and some powerful dynamics. Still, the piece maintains its brilliance and bounce thanks to those ever-present triplets and playful rhythms with dotted eighth and sixteenth notes.
I thoroughly enjoyed Schubert's Piano Quintet in A Major, and listening to it certainly brought me to the realization that once this pandemic is over and things get back to normal (or as normal as possible), I need to attend more Chamber music concerts. : )
How did I happen to choose César Franck’s Symphony in D Minor as my selection to listen to this week? Recently I purchased a book called “Composers, Their Lives and Works.” It is an attractive and enlightening 300-plus page book on the lives and achievements of 100-plus composers, chock-full of beautiful artwork, fascinating photographs, and more. The composers are discussed by time period: Before 1600; the 17th and 18th Centuries; Early 19th Century; Late 19th Century; Early 20th Century; and Late 20th and 21st Centuries. I glanced through the Table of Contents of the book and chose to listen to something by César Franck because I really know nothing about him. I ran a few Google-searches and discovered that he wrote one symphony late in his career, so I decided to listen to that. I also found a “Symphony Guide: Franck’s D Minor” at TheGuardian.com (HERE), and the writer posed the question, “When was the last time you heard César Franck's Symphony in D Minor on an orchestral programme?” I don’t believe that I ever have. Well, I’ve listened to the symphony now, and though it is certainly pleasant, I do think that this sort of symphony on an “orchestral programme” is the very type of symphony that would turn people off from classical music. I have attended symphonic concerts for many years because I love classical music, and I would be fine hearing Franck’s symphony on a program. However, I’ve taken my wife and various friends to enough concerts to know that they would not enjoy this piece. Most people really aren’t “into” listening for the compositional practices and forms of extended symphonic works. All too often my friends struggle to remain awake at concerts -- and why? They find works like this to be monotonous and boring.
They’re not interested in the exposition of a main theme, variations on that theme as the piece is developed, recapitulation, modulation, cyclic structures, and so on. They do love memorable melodies, interesting harmonies, original rhythms, haunting tonality, dramatic orchestration, or inventive ways that some works hold their interest. Franck’s symphony has little bits and pieces of some of this, but not enough to captivate new listeners if an orchestra is hoping to expand its audience. The writer for The Guardian laments, “The problem nowadays is that we can't, or don't, hear the implicit radicalism of Franck's symphony,” and then goes on to say that too many might regard the work as “the acme of late-19th century lugubriousness; a symphony that's worthily crafted and finely wrought, but expressively inert; the equivalent in sound of a mediocre lump of Gothic revival architecture” -- and therein lies the problem. The work is “expressively inert.” There is a catchy phrase that sounds familiar at about 7:08 in the video above on the right that’s repeated and developed now and again throughout the symphony. Have I heard this work before on the radio, and I just wasn’t paying close enough attention to know that it was Franck’s Symphony in D Minor? Was that phrase tapped for some media advertisement? Has this work been featured in some TV show or movie soundtrack? The Guardian’s writer concludes that Franck’s Symphony in D Minor is a work “I want to hear in the concert hall more often.” The symphony is pleasant enough, and I’d be fine were it to be scheduled on some future concert program; however, I don’t expect orchestras will be expanding their audiences if this is the case.
How did I happen to land on Paganini this week? I saw a couple of Paganini memes on Instagram, and that reminded me of a sculpture I had seen several years ago at the Hirschhorn Museum called “To Hell With Paganini” by Arman, a French-born American artist. Below left and center: Two Paganini memes. Below right: "To Hell with Paganini" by Arman.
How did I like it? Well, as you can see by my rating above, I did enjoy it, but I don’t think that it’s a piece I will revisit very often. Oddly enough, from the opening chord and throughout much the piece, I thought I was listening to the music of a lesser-known Gilbert and Sullivan operetta – as if the orchestra had played a G&S overture, and then the violin presented the highlights of arias by Little Buttercup, Iolanthe, or a Modern Major Violinist – er, General. The orchestral introduction sounded so Gilbert-and-Sullivan-esque to me that I actually looked up some dates to see if Paganini could have been influenced by their work, but that is not the case. Paganini lived from October 1782 to May 1840, and he wrote this concerto in 1817 or 1818. Gilbert & Sullivan’s first operetta, Thespis, premiered in December 1871. I also heard hints of Rossini in the concerto (listen at 4:39 in the video, for example) so I also checked out his dates. Rossini lived from February 1792 until November 1868, so it is entirely possible that Rossini influenced Paganini. If not inspired by Rossini, then Paganini was most certainly influenced by the popular Bel Canto style of the time. At times, the concerto seemed nothing more than a violin solo with an orchestra as background accompaniment – and yes, I know that, by definition, that is what a concerto is. However, in this case, the orchestra and solo instrument never integrate to the point where the two blend to create a profound musical experience – say, like the Rach 2 for piano or the Grieg Piano Concerto in A Minor.
Anyway, as I stated above, I did enjoy the piece, but as violin concertos go, it was not as imposing as the Tchaikovsky, as dramatic as the Mendelssohn, or as beautiful as the Beethoven. Oddly, enough, shortly after I’d listened to this work, I found this article, “Best Violin Concertos: Greatest Top 10,” HERE – and guess what was on it?
No, not the Paganini Violin Concerto No. 1. However, in the 7th place spot was the Paganini Violin Concerto No. 2 in B Minor. Go figure! I suppose I’ll listen to that soon! Each week I listen to a classical piece I've never heard before, and then I report out my thoughts. For the week of 01/03/21, I listened to "L'Orfeo," also known as "Favola d'Orfeo" by Claudio Monteverdi. I have posted my rating and comments below.
Baptized in May 1567 and died in November 1643, Monteverdi is considered an important transitional figure between the Renaissance and Baroque periods of music history. I'm not sure if/when I've ever heard anything composed by him. It's entirely possible I've heard a piece by Monteverdi air on the radio, but if so, it didn't register with me.
Written and performed in 1607 and still performed today? Impressive! That is how I came to select "L'Orfeo." ‘L’Orfeo” based on the Greek myth of Orpheus’ descent into Hades in an attempt to bring his dead bride Eurydice back to the living world, has been a popular story to tell in the opera house and music theatre. Most recently, the legend was retold in “Hadestown,” a musical on Broadway with music and lyrics by Anaïs Mitchell. Another popular version is “Orphée aux enfers” (“Orpheus in the Underworld”), a comic opera with music by Jacques Offenbach and words by Hector Crémieux and Ludovic Halévy. Below left: A poster for Broadway's "Hadestown." Below right: A poster for "Orphée aux Enfers." Below left: The complete overture to Jacques Offenbach's "Orpheus in the Underworld." Below right: The "Galop Infernal" from Offenbach's opera -- commonly known as the "Can Can."
Sooo…not being a huge fan of operas or music from the renaissance, how did I like “L’Orfeo”? Well, I rated it YELLOW for ‘Liked It, I did” – and I did like it – but I think it was the historic significance of the piece that helped tip the scales from BLUE, “Okay, it was,” to YELLOW. I loved the fanfare and the entrance of the conductor at the onset – timed perfectly for the start of the regal (and buoyant) overture – and I loved the deceptive “conclusion” at 1:44 only to crescendo to a drumroll and a start of the flourish again. I loved the instrumentation and the use of instruments from the day, and I loved imagining myself in 1607 hearing this for the first time. According to an article on Wikipedia, “By the early 17th century the traditional intermedio – a musical sequence between the acts of a straight play – was evolving into the form of a complete musical drama or ‘opera.’ Monteverdi's ‘L’Orfeo’ moved this process out of its experimental era and provided the first fully developed example of the new genre” – so can you imagine being there in 1607 when “L’Orfeo” premiered? The audience must have just been in awe. Although I'm not an opera buff nor a fan of the traditional madrigal style of the 16th century or recitative and monodic singing, I did like “L’Orfeo.” It’s not a piece that I would listen to over and over again, but since it is such a historically significant piece, if it were performed in my area, I would go to listen and see how it was staged. |
A New Hope:As the header above says, each week I will listen to a piece of classical music that I've never heard before, and then I will report out what I thought about it. Archives
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