I had never heard of Mark O’Connor until about a week ago. I was doing some chores around my house, and I had my TV tuned to a cable “light classics” music channel, and a folksy-sounding piano trio caught my ear -- but it seemed to have just a touch of Steve Reich-like -- albeit countrified -- minimalism. I glanced at the screen and I saw that I was listening to “Piano Trio 1: The Tennessee Two” by Mark O’Connor.
O’Connor dubbed the Trio “Poets and Prophets,” and he composed it in tribute to Johnny Cash, a hero of his. The work includes four movements: “Man in Black,” “The Tennessee Two,” “My June,” and “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” I enjoyed the little bit I heard O’Connor’s Piano Trio that day, so I Google-searched “compositions by Mark O’Connor,” and selected “Three Pieces for Violin and Orchestra” to listen to this week:
In researching this work, I read somewhere that it was originally to be a violin concerto -- the movements follow the traditional format -- but that O’Connor shifted his thinking along the way to create three separate pieces. From the titles of the movements, I presumed the opus to be an ode to Tennessee: The mockingbird is the state bird of Tennessee; the Trail of Tears -- a series of forced displacement of Native Americans between 1830 and 1850 by the US government known as “Indian Removal” -- covered portions of Tennessee; and Tennessee is known as the “Volunteer State” (from Wikipedia: “because of the prominent role played by volunteer soldiers from Tennessee, especially during the Battle of New Orleans” in the War of 1812). Like his Piano Trio 1, “Call of the Mockingbird” is a bit homespun and folksy, and it beautifully captures the essence of a delightfully energetic and energetically delightful day in a bucolic setting, perhaps in the Smoky Mountains. The mockingbird, as portrayed by the solo violin, darts in and out of the bustle of the day, and though the species is best known for mimicking the songs of other birds, in this work, the bird here seems more poet than pest with tunes which honor the enterprise of well-grounded folks below. “Trail of Tears” is appropriately solemn and dirge-like. There is some drumwork that evokes Native American culture, but more so it echoes the ceaseless cadence of a clock signalling the passage of time and inevitable transformation. Some passages about thirteen minutes in confused me a little -- they were a bit too buoyant -- but soon the work returned to its somber and reflective tone. When I searched for “Fanfare for the Volunteer,” I was a bit confused at first. A twenty-minute fanfare? I suppose that’s a possible thing though I always think of a fanfare as a shorter work. Well, the fanfare lasts about 4 minutes or so, and then the piece continues with what I reckon to be the flurry and flourish as the Volunteers prepare -- for battle? Possibly, there are off-stage John-William-esque trumpet calls during the initial fanfare. Perhaps they are preparing for the bustle of the day (see above re: “The Call of the Mockingbird”). The cheerful timbre makes me think so. As a matter of fact, the initial fanfare of horns and drums and then the optimistic flourish that follows called to mind this poem by Emily Dickinson: When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House – And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place – Without the incident of Fame Or accident of Noise – The Earth has seemed to me a Drum Pursued of little Boys. There is a slower, more reflective passage late in the piece – with a hint of the traditional American folk song “Oh Shenandoah” – but then the Volunteers continue to pursue flurry and flourish as the sun has emerged. Will O'Connor's three pieces enter the pantheon of classical music masterworks? Only time will tell, but I did love all three pieces – they have certainly piqued my interest in the composers other works. Bernstein successfully merged classical music with Broadway. Gershwin fused classical music and jazz. O’Connor hitches classical music to the country fiddle -- and I’m intrigued. Perhaps one day he’ll compose “Rhapsody in Ol’ Blue”?
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Have you ever heard of Hugo Alfven? I haven’t -- or at least I thought I hadn’t heard of him until last week. At the time, I was taking my daily walk through my neighborhood, and I was listening to Gustav Holst’s “Walt Whitman Overture,” my selection for this blog for last week (HERE). I was listening to the overture on Spotify, and once the song ended, Spotify started playing other songs from the same genre and from composers similar to Holst. At one point a song came on that I recognized right way, but I had no idea what it was called, so I looked at my cellphone’s screen to discover that I was listening to “Swedish Rhapsody No. 1” (also known as “Midsommarvaka”) by Hugo Alfven. My guess is that you’ve heard it too. You can listen to it HERE. My first thought, though, was "who in the world was Hugo Alfven?"
Interestingly, Wikipedia lists four movements for the work (HERE), and YouTube and Spotify list five (HERE):
There were no real surprises with this symphony. It’s a pretty typical work for something written in 1899 -- except maybe that “Preludio” fourth of five movements -- what’s with that? I was surprised by the tone of the piece. A few weeks ago I reviewed Muzio Clementi’s Symphony No. 2 in D Major (HERE), and at that time I wrote, “It is lively and exuberant -- and is there any key more lighthearted than D Major?” Well, there are lively and exuberant portions of this symphony. However I was surprised by the greater emphasis on modulations to minor keys and the amount of struggle this symphony evokes. I s'pose when I saw "D Major" I just expected more sunshine and...lollipops? Well...maybe sunshine and high spirits. The first movement opens quietly with a clarinet melody of dotted quarter notes and eighth notes that run to two tied whole notes over the course of four measures (see below). Alfven then plays on that melody throughout the first movement. And just how many variations could he come up with on that rhythm? Countless. The melody shifts from a solo, dolce clarinet to a lush, full strings section to an outright impassioned full orchestra. There’s a lot of melodrama here. At times I half-expected Dudley Do-Right to ride up on his faithful steed, but he’s Canadian so who would be his Swedish equivalent? The melodrama continues in the much slower second movement, but with a greater flair for mystery. A short section -- from the 8th through about the 20th measure -- reminded me considerably of Bernard Herrmann’s score for Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo.” Remember that scene when John “Scottie” Feguson (Jimmy Stewart) followed Madeleine (Kim Novak) to the Mission San Francisco de Assis to visit the grave of Carlotta Valdes and then to the Legion of Honor Art Museum to gaze upon the Portrait of Carlotta? Alfven’s music fits that scene perfectly.
Later, around the 27th measure, the work becomes more desperate and dirge-like, and still later it becomes quiet and reflective -- and then throughout the rest of the movement, the mood alternates between pensive mystery, dramatic desperation, and quiet reflection. The third movement continues the mystery and the melodrama but just at a faster pace. Then came the fourth movement. Or was it the fourth and then the fifth movement? Or was it the fourth movement, part 1, followed by the fourth movement part 2? Well, the fourth movement (or the fourth movement part 1) is a gentle fugue that plays throughout the orchestra with a tranquil interlude toward the middle. The fifth movement (or the fourth movement part 2) picks up the tempo with yet another fugue, and it builds to various climactic sections with lots of big brass notes. At points, though, it all seems to plod along heavily. When I saw that the movement was marked “allegro energico” I expected some real foot-tapping energy like that of Shostakovich’s “Festive Overture” or maybe something like the fugue and finale of Benjamin Britten’s “The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra" (talk about some big, inspirational brass notes). This symphony is certainly a pleasant enough work. I’m sure concert-goers would enjoy it in the concert hall, but it just wasn’t all that engrossing or memorable to me. I’ll be honest, I listened to this piece several times, and each time I found my mind wandering by the final movement (movements?). It just left me wondering, “What’s it all about, Alfven?”
NOTE: MY WIFE AND I ARE TRAVELING DURIN THE WEEK OF 5/9, SO I WILL NOT GET A CHANCE TO POST MY COMMENTS UNTIL NEXT WEEK -- SO THIS SELECTION IS FOR THE WEEKS OF 5/9 AND 5/16. My wife and I are now back from our travels. We had a wonderful time on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, and we were able to get in a few days of bird-watching at the Assateague Island National Seashore. Check out some of the many varieties of birds we saw, HERE. Since returning home, I’ve been able to listen to Gustav Holst’s “Walt Whitman Overture” several times, and I’ll state now that I did enjoy it very much. As you can see, it earned a yellow light saber on my scale: The overture is an exuberant piece with great parts for the low strings and the entire brass section to the point that portions of this work could make a thrilling soundtrack for a Star Wars or Star Trek type of blockbuster. As a matter of fact, the piece came close to earning green on my scale except for one thing -- it’s a tribute to Walt Whitman.
Walt Whitman? Really? This Wagnerian opus caught me off guard as I tried to connect the music in some way to Walt Whitman. To be honest, toward the end of the piece I expected the legendary ghost ship from the Flying Dutchman to sail by or Brünnhilde and the Valkyries to swoop in. Whitman’s poetry is characterized by extensive free verse and no strict meter. He celebrates the diversity of America and the average citizen. He honors the working class, and he finds beauty in the ordinary and the unremarkable. Whitman celebrates the American experience, and he displays a strong sense of optimism. Holst's work does not represent Whitman in any of these ways. Well, it does exude optimism, but more like a soundtrack might signal a dramatic and victorious climax in an action-packed movie. Back in 2019, I happened to catch an exhibit about Walt Whitman at the Alderman Library at the University of Virginia. I wrote about it HERE. A feature of the exhibit was the inclusion of videos from a documentary series called “Whitman Alabama,” “an ongoing project that brings the poem (“Song of Myself”) to life through the voice of Alabama residents.” I wrote about that portion of the exhibit HERE -- and the videos -- filmed and produced by Jennifer Crandall -- really captured the essence of Whitman’s poetry. The videos in Crandall's series are HERE -- though it doesn’t look like the series is quite complete -- and they are well worth your time. Each of the short films is beautiful and meaningful. A review in The New Yorker stated that the “project shows, deliberately and sometimes unexpectedly, the varied face of a region that is often thought to be homogenous, and a Whitmanesque alchemy materializes: every subject comes off both as an individual with a clear political identity and as part of an indivisible whole.” Alas, such magic does not occur with Holst’s overture. Maybe if it had been written later in his career Holst could have captured more of an essence of Whitman? Written in 1899, this was one of Holst’s first pieces, and he seemed more eager to emulate Wagner than capture the spirit of the poet. Take a listen to Holst’s work and let me know what you think. Do you hear Whitman in this overture? Also, if you get a chance to explore Jennifer Crandall’s “Whitman Alabama,” let me know what you think of that too.
How did I happen to pick this piece to listen to this week? Here’s what I thought I would do: I would run a search on the Top 100 composers of classical music, pick a list and read from the top down, and then select a work from the first composer named about whom I knew little to nothing. So that's what I did. I ran a search and randomly picked this list from DigitalDreamDoor.com, the “100 Greatest Classical Composers,” HERE. I started at the top with Ludwig van Beethoven made my way down to #26, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina. Who? Well, I’ve never heard of Palestrina, but I was disappointed when I saw that he lived in the 16th century because I had recently listened to and commented on a work by Johann Pachelbel, who lived in the 17th century. I had hoped to choose something a little more current -- so I kept perusing the list. I ultimately decided to listen to a piece by Paul Hindemith. I knew the name “Hindemith,” but I couldn’t actually name a single piece by him. I went to YouTube and typed in his name, and “Symphonic Metamorphosis” popped up. That sounded interesting -- a piece focused on some sort of evolution or transfiguration -- and so here we are. It turns out that the piece is not an original work that changes or mutates in some way or another from beginning to end; instead, the full title of the piece, written in 1943, is “Symphonic Metamorphosis of Themes by Carl Maria von Weber" -- so this work is really just a set of orchestral variations on some of Weber’s music. The word “metamorphosis” seems to be a bit hyperbolic. “Symphonic Variations” might be a bit more accurate. Or maybe “Symphonic Metamorphoses” since Hindemith orchestrated several themes by Weber? The work is divided into four movements: 1. Allegro 2. Scherzo 3. Andantino 4. March After just two and a half measures of heavy beats in the bass, the first movement takes off abruptly, It’s a foot-tapper through most of the work, with a softer side here and there, but nothing about it really stood out to me as a memorable piece. The second movement opens with a chipper melody from a solo flute which is then echoed by a few other woodwinds, until a quiet drum line transfers the melody to the strings. At this point there is repetition after repetition after repetition of this refrain as more and more instruments and sections are brought in to play it. This goes on for about 130 measures, and while repetition -- if handled in an innovative way -- can be interesting (say, like Ravel’s recurring melody lines in “Bolero”), that’s not the case here. Even as the orchestration and the dynamics build as the piece moves forward, the repetition is more monotonous than inventive. However, things change about 150 measures in when the brass section launches a perky, syncopated fugue that circulates throughout the orchestra. It is exuberant. Things slow down in the third movement, and it is pleasant enough. Yes, it is pleasant. And through most of it there is a pleasant flute line soaring above the rest. **yawn** Suddenly there is a short fanfare in the brass as the fourth movement, the march, begins. Le ikthe first movement, it’s a foot-tapper, and it is dramatic enough. At times it seems like it could herald some adventure on the part of Indiana Jones -- so it is exciting and likeable enough -- but maybe just too predictable? Don’t get me wrong -- the variations -- er, the metamorphoses -- are okay. I just didn’t find them entirely satisfying. To be honest, I didn’t even recognize anything remotely related to Carl Maria von Weber -- but then again, I’m sure there are plenty of pieces by Weber I haven’t heard. Of course, everyone has his or her own taste -- what might be “meh” to me could be magnificent to another. When I selected this work to listen to this week, I read up on “Symphonic Metamorphosis” and found an article at WQXR.com by Fran Hoepfner entitled, “On a Lifelong Love of Hindemith’s ‘Symphonic Metamorphosis,’” HERE.
While Ms. Hoepfner loves the piece and returns to it “time and time again” and I found the piece to be pleasant but unexceptional, we do both agree on one interesting point: the importance of high school band. In her column, Hoepfner stated, “This was one of my earliest exposures to classical (music), introduced to me by my marching band, chopped and mixed and arranged for a 200-person band rather than a traditional orchestra. We also only played the final movement, so I listened to the other movements in all their baffling complexities on my own time. It remains one of the most enigmatic and adaptable pieces out there, and with each subsequent listen, I discover or fall in love with something new.” When I began this website, I started by listing my Top 100 Classical Music Favorites, and I would guess that I was introduced to at least a dozen of the works while I was in high school band. Of course, those pieces led me to other pieces and to works by other composers. Like Hoepfner, “with each subsequent listen" of my Top 100, "I discover or fall in love with something new.” So give Hindemith’s “Symphonic Metamorphosis” a listen. It just might be the magnificent “something new” you’ve been waiting for! |
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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