Festival update and some blog news

We’ve just posted at our website all the information on our 2009 Nevada Chamber Music Festival, coming up December 28-31. Check out the great performers, including both longtime favorites and some great newcomers, and the nice mix of repertoire. There are a few performances I’m particularly looking forward to – the opening evening’s Tchaikovsky Trio, the Brahms Sextet on evening #2, the Busoni Violin Sonata No. 1 with Buswell and Winn – but every concert is pretty much guaranteed to provide thrills. We’ve got a variety of ticket discounts and special pricing arrangements, all of which are spelled out at the website. Purchase your tickets online here, or give us a call at (775) 348-9413.

Speaking of the website, some nice surprises are going to be coming to our site in the next few weeks, so check in regularly.

While I’m writing, I might also mention that Alex Ross, one of today’s great writers on classical music, has just started a new blog at the New Yorker website, Unquiet Thoughts. It supplements his other blog, The Rest is Noise, which will now be devoted to contents related to his books, particularly his great history of twentieth century music of the same title. Ross’s regular New Yorker columns are essential reading for classical music fans. Links to both his blogs can be seen in the right hand column of this blog.

In a recent post at Unquiet Thoughts, Ross pointed to a very happy development – the initiation of a blog by John Adams, one of my very favorite composers. At first glance the blog, wonderfully titled Hell Mouth, will maintain the levels of intelligence, candor, and humor Adams exhibited in his very entertaining autobiography, Hallelujah Junction, which is just about to come out in paperback form. Check it out.

October 17/18 Program Notes

George Frideric Handel

b. February 23, 1685, Halle, Germany
d. April 14, 1759, London, England

George Frideric Handel is one of the most beloved composers of music’s Baroque era. He held early posts in Germany as church organist and violinist before moving to Italy to learn about Italian opera at first hand. His successes there attracted the attention of the Elector of Hanover, who brought him back to Germany as his court composer. When the Elector became King George I of England in 1714, Handel followed him to London. The Italian-language operas Handel subsequently wrote for the London stage – Giulio Cesare, Alcina, and many more – made him famous, as did his concertos and works he wrote for the King like Water Music. But when the audiences for Italian operas diminished by the early 1740s, Handel won even greater fame composing religious oratorios like Messiah (the source of the ever-popular “Hallelujah” Chorus), Israel in Egypt, and Judas Maccabeus. Decades after Handel’s death, Ludwig van Beethoven, who thought Handel the greatest of all composers, said of him “I would bare my head and kneel at his grave.”

Concerto Grosso in G major, Op. 6/1

Composed: 1739
Duration: 11 minutes

The concerto grosso form, so popular in the early eighteenth century, was marked by the contrast between a small group of soloists (the concertino) and the entire orchestra (the tutti). For many years the most popular such works were the twelve Concertos, Op. 6 of 1714 by Italian composer Arcangelo Corelli. During his early years in Italy, Handel got to know and work with Corelli, and the influence of the older composer’s work was evident when Handel finally wrote his own concertos. The twelve Op. 6 Concerti – officially titled “Twelve Grand Concertos in Seven Parts” – were composed in one month late in 1739, and quickly became some of the most popular orchestral works of their time. Their reputation hasn’t flagged: in recent years The New Grove Dictionary of Music has ranked Handel’s Op. 6 with Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos as “the twin peaks of the Baroque concerto.”

The first concerto of Op. 6 is in five movements. It opens with a stately, slightly swaggering A tempo giusto, featuring brief conversations between the two solo violins. The lively second movement is propelled by quick repeating notes in the continuo accompaniment. The meditative Adagio moves between elegance and sorrow, and the Concerto concludes with a pair of Allegros: the first contrapuntal in texture, the second in an energetic and insouciant 6/8 rhythm.

Dmitri Shostakovich

b. September 25, 1906, St. Petersburg
d. August 9, 1975, Moscow

There are many who now call Dmitri Shostakovich the greatest composer of the twentieth century, his music a moving personal testament as well as a portrait of some of the seminal events of the century. His early works, such as one of the most accomplished First Symphonies ever (written at age 19 for his graduation from the Leningrad Conservatory), betray the influence of his fellow Russian composers Prokofiev and Stravinsky, as well as a brash and often sardonic sense of humor. That brashness could get Shostakovich in trouble, as with the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, which outraged Stalin and led to serious criticism in the Russian press. Works like the Fifth and Seventh Symphonies, the latter inspired by the 1941 German invasion and known as the “Leningrad,” brought him worldwide renown. He continued to suffer from artistic repression in his homeland, however, including the famous 1948 government denunciation of Shostakovich and other prominent Russian composers. Some of his subsequent music sought to curry favor with the Soviet government, although he continued to write more serious works “for the desk drawer.” His last decade was marked by ill health, and an increased level of melancholy pervades the music of those years.

Chamber Symphony in F major, Op. 73a (after the String Quartet No. 3)

Composed: 1946
Duration: 32 minutes

The fifteen string quartets of Shostakovich comprise one of the most, if not the most, impressive bodies of such works by any composer since Beethoven. They are comparatively late works in his output: the String Quartet No. 1 was written after the Fifth Symphony, and nine of the quartets date to 1960 or later (as opposed to just four of the symphonies).

The String Quartet No. 3 was written in 1946, in the wake of the last work in Shostakovich’s symphonic trilogy of responses to World War II, Symphonies Nos. 7-9. The Symphony No. 9 of 1945 was at first intended to be a choral epic celebrating the Russian victory over Nazi Germany. What resulted, instead, was a much lighter work in what Shostakovich described as “a transparent, pellucid, and bright mood” that led to his censure by the Soviet hierarchy for the symphony’s “ideological weakness” and failure to “reflect the true spirit of the people of the Soviet Union.” Just after that censure, Shostakovich composed the Quartet No. 3, which was also denounced for its dark tone and ambiguous ending.

The orchestral arrangement of the quartet was made by Shostakovich’s friend and student Rudolf Barshai. Founding violist of both the Borodin and Tchaikovsky Quartets, Barshai (1924- ) has also won world renown as a conductor. He is regarded as an expert interpreter of Shostakovich’s symphonies, having recorded all fifteen and led the world premiere of the Symphony No. 14 in 1969. In 1955 Barshai founded the Moscow Chamber Orchestra, and it was for that group that he made, with Shostakovich’s approval, orchestrations of five of the composer’s string quartets (Nos. 1, 3, 4, 8, and 10). Barshai’s arrangement of the Quartet No. 3 calls for strings along with flute, oboe, English horn, clarinet, bassoon, and harp.

For the premiere performance of the Quartet No. 3, given in Moscow by the Beethoven Quartet (to whom the work is dedicated) in December 1946, Shostakovich created descriptive titles for the movements. Although they were never published and are seldom used nowadays, they do give a hint as to the character of the music:

I: “Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm”
II: “Rumblings of unrest and anticipation”
III: “The forces of war unleashed”
IV: “In memory of the dead”
V: “The eternal question: Why? And for what?”

The first movement strikes a light-hearted and playful tone (with an overlay of darker emotions), in a perfectly traditional sonata-allegro form complete with exposition repeat. The development section is contrapuntal, gaining intensity as it progresses. The tempo increases for the closing moments of the movement, culminating in a charming final cadence.

What was humorous in the first movement, however, turns acrid and menacing in the second, a grim waltz that moves unrelentingly to a peaceful but emotionally desolate coda. Rostislav Dubinsky, violinist of the Borodin Quartet, described the third movement as “the wild triumph of evil.” It is angry, violent music, somewhere between a scherzo and a march, and combining 3/4 and 2/4 time signatures. The fourth movement – in the form of a passacaglia, with its repeating bass line – opens with a forceful, intense declaration from the strings. The answers from the winds are lonely, even desolate. With the tread of a funeral march, the bassoon takes up the main theme over repeating notes from the strings.

The finale was described by Dubinsky as “a sorrowful and moving story about Shostakovich himself and his pain and anxiety about the future of humanity.” This is music that provides no easy answers to the anger and pain of the preceding movements. Low strings begin with a meandering theme punctuated by the harp. The mood briefly lightens as a jolly, sardonic tune in the winds takes over. The strings join in and the intensity builds, then recedes to near silence. The music seems to spiral downwards with a series of descending chords, drifting to an eerie coda with strums from the harp that may or may not provide some final consolation.

Ludwig van Beethoven

b. December 16, 1770, Bonn
d. March 26, 1827, Vienna

One short biographical sketch on Beethoven begins “The events of Beethoven’s life are the stuff of Romantic legend, evoking images of the solitary creator shaking his fist at Fate and finally overcoming it through a supreme effort of creative will.” Those biographical details, however, such as the deafness that plagued his last three decades of life, his stormy love affairs and his famous ill temper, are dwarfed by his artistic output, which is one of the monuments of music history. He literally mastered and transformed all the musical forms of his day, and extended the range and depth of expression available to composers. Beethoven was no Mozart-like prodigy, although even in his teens he was composing and playing in orchestras. But by his twenties – after studies with the likes of Franz Josef Haydn and Mozart’s legendary nemesis Antonio Salieri – both his compositions and piano playing had garnered considerable attention. It was around the age of 30 that Beethoven first noticed his encroaching deafness, but soon thereafter began the second, or “middle,” of his creative periods, which included groundbreaking works like the “Eroica” Symphony, the “Appassionata” and “Waldstein” piano sonatas, and the opera Fidelio. After a period of relative musical inactivity in the late 1810s, he entered his so-called “late” period, highlighted by the Ninth Symphony and the late string quartets and piano sonatas, in which his music gained a new, very personal depth and freedom.

Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major, Op. 58

Composed: 1805-1806
Duration: 34 minutes

By all accounts, Beethoven was one of the great pianists of his time. His pupil Carl Czerny vividly described his playing style: “Beethoven’s manner: characteristic and passionate strength, alternating with all the charms of a smooth cantabile, its outstanding feature … Beethoven drew entirely new and daring passages by the use of the pedal, by an exceptionally characteristic way of playing, particularly distinguished by a strict legato of the chords, and this created a new type of singing tone and many hitherto unimagined effects. His playing did not possess that clean and brilliant elegance of certain other pianists. On the other hand, it was spirited, grandiose and, especially in adagio, very full of feeling and romantic.”

Beethoven’s last public appearance as a pianist before deafness ended that part of his career was at the concert that introduced his Piano Concerto No. 4: the famous Akademie concert of December 22, 1808 at Vienna’s Theater an der Wien. This four and a half hour performance featured, along with the Concerto, the premieres of the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies and the Choral Fantasy, along with three excerpts from the Mass in C major, the concert aria Ah! perfido, and a piano improvisation by Beethoven. The hall was unheated, the concert presented with insufficient rehearsals – from which Beethoven had been barred due to his demands and temper – and there were all manner of breakdowns and problems throughout the evening. The Piano Concerto No. 4 puzzled that first audience: they were taken aback by the work’s unconventionality, lyricism, and surprises in construction and content.

The first of those surprises comes at the very beginning of the work. Until this time, concertos had begun with the orchestra presenting the melodies that would provide the material for the rest of the movement. The soloist, if heard at all, would simply play along with the orchestra’s material. Only after that would the solo instrument be heard by itself, taking the lead as it elaborates on those same melodies. Here, however, Beethoven has the pianist open the concerto unaccompanied – and quietly! Those five soft measures introduce one of the first movement’s important melodies and a characteristic rhythm, three downbeats of equal value and a longer fourth note – a gentle cousin, perhaps, to the famous rhythm from the first movement of the Fifth Symphony (which Beethoven was also working on as he composed this concerto). Then the orchestra enters, also quietly, and in the distant key of B major, working its way back to G major while elaborating on that opening melody and a second, vaguely melancholy, phrase. A joyous outburst leads to the return of the piano which, with its arpeggios, trills, and other display, works its way once again, in tandem with the orchestra, through the main themes. Beethoven introduces some new ideas in the course of the subsequent development, including a couple of quiet, mysterious interludes in distant keys that provide additional contrast. The recapitulation of the main themes is much varied, and the solo cadenza features the same combination of lyricism, energy, and virtuoso display as the rest of the movement. After its gentle re-entry, the orchestra joins forces with the piano in the dramatic crescendo that closes the movement.

Beethoven has another surprise in store with the second movement, which takes the form of a dramatic dialogue between the orchestra and the piano. According to Beethoven biographer A.B. Marx, Franz Liszt, and others, this music relates to the legend of Orpheus taming the wild beasts with the music of his lyre. The orchestra is forceful, imperious, even frightening. The piano’s answers are conciliatory: gentle, songful, and richly harmonized. But as the movement progresses, the orchestra’s resolve seems to weaken, and it grows quieter. The piano’s cadenza includes some unusual chord progressions and trills that introduce a note of anxiety. Downward runs and more trills lead to a mysterious coda.

The quiet opening of the Rondo finale barely hints at the outburst of energy to come. Trumpets and timpani, which had not been heard in the first two movements, here assert their presence, and divided violas likewise lend to the richness of the orchestral sound. The rambunctious scurry of the main theme contrasts with the laid-back nobility of the second idea. After the energetic development of these ideas, marked by considerable bravura display from the soloist, the orchestra builds to a crescendo, leading to a short but forceful cadenza by the pianist. Once again, as in the first movement, the orchestra re-enters quietly. Trills from the piano lead to the decisive conclusion of this innovative and brilliant concerto.

September Program Notes

Franz Josef Haydn

b. March 31, 1732, Rohrau-on-the-Leitha, Austria
d. May 31, 1809, Vienna

Along with Mozart and Beethoven, Franz Josef Haydn is one of the most significant composers of the Classical era (roughly 1750 to 1820). Sometimes referred to as the “Father” of the symphony and string quartet, Haydn’s remarkable catalog of works – over one thousand works including 104 symphonies – is one of the largest produced by any composer. His music’s distinctive combination of elegance and earthiness, its memorable tunes, skillful construction, and robust humor have all made Haydn one of the most beloved of composers. His career took off in 1761 when he entered the employ of the wealthy Esterházy family. For the next three decades Haydn worked under Princes Paul Anton and Nikolaus Esterházy, directing their orchestra and composing remarkable amounts of music for them. In the early 1780s Haydn befriended Mozart, becoming one of his most enthusiastic patrons and friends. Haydn’s growing fame led to further opportunities, including the two trips to London in 1791-2 and 1794-5 that sealed his reputation and produced works like the twelve “London” symphonies and the oratorios The Creation and The Seasons.

Symphony No. 94 in G major “Surprise”
Composed: 1791
Duration: 24 minutes

Within weeks of his separation from the Esterházy family in September 1790, Haydn received a visit at his new Vienna home from Johann Peter Salomon, a violinist and impresario who had been working for the last decade in London. Haydn’s music was already quite popular in England, and Salomon saw great possibilities in a series of London concerts at which new Haydn works would be premiered. The composer was nearly sixty, hadn’t traveled extensively, and was considering other offers (one, from King Ferdinand IV of Naples, greatly attracted him). But the adventure, and the significant sum of money Salomon offered, won him over, and Haydn arrived at Dover on New Year’s Day, 1791. Over the next eighteen months, Haydn composed and presented his Symphonies Nos. 93-98 for wildly enthusiastic London audiences. He then returned to Vienna for a couple of years – during which time he gave some music lessons to the young Beethoven – but returned to England for another series of concerts in early 1794.

The first of Salomon’s three wildly successful concert seasons got started in March, and the Symphony No. 94 was premiered under Haydn’s direction on March 23, 1792, in the middle of the second season. The Morning Herald critic wrote the following day, “The Room was crowded last night ... A new composition from such a man as HAYDN is a great event in the history of music. His novelty of last night was a grand Overture, the subject of which was remarkably simple, but extended to vast complication, exquisitly [sic] modulated and striking in effect. Critical applause was fervid and abundant.”

The symphony opens tenderly, with a genial, gently rocking main theme that builds up quite a head of steam as it is developed. As is the case so frequently with Haydn, this one theme provides the base for everything that follows in the movement. The recapitulation of the theme is really more of an extension of its development. There is also a striking passage for the woodwinds just before the movement's ending.

The symphony’s nickname derives from the justly famous second movement, a set of variations on a sweet, naïve tune. As the melody spins itself out, it gets quieter and quieter, dying to near silence — and then a sudden loud chord erupts from the entire orchestra. There are several theories as to why Haydn inserted that “surprise” (which was actually an afterthought, and doesn’t appear in his original manuscript). One account tells us that Haydn may have said, “This will make the ladies jump!” He may have been thinking, too, of the elderly gentlemen he saw in his audiences who, lulled by their heavy dinners and a few too many drinks, routinely dozed off once the music had begun. Also, with the overwhelming success of the Salomon/Haydn concerts, a rival concert series under the direction of composer Ignaz Pleyel (one of Haydn's former students) had begun. On one occasion Haydn admitted that he included the “surprise” not to startle the audience, but simply to make the work memorable in the face of his competition. Whatever the reason, the “surprise” is just one of the delights of this movement, which features variations on the main theme by turn stormy and dramatic, sweetly decorated by the woodwinds, and propelled forward by trumpets and timpani. The movement's quiet, poignant conclusion is rather a surprise in itself.

An aggressive minuet follows, with a graceful middle section for strings joined by a solo bassoon. Haydn is well on his way here from the courtly minuet typical in symphonies of his own time to the more assertive Scherzo found in symphonies from Beethoven on. The symphony concludes with a sparkling, propulsive Allegro di molto finale; this, and other finales in the 12 “London” symphonies, calls for truly virtuosic playing from the strings — Salomon's players in London must have been a formidable group indeed.

Lowell Liebermann

b. February 22, 1961, New York City, New York

With some one hundred works to his credit, Lowell Liebermann is one of the most frequently performed and recorded of living American composers. Among his works are two operas, two symphonies, three piano concertos – the second of which received a Grammy nomination for Best Contemporary Classical Composition – concertos for violin and trumpet, and many chamber compositions, including four string quartets and four cello sonatas. Also a pianist, Mr. Liebermann has written a considerable number of works for his instrument which appear frequently on concert and competition programs. Liebermann began piano studies at the age of eight, and composition studies at fourteen. He holds bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees from the Juilliard School of Music, where he studied with Vincent Persichetti and David Diamond. Among his many awards is a Charles Ives Fellowship from the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters as well as awards from ASCAP and BMI.

Concerto for Flute and Orchestra, Op. 39
Composed: 1992
Duration: 25 minutes

The legendary flutist Sir James Galway has been a stalwart champion of Lowell Liebermann’s music. He has commissioned several works, made a recording of three of them (with Liebermann himself conducting), and performed them all over the world. The Concerto for Flute and Orchestra, Op. 39 was the first of Galway’s commissions, and the work is dedicated to him. Composed in 1992, the Concerto was given its premiere on November 6 of that year in St. Louis, with Galway and the St. Louis Symphony conducted by Leonard Slatkin. (Over the years Liebermann has become a favorite of flutists; his Sonata for Flute and Piano, Op. 23 of 1987 is one of the best-loved such sonatas of the twentieth century, having already received some sixteen recordings in its short life.)

The Flute Concerto’s opening movement features, for much of its duration, a two-note repeating ostinato figure, resembling the ticking of a clock, played by the strings (sometimes aided by the brass). Overall the movement is a set of variations that takes the form of an arch. Initially calm and lyrical, the flute’s melodic line becomes very busy and decorative as the movement proceeds. There are some contrasting interludes, including a chorale-like theme in the brass on which the flute elaborates. Towards the end of the movement, propulsive strings underlie a series of long tones from the flute, leading ultimately to a reprise of the opening, with strings spinning out the melody and flute embellishments dancing above it.

Over a quiet, regular pulsing motion, the flute spins out a graceful, sinuous line in the second movement. There is one passionate crescendo towards the end of the movement, but in general the lyrical impulse wins out in music that has been called by one critic “ethereal, serene, and emotionally gripping.” The unrelentingly energetic third movement provides a dramatic contrast. Liebermann himself has described it as “a virtuoso workout for the flutist in a rondo-like form which closes with a prestissimo coda.”

Felix Mendelssohn

b. February 3, 1809, Hamburg, Germany
d. November 4, 1847, Leipzig, Germany

Felix Mendelssohn was one of the most popular composers of his time, and his music remains some of the most often played from the nineteenth century. He was also one of the few musical prodigies whose youthful ability could rival Mozart’s. The grandson of philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, young Felix grew up in a home that welcomed as guests many of the most learned people of his day. He took piano, violin, and singing lessons as a youth. By the age of eight was studying composition, and was producing remarkably assured works by his teens, including the Octet at age 16 and the Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream at 17. Mendelssohn was a key figure in resurrecting the reputation of Johann Sebastian Bach, leading the St. Matthew Passion (the first performance the work had enjoyed since Bach’s death in 1750) in a now-famous 1829 concert. He subsequently held conducting posts in Düsseldorf and Berlin. But much of his later life was spent in Leipzig, where he directed the Gewandhaus Orchestra and, in 1843, founded the esteemed Leipzig Conservatory.

Symphony No. 4 in A major, Op. 90 “Italian”
Composed: 1833
Duration: 28 minutes

“This is Italy. What I have been looking forward to all my life as the greatest happiness is now begun, and I am basking in it.” Thus the twenty-two year old Felix Mendelssohn wrote to his family on October 10, 1830, having just begun his first visit to Italy as part of a “grand tour” of Europe that extended over 1829 to 1831. A leg of that journey that took Mendelssohn to Scotland, by the way, inspired his contemporaneous “Scottish” Symphony and “Hebrides” Overture.

Almost immediately upon entering Italy, he started sketching an “Italian” Symphony based on the sights and sounds he was experiencing. Those sketches didn’t really come to form, though, until two years later, when the London Philharmonic Society approved a resolution on November 5, 1832 commissioning of him a symphony, an overture, and a vocal piece. Back in Berlin by this time, Mendelssohn completed the symphony during the first three months of 1833. Then he traveled to London to conduct the “Italian” Symphony’s premiere on May 13, 1833 in the Hanover-Square Concert Room – the very same room, oddly enough, where Haydn’s “Surprise” Symphony was given its first performance forty-one years earlier!

As beloved as the “Italian” Symphony has been with audiences ever since its premiere, Mendelssohn himself was strangely dissatisfied with it. Over 1834 and 1835 he revised the work, and even at his death in 1847 he left notes for further revisions of the first three movements. The premiere performance was the only time he conducted the work, and he never published it – the Symphony only appeared in print in 1851, four years after his death.

The exuberance of the Symphony’s opening gives some notion of what Mendelssohn was experiencing in Italy. Pulsing chords from the woodwinds, set in motion by a pizzicato chord from the strings, introduce a bouncing string theme that can barely contain its energy. Two other themes soon make appearances: one in the violins, then another graceful theme in the clarinets and bassoons. The clarinet explores the opening theme for a time in a darker minor key. Then a new idea, a rising theme in the winds answered by the strings, leads back to the beginning of the work for the exposition repeat. One further time through, and the development gets underway with yet another new idea, a string theme that is developed contrapuntally. The oboe eventually leads into the free recapitulation of the opening section.

The second movement, occasionally referred to as the “Pilgrim’s March,” was apparently inspired by a religious procession Mendelssohn witnessed in Naples. The movement is dominated by a theme in D minor that some have suggested is a Czech hymn. Heard first in the oboes, bassoons and violas, then in the violins with counterpoint provided by the flutes, the melody is accompanied by a “walking” pizzicato bass line. A short contrasting central section, back in the major mode, highlights the clarinets. The third movement is a graceful, minuet-like dance. The central trio introduces a more martial strain, with a fanfare-like theme in the bassoons and horns, subsequently taken up by the trumpets and timpani.

In a letter from Rome to his sisters Fanny and Rebecka dated February 22, 1831, Mendelssohn described his symphony as “the jolliest piece I have ever done, especially the last movement.” That last movement is a Saltarello, a brilliant dance from Naples. In Mendelssohn’s hands, the saltarello starts to sound almost like the equally-lively tarantella from farther south in Italy. The swirling motion of the dance is heightened even further by the movement’s central section, where Mendelssohn creates a continuous crescendo from very quiet to very loud. For all its unbridled energy, this movement, entirely in the minor mode, is one of the very rare occasions when a symphony in a major key actually ends in the minor.

Classical Music: Transformative, Not Tranquilizing

As we eagerly anticipate the opening of the RCO season next weekend, I wanted to point your attention to a wonderful blog entry (from his weekly blog "On the Record" at www.artsjournal.com) written by orchestra guru, Henry Fogel. It is a very compelling argument about the substance of classical music. Good food for thought.


Classical Music: Transformative, Not Tranquilizing by Henry Fogel

One of the problems that the classical music world faces is the different ways that people experience music. The truth is that classical music is not meant to be background music. It is often not meant to "soothe," should in fact shake you to your roots frequently. But if you look at some of the marketing that is done by the recording industry, even by some orchestras or presenters, you'd think that we were closer to Montovani than Monteverdi.
How often I've heard, in my career, "after a hard day at work, I want to come to a concert, sit back, relax, and let the music just wash over me." How often I've seen marketing that panders to this concept by inviting the ticket buyer to "let the lush sounds of Rachmaninoff relax you." We hear of shopping malls that play classical music to either keep ruffians away--I'm not sure if it is supposed to annoy them or bore them out of the mall--or to mollify tensions by providing relaxing, soothing sounds.Clearly, those of us in the business of presenting classical music cannot take any listeners for granted, and in fact should welcome any kind of listening. And I don't say that because it is economically good for us (though I'll admit that it is). I say it because any approach to listening means that the listener is at some level appreciative of the music, and most of us are in this business because we are proselytizers. We believe in this music. We believe in its transformative power, its ability to fundamentally reach human beings on a level way beyond words. And therefore any listener, however he or she approaches the music, is something we cherish. However, it is also our job to make clear that there is much more to this music than lush, rich sounds. And yet much of our industry has encouraged the "just let it wash over us" approach--almost presenting it or talking about it as high-quality background music. Classical music radio in much of the United States is perhaps the prime casualty of this kind of thinking. Having visited more than 200 cities in the past ten years, and being an habitual searcher for classical music on the radio, I find myself deeply depressed at the proliferation of stations that identify themselves as "classical music" outlets but won't broadcast vocal music, modern music, or even full-length symphonies. I remember once driving with my wife and hearing the announcer intone "Next we'll hear the 2nd movement of Brahms's Symphony No. 2." I turned to my wife and said "Wow! All of it?" I dare say that the U.S. now has more so-called classical stations of this kind than stations that are actually meant to be closely listened to. Even more depressing is hearing those stations promote themselves. "Spend relaxing hours with WXYZ," or "Let the soothing sounds of classical music accompany you through the day on WXYZ." Station promotions of this nature are horrifyingly common. I'm trying to imagine Beethoven thinking this way about his late quartets or "Eroica" Symphony, not to mention Shostakovich about his Eighth Symphony (not that these are works one is even likely to encounter on a station like that). Would it be a wry smile or deep anger that such descriptions would engender in them?Those of us in the business of presenting and promoting music need to do a better job of explaining and clarifying the transformational qualities, the deeply moving potential, of our music. We need to remember that while a part of what we do is related to "entertainment"--and I have no gripe with entertainment; Suppé's overtures have their place in our lives--what we do is also much, much more than entertainment. It is up to us to manage the expectations of our audiences and potential audiences, and to explain why it's a good thing that you shouldn't let the music wash over you.

Order from Amazon.com and benefit the RCO!

The Reno Chamber Orchestra has just become affiliated with Amazon.com, which we know is a favorite shopping site for many of you. Now you can shop at Amazon.com and benefit the RCO! Whenever you want to make an order, visit this blog and click on the Amazon.com link at the right of this blog page: when you order music or anything else from Amazon.com through this link, a percentage of the value of your purchase will come directly to us! This is also true of the link to ArkivMusic.com, by the way, our favorite site for classical music on compact disc and DVD. These special links for Amazon.com and ArkivMusic.com will also be showing up on our website soon.

An update from Ted Kuchar

I hope that summer is treating everyone well. It seems impossible that August is 1/3 over. My summer has been busy and interesting, but RCO Music Director, Theodore Kuchar, has had a REALLY busy and interesting summer. Last week he was kind enough to write an update on what he's been doing. The guy lives an interesting life. I am posting his update here.


From T. Kuchar:
After a very pleasant time in Reno, collaborating with my friends Ruth, John, Jim, Scott and Corey Cerovsek, in two NCMF-related events, the summer was finally to begin. Ahead of me awaited Cleveland (the Kent/Blossom Festival, The Cleveland Orchestra's educational orchestral training institution where I have been teaching and conducting annually for the past six summers), the National Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela in Caracas, for two weeks, then the Cape Town Philharmonic Orchestra in South Africa for three weeks (one of my favourite locations in the world, with programs devoted to Liadov, the Chinese Erhu, Rachmaninov, Mozart, Beethoven, Dvorak, Rossini and Tchaikovsky) and, after returning home for four days, Tel Aviv - four concerts devoted to Tchaikovsky's Third Orchestral Suite, a new work commissioned by Zubin Mehta and the Israel Philharmonic by that country's foremost young composer, Avner Dorman which has been performed by the New York and Los Angeles Philharmonics recently, and Dvorak's "New World" Symphony and, immediately after the concert, to catch a 12:40am flight to New York, straight to Reno to begin our new season. I will save the next four weeks (Reno, Fresno, Munich and the Czech Republic for our next correspondence!

After the very enjoyable week in Reno, going to Cleveland is an annual tradition and commitment which I always look forward to. In the back of my mind, I eagerly awaited Cape Town and Tel Aviv ... but Caracas for two weeks? I had been there once before, four years ago ... and was less than enthusiastic other than because of the excellent repertoire which awaited - Smetana's complete "Ma Vlast" and, in the second week, Dvorak's Carnival Overture, Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto and the Copland Third Symphony.

The two weeks which I had dreaded the most, with the National Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela, in Caracas, was a period which was the most professionally satisfying and educational I have had in recent memory.

The orchestral life of Venezuela has been the most significant topic of conversation in the musical world for the past several years, more than the existence of any major symphony orchestra or opera house in the world. "El Sistema" ("The System") was devised, and to the present moment, directed and controlled by Jose Antonio Abreu, for over 30 years. Today, "El Sistema" involves over 200,000 Venezuelan musicians, ranging from beginning students from underprivileged environments being given a new beginning on life through music education to the talk of the musical world, the Simon Bolivar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela, whose members are all products of "El Sistema".

My first week finished with the most satisfying account of "Ma Vlast" I have done. With the Janacek Philharmonic Orchestra, we have performed this on subscription concerts, on tour in Europe and the USA and have made a well-regarded CD for Brilliant Classics. The first four days in Caracas were a revelation. Any Czech orchestra has this work in its blood and memory. Rehearsing this work must be a delicate process, never to "offend" the knowledge and experience of the Czech musician. I love rehearsals much more than concerts - that is where the real work is done! It was such an invigorating experience, taking an orchestra whose technical level is as good as any, and teaching the work "from scratch". A memorable concert!

Over the free weekend, a former student of mine, now the principal flute instructor in "El Sistema", asked me to come and hear his students. Little did I know that this was to be a concert by the Simon Bolivar Orchestra, conducted by Gustavo Dudamel, playing Bernstein's Symphony No. 2 "The Age of Anxiety" and Richard Strauss' "Alpine Symphony ... both on one program! My curiosity was at a peak - I read everything from the international press, but how could it resemble a Cleveland Orchestra, a Berlin Philharmonic, or a Janacek Philharmonic? If I go to my grave tomorrow and must remember three memorable concerts from my lifetime, this would certainly have been one of them. I have no explanation other than "El Sistema". Simply phenomenal! I had very pleasant meetings with Gustavo and Dr. Abreu afterwards. Gustavo was so excited that the Copland Third Symphony was being played in Venezuela that his final words to me were "I'll see you at the concert on Thursday".

The Copland Third Symphony has brought the greatest orchestras in the world to shame. I remember suffering with it in Cleveland. The Fresno Philharmonic did a legendary job with it last year. The orchestra felt that there was so much "teaching" happening that they asked if I would agree to add an extra rehearsal on Tuesday evening - no problem! They also added sectional rehearsals, which I always conducted. By the time the concert had ended, I was very proud of this orchestra. Such an incredible work ethic! Afterwards, we discussed future plans, including a longer relationship. We agreed that I would conduct their 80th Anniversary Concert in May, 2010 and several tours in October-November, 2010. I left Venezuela with the most pronounced musical memories.
I am now at home, in my wonderful Fresno residence, for four days before South Africa. During the past two days, I have watched my garden suffer, terribly, in the 110+ temperatures. From 7:00 pm onwards (at 6:00 pm the sun is too strong), I am standing with the garden hose, long into darkness. I don't know how these plants survive, and many haven't. We will next be in contact after South Africa, on August 30.

Michael Steinberg, 1928-2009

I just wanted to call your attention briefly to the recent passing of Michael Steinberg, one of the giants of music criticism. The longtime program annotator of the San Francisco Symphony, Boston Symphony, New York Philharmonic, and Minnesota Orchestra died last weekend at the age of 80.

For me (and I'm sure for many others in the business of writing program notes), Steinberg was the pinnacle to which I aspired. His writing was always evocative, clear, personal, detailed, approachable to those both versed or unversed in the technical aspects of music, and full of interesting and cogent historical anecdotes and byways. And he was able to open up musical compositions, to bring one inside the mind of the composer, better than anyone since the great Donald Francis Tovey. It’s a safe bet to say that no writer has taught me more about music than Michael Steinberg has.

His program note collections The Symphony, The Concerto, and Choral Masterworks: A Listener's Guide are constant companions. His most recent book, a collection of essays and incidental pieces co-written with Larry Rothe called For The Love of Music: Invitations to Listening, not only provide short and cogent introductions to some of the great composers of history, but also some insight into Steinberg’s own background.

An obituary by Joshua Kosman from the San Francisco Chronicle can be found here. And to find out more about Michael Steinberg and why was such a significant figure, read Mark Swed’s touching remembrance from the Los Angeles Times.

(photo of Michael Steinberg by Terrence McCarthy)

NCMF in July Concert and Chamber Music for Bass

Summer here in the RCO office is flying by. On July 9th we had a terrific concert in Nightingale Hall--our "Nevada Chamber Music Festival in July" performance. Between 200-300 people came to hear Ruth Lenz, Ted Kuchar, John Lenz, Jim Winn and me play the Hummel: Quintet and Brahms: Quartet in g minor. It was a fun concert and, from the response, it seems that the audience really enjoyed it.

As a bass player, it is frustrating that there are relatively few pieces written for my instrument in the chamber music repertoire. I'm always on the look out for pieces that include a bass, and this weekend (while in Portland for our granddaughter Zelia's 1st birthday party!) stumbled across a CD and an ensemble that may lead to a treasure trove. The Nepomuk Quintet is a group consisting of violin, viola, cello, bass, and piano. It is named after the distinctive middle name of Johann Nepomuk Hummel, whose quintet we just performed. This instrumentation is most famous for being the one used in Schubert's "Trout" Quintet, and this group has dedicated themselves to researching and unearthing works for this configuration. The liner notes of the CD I bought indicate that they have found more than 20 pieces from the late classical era for this type of band. I can't wait to find out more and increase my chamber music repertoire substantially.

Photos from April's RCO concerts

We're once again pleased to share with you some recent photographs by Stuart Murtland. These are from our April rehearsals and concerts featuring Maestro Theodore Kuchar, the RCO, and violin soloist Christopher Lin-Brande, the winner of our 2009 College Concerto Competition.

Christopher Lin-Brande, Theodore Kuchar, and the RCO rehearsing.













Maestro Kuchar in rehearsal.













The RCO winds performing Mendelssohn's "Ruy Blas" Overture.













Christopher Lin-Brande performing Wieniawski's Violin Concerto No. 2.


















The grand finale of the Wieniawski.












Acknowledging the standing ovation from the RCO audience.


















Maestro Kuchar and the RCO performing Schumann's "Spring" Symphony.













The conclusion of the RCO's 2008-9 season.

Rave review of Ted Kuchar's Nielsen Symphonies

In 2005, RCO music director Ted Kuchar recorded the complete symphonies of Carl Nielsen with his Czech orchestra on the Brilliant Classics label. We have known for a long time that these were stunning recordings, and as you will read in this review, other people think so as well.

While we don't have them in stock at the moment you can order them from arkivmusic.com. Just click on the "Buy Now at Arkivmusic" button on the right side of this page, and the RCO will receive a small percentage of the purchase. Keep this in mind for all of your CD purchases, as arkiv has about the most complete catalog of CDs around.

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In response to my review of Bostock’s Nielsen symphonies and the search for ‘the best recorded cycle’, a MusicWeb International reader asked why I had not mentioned the one on Brilliant Classics. I must confess that I had overlooked it and apparently so did The Gramophone and the Penguin Guide. Your editor requested this review on his desk by Monday morning! The task: to audition six major symphonies in one weekend.
You have heard it said, do not judge a book by its cover. Well, do not judge a CD by its poor artwork, missing credits, nor its low price. The notes by David Doughty, however, are original and illuminating but what about the music? Can the Czechs cut the mustard? Does Nielsen have to be idiomatic and if so is it only Danes or Scandinavians who are fully centred?
Perhaps this cycle’s greatest achievement is to prove once and for all that Nielsen’s works are squarely in the European symphonic tradition although many of his songs are Danish. Theodore Kuchar, if I am correct, does not set out to ‘speak Nordic’. Carl Nielsen travelled extensively and was well-aware of central European music including the Brahms/Wagner debate long before he completed his first symphony in 1891. Arguably, CD heritage proves that Austro-German musicians do not feel the pulse of Nordic music. Here we have the Bohemians let loose - so how do the civilised Czechs compare to the earthy Liverpudlians?
It is a clash of cultures. In my Bostock review I refrained from comparing his brass to the northern English band in case it might be construed as derogatory. Not so, yet the mellow brass of the Czechs makes the point essential. Janáček - with proper emphasis on the acute á syllable, incidentally - may well be the composer with closest parallels to the Dane. His eponymous orchestra is absolutely world-class. The musicians have beautiful instruments which are played with enthusiasm and ensemble for Mr Kuchar, a conductor in great demand these days, and we can hear why.
We can hear it thanks to the conductor’s ear, a perfect acoustic, and most of all thanks to the balance and sound engineers. Again and again I caught many fine details for the first time. Complex passages revealed layers with greater ease than I have noticed. This adds significantly to the conclusion that this set is very special.
I plunged into Four and Five —which I opined that Bostock performed well but did not displace fierce competition. These monumental symphonies in a good live concert can engulf the listener. Only rarely on CD a Kubelik or a Kondrashin - and a Bernstein - pulls it off in the more sterile studio environment. Without a doubt we now place Kuchar on this pedestal, or rather podium. It is a combination of his spontaneity and control. In Four there is always reserve which builds to new peaks, the energy held back as it were, but power radiates from the precision. You sense that more is coming … the surprising tempi of the first movement … and then the famous timpani duel at the end remains musical rather than manic and gains in every way. Same with the side-drum in the Fifth. One might point to the composer’s instructions to allow the player to overwhelm the orchestra, but the restraint serves to drive the music even harder rather than halt it. It shows great musical judgement.
So, the Fourth and Fifth symphonies —the highest hurdles — are accomplished with apparent ease. Now I am intrigued. Start at the beginning of the set. Symphony No. 1 is simply glorious: the Andante gives me the wistful landscape I missed with the Liverpool recording. The Czechs’ energy makes their pace sound motivated but it is not fast, and their expansive timing at 8:08 compared to 6:55 makes my point.
After three masterly symphonies I am getting excited but exhausted. In the search for the ultimate Nielsen cycle I have the least expensive (3 CDs for the price of one) and three ultimate performances. I don’t believe in a six-planet alignment, such eclipses can’t happen … or can they?
On to Symphony No. 2, where my all-time favourite is a one-off Stokowski live event in 1967 recorded by Danish Radio and recently restored to the catalogue by IMG. Unbelievably, yet unarguably, Kuchar outwits and overtakes the great Stoki, creating the finest Four Temperaments I have ever experienced. Modern stereo sound closes the case for Kuchar. By now the perspiration is dripping and the prospect of six symphonies auditioned over a weekend is achievable: despite fatigue the adrenalin drives me on.
The Third Symphony Espansiva, someone told me, was performed on this set without the vocalists, thus uncredited; but fortunately my informant was confused. The first movement is so beautifully played that, unusually, I was not anticipating the glorious entry of human voices, but rather savouring each moment of the approach. There was, as ever, not a foot put wrong in the Third Symphony, but for me the Second had overshadowed it. I decided to postpone the enigmatic Sixth Symphony to the following morning.
We know that with Sinfonia semplice Nielsen challenged Danish musicians of the 1920s and lost some admirers. After many decades modern musicians show that the trap is to be phased by the originality; just straight musical skill unveils the meaning, both absolute and programmatic. Kuchar’s fine performance adds weight to the argument that it is Nielsen’s greatest symphonic statement but also distinguishes his own approach to the entire cycle. The dilemma of the controversial second movement: do you portray the intended ugliness by which the composer parodied modernism? Or, like Ormandy’s trail-blazing performance, do you express the refinement of the fabulous Philadelphians? Kuchar is squarely in the camp of the latter exquisite beauty and has me revert to Bostock’s rude, earthy, and biographical Nielsen.
I don’t believe the Czechs have fallen at the last hurdle. There is no single perspective on a complex symphony but I will risk reputation, friendships and credibility to state that Brilliant has the ultimate cycle by a convincing margin. All six works at the level of any rival performance and the Second in a new orbit. Engineering to match. It isn’t just the ideal set for beginners, it proves that we are all beginners. If this Brilliant set was marketed as a Limited Edition with wooden crate and gold-plated audiophile CDs at £110, I would advise everyone to buy or live in darkness. At £11 - at full UK price for all three discs - I hope you will not hesitate.
I am joyful at the discovery of this set, apologetic for overlooking it, curious for more information, and looking forward to extended listening. These discs are nothing less than a paradigm shift.
Jack Lawson

A Contemplation on Music

This article has now been sent to me by three different people. It is a bit long, but does a wonderful job summing up why music is so important--especially at difficult times like these.

Scott

A Contemplation on Music
By Karl Paulnack, pianist and Director of the Music Division at Boston Conservatory


One of my parents' deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn't be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother's remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school-she said, "you're WASTING your SAT scores." On some level, I think, my parents were not sure themselves what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they LOVED music, they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren't really clear about its function. So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the "arts and entertainment" section of the newspaper, and serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it's the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music, and how it works.The first people to understand how music really works were the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you; the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works.One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the Quartet for the End of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany in a cattle car and imprisoned in a concentration camp.He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose. There were three other musicians in the camp, a cellist, a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire.Given what we have since learned about life in the concentration camps, why would anyone in his right mind waste time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture-why would anyone bother with music? And yet-from the camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art; it wasn't just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art. Why? Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce, without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival; art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, "I am alive, and my life has meaning."On September 12, 2001 I was a resident of Manhattan. That morning I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 AM to practice, as was my daily routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and took my hands off the keys. And I sat there and thought, does this even matter? Isn't this completely irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, pointless? Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost.And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day.At least in my neighborhood, we didn't shoot hoops or play Scrabble. We didn't play cards to pass the time, we didn't watch TV, we didn't shop, we most certainly did not go to the mall. The first organized activity that I saw in New York, that same day, was singing. People sang. People sang around fire houses, people sang "We Shall Overcome." Lots of people sang America the Beautiful. The first organized public event that I remember was the Brahms Requiem, later that week, at Lincoln Center, with the New York Philharmonic. The first organized public expression of grief, our first communal response to that historic event, was a concert. That was the beginning of a sense that life might go on. The US Military secured the airspace, but recovery was led by the arts, and by music in particular, that very night.From these two experiences, I have come to understand that music is not part of "arts and entertainment" as the newspaper section would have us believe. It's not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers of our budgets, not a plaything or an amusement or a pass time. Music is a basic need of human survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we can't with our minds.Some of you may know Samuel Barber's heart-wrenchingly beautiful piece Adagio for Strings. If you don't know it by that name, then some of you may know it as the background music which accompanied the Oliver Stone movie Platoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If you know that piece of music either way, you know it has the ability to crack your heart open like a walnut; it can make you cry over sadness you didn't know you had. Music can slip beneath our conscious reality to get at what's really going on inside us the way a good therapist does.I bet that you have never been to a wedding where there was absolutely no music. There might have been only a little music, there might have been some really bad music, but I bet you there was some music. And something very predictable happens at weddings-people get all pent up with all kinds of emotions, and then there's some musical moment where the action of the wedding stops and someone sings or plays the flute or something. And even if the music is lame, even if the quality isn't good, predictably 30 or 40 percent of the people who are going to cry at a wedding cry a couple of moments after the music starts. Why? The Greeks. Music allows us to move around those big invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides so that we can express what we feel even when we can't talk about it. Can you imagine watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the dialogue but no music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the right moment in ET so that all the softies in the audience start crying at exactly the same moment? I guarantee you if you showed the movie with the music stripped out, it wouldn't happen that way. The Greeks: Music is the understanding of the relationship between invisible internal objects.I'll give you one more example, the story of the most important concert of my life. I must tell you I have played a little less than a thousand concerts in my life so far. I have played in places that I thought were important. I like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris; it made me very happy to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have played for people I thought were important; music critics of major newspapers, foreign heads off state. The most important concert of my entire life took place in a nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years ago.I was playing with a very dear friend of mine who is a violinist. We began, as we often do, with Aaron Copland's Sonata, which was written during World War II and dedicated to a young friend of Copland’s, a young pilot who was shot down during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about the pieces we are going to play rather than providing them with written program notes. But in this case, because we began the concert with this piece, we decided to talk about the piece later in the program and to just come out and play the music without explanation..Midway through the piece, an elderly man seated in a wheelchair near the front of the concert hall began to weep. This man, whom I later met, was clearly a soldier-even in his 70's, it was clear from his buzz-cut hair, square jaw and general demeanor that he had spent a good deal of his life in the military. I thought it a little bit odd that someone would be moved to tears by that particular movement of that particular piece, but it wasn't the first time I've heard crying in a concert and we went on with the concert and finished the piece.When we came out to play the next piece on the program, we decided to talk about both the first and second pieces, and we described the circumstances in which the Copland was written and mentioned its dedication to a downed pilot. The man in the front of the audience became so disturbed that he had to leave the auditorium. I honestly figured that we would not see him again, but he did come backstage afterwards, tears and all, to explain himself.What he told us was this: "During World War II, I was a pilot, and I was in an aerial combat situation where one of my team's planes was hit. I watched my friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the Japanese planes which had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the parachute chords so as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched my friend drop away into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have not thought about this for many years, but during that first piece of music you played, this memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I was reliving it. I didn't understand why this was happening, why now, but then when you came out to explain that this piece of music was written to commemorate a lost pilot, it was a little more than I could handle. How does the music do that? How did it find those feelings and those memories in me?" Remember the Greeks: music is the study of invisible relationships between internal objects. This concert in Fargo was the most important work I have ever done. For me to play for this old soldier and help him connect, somehow with Aaron Copland, and to connect their memories of their lost friends, to help him remember and mourn his friend, this is my work. This is why music matters.What follows is part of the talk I will give to this year's freshman class when I welcome them a few days from now. The responsibility I will charge your sons and daughters with is this:"If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you'd take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you're going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft.You're not here to become an entertainer, and you don't have to sell yourself. The truth is you don't have anything to sell; being a musician isn't about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevies. I'm not an entertainer; I'm a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You're here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well.Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don't expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that's what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives."

Program Notes for April 4 and 5 concerts

Felix Mendelssohn

b. February 3, 1809, Hamburg, Germany

d. November 4, 1847, Leipzig, Germany

Felix Mendelssohn was among the most popular composers of his time, and his music remains some of the most often played from the nineteenth century. He was also one of the few musical prodigies whose youthful ability could rival Mozart’s. The grandson of philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, young Felix grew up in a home that welcomed as guests many of the most learned people of his day. He took piano, violin, and singing lessons as a youth. By the age of eight he was studying composition, and he was producing remarkably assured works by his teens, including the Octet at age 16 and the Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream at 17. Mendelssohn was a key figure in resurrecting the reputation of Johann Sebastian Bach, leading the St. Matthew Passion (the first performance the work had enjoyed since Bach’s death in 1750) in a now-famous 1829 concert. He subsequently held conducting posts in Düsseldorf and Berlin. But much of the later part of his life was spent in Leipzig, where he directed the Gewandhaus Orchestra and, in 1843, founded the Leipzig Conservatory. His extensive travels are reflected in compositions like the “Scottish” and “Italian” Symphonies and the “Hebrides” Overture.

“Ruy Blas” Overture, Op. 95
Composed: 1839
Duration: 8 minutes

In 1835, Mendelssohn was appointed as conductor of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. Over the next several years, while also composing new music at a steady rate, he led concerts dedicated to his own music and that of his contemporaries – including the world premiere of Robert Schumann’s Symphony No. 1, also heard in this concert – as well as what he called “historical concerts” featuring music by neglected composers of the past. He worked tirelessly to improve Leipzig’s musical standing, in tandem with the city’s opera house, churches, schools, and other musical and arts institutions. One of the organizations with whom Mendelssohn worked was the Leipzig Theatrical Pension Fund. In 1839 the Fund decided to produce a benefit performance of Victor Hugo’s play Ruy Blas, written just months before, and Mendelssohn was asked to create an overture and song for the production. He read the play, decided privately that it was “quite ghastly,” and quickly produced a choral song but begged off of writing the overture, saying that he was too busy. Apparently, though, Mendelssohn re-thought the situation, and wrote the overture in a mere three days.

Hugo’s drama is set in the seventeenth century Spanish court of King Charles II. Ruy Blas, a servant and poet, has fallen in love with the Queen. His boss, Don Sallustio, disguises Blas as a nobleman in a plot to seek revenge on the royal family. Blas becomes popular at court, is appointed prime minister, and wins the Queen’s heart. But when Sallustio attempts to blackmail the Queen, Blas kills him and poisons himself, winning the Queen’s forgiveness as he dies. Esteemed by some and reviled by others, the play was burlesqued by W.S. Gilbert, turned into an opera by Filippo Marchetti, and has been filmed at least twice. First performed on March 11, 1839, Mendelssohn’s overture – which, given his attitude to the Hugo play, he preferred to call simply his “Theatrical Pension Fund Overture” – is an unusually powerful work for the composer, with more than a hint of violence. After an unsettled introduction, with portentous chords from the winds and brass, violins present the agitated main theme. This melody and other somewhat lighter ideas are worked out in highly dramatic fashion before the triumphant major key conclusion.

Henryk Wieniawski

b. July 10, 1835, Lublin, Poland
d. March 31, 1880, Moscow, Russia

One of the most famous violinists of the nineteenth century, Henryk Wieniawski was a prodigy who entered the Paris Conservatoire when he was nine and received its first prize for violin at age eleven. In his teens he embarked on his first tours of France and Russia. From 1860 to 1872 he lived in St. Petersburg as one of Russia’s pre-eminent musicians, teaching at the city’s new Conservatory, leading the orchestra and string quartet of the Russian Musical Society, and influencing – particularly with his stiff-wristed bowing technique – the playing of generations of Russian violinists. He subsequently resumed his international travels, including a two-year tour of the United States, while also holding a teaching post at the Brussels Conservatory. By the late 1870s Wieniawski’s health was such that he was often forced to stop playing in the middle of concerts, and he died from a heart attack in Moscow. Among his modest but significant catalog of compositions are two violin concertos that are among the most challenging in the repertoire, and a number of works (like the once-famous Polonaise in D major) that celebrate his Polish heritage.

Violin Concerto No. 2 in D minor, Op. 22
Composed: 1862
Duration: 22 minutes

Wieniawski established himself as a composer and violin virtuoso in his late teens, at least in part based on the popularity throughout Europe of the first of his two violin concertos, the Concerto in F-sharp minor, Op. 14. Three years after completing that work, in 1856, he started on a second violin concerto, but with his constant traveling and performing he didn’t manage to complete it until six years later. The Violin Concerto No. 2 in D minor was given its premiere on November 27, 1862, in St. Petersburg with Wieniawski as soloist and Anton Rubinstein conducting the Orchestra of the Russian Musical Society (of which Wieniawski served as leader). Over the next eight years the composer continued to revise the Concerto, only allowing its publication in 1870. It was dedicated to Wieniawski’s friend Pablo de Sarasate, who before long would be one of his main rivals as the pre-eminent violinist-composer of the day.

Wieniawski’s Concerto No. 2 manages gracefully to balance sound dramatic structure with lush, attractive melodies and the kind of virtuoso pyrotechnics that his audiences would have expected. Mention should also be made of the prominent role of the orchestra, which goes somewhat beyond a typical concerto accompaniment role, often taking the lead in the musical argument. The first movement, by far the most extensive of the work’s three, features two main themes: a restless opener, and a more lyrical second subject introduced by the horn. Both of these ideas, but particularly the second, are developed at length by the violin soloist, who employs the range of violin techniques, from double and triple stops to harmonics, glissandi, and a variety of bowing styles. Oddly, for a work so focused on the soloist, the movement has no solo cadenza. After the music builds to a powerful climax, a short orchestral coda leads without break into the second movement, a short and beautiful Romance based on a shapely melody in 12/8 time, with a short but fiery interlude, a brief reminiscence of the lyrical second theme from the first movement, and a solo cadenza.

The final movement, marked “à la Zingara,” is a gypsy-inspired whirlwind that was described by Wieniawski as “a small village scene: a summer evening and the villagers have gathered on the village square and want to dance; general merriment, joking and laughter.” Calling to mind other gypsy-influenced works of the time like Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies, the perpetual motion of the main theme is offset by a more rustic dance in D major that appears twice, as well as brief reprises of themes from the first two movements.

Robert Schumann

b. June 8, 1810, Zwickau, Germany
d. July 29, 1856, Endenich, Germany

Robert Schumann was one of the quintessential artists of music’s Romantic era. Encouraged in a wide range of studies by his writer/publisher father, Schumann became a law student at the University of Leipzig. But music was his first love, and he studied piano with Friedrich Wieck – eventually, and famously, falling in love with and marrying Wieck’s daughter Clara, one of the finest pianists of her time. Schumann’s efforts to become a piano virtuoso were foiled when he developed partial paralysis of his right hand, so he focused on composing and writing. His music was often written in feverish bursts of activity – 1840, for instance, saw the creation of over 150 songs, and 1842 was a year of chamber music. While he composed in larger forms such as opera, symphony, and concerto, many feel that Schumann’s true genius truly came to the fore in his numerous songs and piano miniatures. As a critic he co-founded the influential Neue Zeitschrift für Musik and wrote articles praising composers like Chopin and Brahms. Having long suffered from mental problems, in February 1854 Schumann tried to drown himself in the Rhine, and he spent his final years in an asylum.

Symphony No. 1 in B-flat major, Op. 38 “Spring”
Composed: 1841
Duration: 32 minutes

Writing for orchestra didn’t come naturally for Schumann. His first attempt at a large-scale orchestral work, a Symphony in G minor from 1832-33, was never completed. Other than that one piece, Schumann spent the entire decade of the 1830s writing nothing but piano music and songs. Part of that decade was also spent wooing Clara, the daughter of his piano teacher Friedrich Wieck. They had met when Schumann was twenty-four years old and Clara a fifteen-year-old piano prodigy. Friedrich Wieck was impressed with Schumann’s musical abilities, but put off by his drinking and worried by the signs of depression and instability he was already exhibiting – which, with hindsight, could well have been precursors of the even more serious nervous disorders Schumann experienced later. For years Wieck stood in the way of the marriage, but they ultimately ignored him and were married one day before Clara’s twenty-first birthday in September 1840.

Much as she loved Schumann’s lyrical piano pieces and songs, Clara had long encouraged him to take on something ambitious like a symphony. She wrote in her diary, “his imagination cannot find sufficient scope on the piano…his compositions are all orchestral in feeling.” Their marriage seemed to inspire him, and the Symphony No. 1 was composed over a mere four days, January 23 and 26, 1841. The orchestration occupied him for the next month, and was completed on February 20. Not surprisingly, Clara’s opinion of the new work was of great importance to him. Luckily, she was very pleased, writing “…I should never finish talking about the buds, the scent of violets, the fresh green leaves, the birds in the air – all of which, one hears living and stirring through it in youthful strength.” In the next months Schumann pursued his orchestral inspiration, also writing the first version of what became his Symphony No. 4 and a “symphonette” later revised as the Overture, Scherzo and Finale.

There have long been complaints about Schumann’s skills as an orchestral arranger. When Felix Mendelssohn was preparing the first performance of the Symphony No. 1 with his Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra – which took place on March 31, 1841 – he was forced to change the key of part of the Symphony’s opening because some of the notes were unplayable, or barely playable, by the valveless trumpets and French horns then in use. Since then conductors have felt fairly free to make small and large adjustments to Schumann’s orchestration – Gustav Mahler entirely rescored all four of Schumann’s symphonies, and one musicologist even wrote an 874-page book on possible revisions of Schumann’s orchestrations!

Schumann originally gave each movement of the Symphony an evocative title. But while there are a few pictorial details in the work – wind instruments seeming to imitate bird songs, for instance – Schumann didn’t intend his work to be descriptive, but rather more generally impressionistic. As he wrote in a letter to fellow composer Ludwig Spohr, the Symphony had been written “with a vernal passion…that always sways men even into old age and surprises them anew each year. Description and painting where not part of my intention, but I do believe that the season in which this symphony was born influenced its structure and helped make it what it is.” Note that last point – although the work is titled “Spring,” it was actually written in January and February, in the dead of winter. Schumann’s music looks forward longingly to the onset of the new season.

Schumann laid out his strategy for the first movement – originally titled “Beginning of Spring” – in a letter to conductor Wilhelm Taubert, who was about to lead the Symphony in Berlin: “I should like the very first trumpet entrance to sound as if it came from on high, like a summons to awakening. Further on in the introduction, I should like the music to suggest the world’s turning green, perhaps with a butterfly hovering in the air, and then, in the Allegro, to show how everything to do with spring is coming to life.” That first trumpet entrance, a fanfare-like figure, is quickly taken up by the strings. An air of expectancy hovers over the subsequent minor key music. The tempo then accelerates, and the main body of the movement is launched with a relative of the fanfare theme. A second, quieter theme is also announced by the woodwinds over scurrying strings. The development is largely devoted to a variety of rearrangements of the variant of the opening fanfare. The tempo speeds up even more as the movement comes to a close, the momentum halted briefly by the emergence of a lovely, hymn-like idea.

It has been said that the slow second movement, originally called “Evening,” was intended to be a portrait of Clara. The main melody, announced by the violins, then taken up by the cellos over woodwind chords, is a haunting song. Moments of anxiety arise, but are dispelled by a further statement of the main theme by the winds. In the quiet coda, trombones are heard for the first time, hinting at a new idea that emerges more fully in the purposeful stride of the third movement, which follows without a break. This movement, initially called “Merry Playmates,” is in rondo, or ABACA, form: in B the winds and strings trade phrases before a vigorous tune is propelled forward by the strings, and C is an ever more unfettered dance.

An upward-striving gesture opens the fourth movement. Schumann had called this movement “Spring’s Farewell,” and in the letter to conductor Wilhelm Taubert mentioned above, warned him that that music was “not to be taken too frivolously.” Two themes are contrasted here. The first has a playful air. The second, in the minor, has a more rustic flavor, the darker coloration of which carries into the central development, of a more nostalgic character. The themes are heard again in their original form, with a short song from the oboe, a call from the horn, and a short cadenza for the flute. Further horn calls sound forth in the symphony’s exhilarating closing moments.

Pictures from March RCO concerts

We thought that you would enjoy seeing some of the photos that RCO photographer Stuart Murtland took at (and prior to) our March 14 and 15 concerts featuring the great Edgar Meyer. More information on Stuart and more examples of his work are available at his website.

Edgar Meyer performing at the Friday, March 13 rehearsal.



Theodore Kuchar and Edgar Meyer at that same rehearsal (with Chris Morrison lurking in the background, enjoying the music).



Scott Faulkner, Edgar Meyer, and Theodore Kuchar discussing musical matters.



Theodore Kuchar conducting at the March 14 performance.



Edgar Meyer and RCO musicians in performance.



Edgar Meyer performing his Double Bass Concerto No. 1 at the March 14 concert.



Edgar Meyer, Theodore Kuchar, and the RCO acknowledging the standing ovation that followed their performance.

The RCO performing Mozart's "Prague" Symphony.

To conclude, one of our favorite photos from these concerts: Edgar Meyer backstage, listening to the RCO playing Mozart.

Program notes for March 14 and 15 RCO concerts

Igor Stravinsky

b. June 17, 1882, Orianenbaum, Russia
d. April 6, 1971, New York, New York

Igor Stravinsky was one of the most important and influential composers of the twentieth century. A stylistic chameleon, Stravinsky made important innovations in areas of music from form and rhythm to tone color and harmony. Early studies with Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov had an important influence on Stravinsky’s first mature works. Those compositions got the attention of impresario Sergei Diaghilev, who commissioned Stravinsky to compose his still-popular trio of ballets, The Firebird (1910), Petrushka (1911), and The Rite of Spring (1911-1913) – the riot that broke out at the latter’s premiere remains one of the famous events in music history. Stravinsky subsequently embraced jazz idioms, found inspiration in Russian folklore, was one of the leaders in the return to past musical traditions known as neoclassicism, and even, late in his career, turned to twelve-tone composition. He toured frequently, and made many important recordings of his works. Among his collaborators were some of the most important artists of his time, including Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau, and W.H. Auden. A longtime exile from his native Russia, Stravinsky lived in Switzerland and France before emigrating to the United States in 1939; he lived in the Los Angeles area until his death at age 88.

Concerto in D major for String Orchestra
Composed: 1946
Duration: 12 minutes

Stravinsky’s Concerto in D major was commissioned for the twentieth anniversary of the Basel Chamber Orchestra by its founder Paul Sacher, a legendary conductor and patron of new music who also commissioned works from the likes of Richard Strauss, Bohuslav Martinu, and Béla Bartók. The first commission Stravinsky received from Europe after moving to the United States, the Concerto was begun in early 1946 and completed in August of that year. Sacher and his orchestra – to whom the Concerto is dedicated, hence its nickname "Basler" or "Basel" Concerto – gave the work its first performance on January 27, 1947 in Basel. Since then it has been choreographed on many occasions, perhaps most notably as The Cage (created by Jerome Robbins in 1951).

"Let me know how long you want the piece to be," Stravinsky replied to Sacher’s original request, saying that he could accept the commission "if it is from ten to twelve minutes, like Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos." The comparison is in some respects an apt one: the Concerto in D major is in the traditional three movements, the rhythms are lively, and throughout one can hear the contrast between solo instruments and the larger string body (the tutti) characteristic of concertos of Bach’s time. One of only two extended pieces for string orchestra by Stravinsky (the other being the 1927 ballet Apollon Musagète), the Concerto in D major was also one of the composer’s last tonal works before he turned to twelve-tone composition in the early 1950s.

An important characteristic of the Concerto is its constant movement between D major and D minor. This contrast is made clear even from the beginning of the opening Vivace, where within moments the violas and basses play an F natural (creating a D minor chord) as the violins play an F-sharp (making a D major chord). This rhythmically intricate movement is in something like sonata form, with the faster outer sections framing a central, slower Moderato that proceeds by fits and starts. By contrast, the second movement Arioso is all lyricism, as the violins spin out a long and graceful melody. The exciting closing Rondo is propelled by the energetic, scurrying figure that opens the movement.

Giovanni Bottesini

b. December 22, 1821, Crema, Italy
d. July 7, 1889, Parma, Italy

Giovanni Bottesini was one of the greatest double bass players in history. His first instruments were the timpani and violin, but he switched to the bass to earn a scholarship at the Milan Conservatory. Using a small, three-stringed Testore bass – which, according to legend, he rescued from the trash at a marionette theater – he played in orchestras in Venice and Havana, Cuba before turning to solo performance. Years of very successful tours throughout Europe, the United States, and Latin America, including performances before Queen Victoria, Czar Alexander of Russia, and Emperor Napoleon III of France, cemented his reputation as the "Paganini of the double bass." Bottesini also conducted regularly – he led the 1871 Cairo premiere of his friend Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Aida, and later served as Music Director at London’s Covent Garden and the Italian Opera in Paris. He composed throughout his life, and while he wrote about a dozen operas and considerable chamber music, it is largely his virtuoso double bass works that are remembered today.

Double Bass Concerto No. 2 in B minor
Composed: 1845
Duration: 17 minutes

There are many accounts of the effect Bottesini’s bass playing had on his audiences. "Under his bow," wrote Giovanni Depanis, "the double bass groaned, sighed, cooed, sang, quivered, roared – an orchestra in itself with irresistible force and the sweetest expression." In The Land of Melodrama, author and composer Bruno Barilli evokes the scene at a Bottesini concert: "Applause and calls for encores exploded down the disorderly rows at every bar. The magnificent ladies, finely clad, in the theatre boxes of the aristocracy were caught up in the applause without warning, trying to retain their modesty, laughing behind their fans. Supported by his great wooden sound-box, Bottesini leant over his instrument like a conquering hero."

One of the main influences on Bottesini’s composing style is the lyricism of Italian opera – supplemented, of course, in his works for double bass by the arsenal of virtuoso techniques he employed. He exploits the entire range of the instrument, employing harmonics (high-pitched notes produced by touching, rather than pressing down, the string at certain points), as well as occasional double stops, and plenty of fast-paced passagework.

Some additional pyrotechnics were added to the Concerto No. 2 in B minor by Edgar Meyer in his edition of the work – which he calls, in the liner notes for his Sony Classical recording, "my favorite piece in the bass concerto repertoire." Among the most obvious changes are the replacements of Bottesini’s cadenzas in the first and third movements by Meyer’s own, which are showstoppers in their own right.

The nimble first movement features some fast playing from the soloist – particularly in Meyer’s cadenza – but by and large the lyrical impulse wins out over the virtuosic. The second movement, with its almost operatic solo line and spare accompaniment, is followed by a propulsive Allegro finale that, rhythmically, is reminiscent of dance forms like the polonaise of Poland and the Cuban bolero, both of which Bottesini was familiar with through his travels.

Edgar Meyer

b. November 24, 1960, Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

(Photo by Jimmy Ienner Jr.)

Follow this link to Edgar Meyer's website to read his biography and find out more about his recordings and concerts.

Double Bass Concerto No. 1 in D major
Composed: 1993
Duration: 17 minutes

Edgar Meyer’s Double Bass Concerto No. 1 is the first of two solo concertos he has written so far for his instrument; he has also written concertos in which the bass is joined as soloist by cello, violin, and banjo and tabla. Written at the behest of Peter Lloyd, the Minnesota Orchestra’s principal bass player, the Concerto No. 1 was premiered on March 31, 1993, with Meyer, conductor Edo de Waart, and the Minnesota Orchestra.

Edgar Meyer’s biography testifies to his versatility, outlining in brief the variety of styles and genres in which he has performed. While a number of those styles – bluegrass and jazz among others – are hinted at in the Double Bass Concerto No. 1, the setting is otherwise quite a traditional classical one. The solo bass is backed here by a typical chamber orchestra: strings along with pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, and horns.

The first movement opens with the insouciant entry of the bass. Emerging seemingly from the depths, with strings punctuating the ongoing bass line, the accompaniment gradually gains power as descending woodwind figures flutter above. The bluesy solo part turns even more elaborate as the orchestral texture, initially just flecks of color, begins to fill. The music builds to a climax, then returns to the opening mood.

Pizzicato strings – inspired, says Meyer, by their similar use in Franz Josef Haydn’s Violin Concerto No. 1 – accompany the long notes of the bass as the second movement begins. The music remains quiet, even tentative, as the bass line unfurls. The clarinet adds its voice. Suddenly the music bursts forth, faster and bolder – but just as quickly returns to where it was, the bass line now a bit more elaborate. As before, the winds, this time led by the oboe, lend their color.

Folksy double stops mark the main theme, what Meyer has called "a fiddle tune with blues overtones," of the third movement – music inspired by the playing of Sam Bush, a violin and mandolin player and frequent Meyer collaborator. The bass part gradually becomes a moto perpetuo, calming only briefly for a more spacious interlude accompanied by spare string chords. But then the orchestra takes over the theme as the bass churns away underneath, leading to the swirling virtuoso line of the soloist in the Concerto’s exciting conclusion.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

b. January 27, 1756, Salzburg, Austria
d. December 5, 1791, Vienna, Austria

No reminder is really needed of the unique stature of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the history of Western music. His vast catalog of compositions – over 600 of them, including some 15 operas, 17 masses, 50 symphonies, 20 piano concertos, 23 string quartets, and so on (the list can go on for quite some time) – epitomizes the German-Austrian Classical style. His music is recognized and loved all over the world for its melodic, harmonic, and textural richness and beauty. The son of a well-known violinist and pedagogue, Mozart was one of the greatest prodigies ever, playing his first public concert at age five and composing his first music at seven. Before reaching the age of ten he had already played recitals in front of the likes of Marie Antoinette and King George III of England. He traveled throughout Europe through his teens. After failing to find a secure post elsewhere, and having grown dissatisfied with his career in Salzburg, Mozart moved to Vienna, where he spent the last decade of his life. While he enjoyed some successes with his new operas and piano concertos, life there grew more and more precarious, leading to his early death at age thirty-five.

Symphony No. 38 in D major, K. 504 "Prague"
Composed: 1786
Duration: 30 minutes

As mentioned above, Mozart did enjoy some considerable triumphs during his Vienna years. But as time went on, he increasingly had to compete with other musicians and institutions for concert and commission opportunities. The premiere at Vienna’s Burgtheater of the opera Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro) on May 1, 1786 didn’t help matters – critics and fellow musicians were enthusiastic, but audiences didn’t embrace the new work, and only seven further performances ensued. However, a few months later, Figaro was performed at the National Theater (now the Theater of the Estates or Tyl Theater) in Prague and received an overwhelming response, so much so that Mozart, spurred on by his friends and by an invitation from music patron Count Johann Joseph Thun, decided to visit Prague for himself. He and his wife Constanze arrived on January 11, 1787.

What they found was something like Mozart- and Figaro-mania: Mozart wrote to his friend Gottfried von Jacquin that "people here talk about nothing but Figaro. Nothing is played, sung, or whistled but Figaro. Nothing, nothing but Figaro. Certainly a great honor for me!" Within a few days of his arrival Mozart presented a concert featuring his Piano Concerto No. 25. Then, at a Grand Musical Academy performance on January 19, he conducted the premiere of his Symphony No. 38, now nicknamed the "Prague." The symphony – his first since No. 36, the "Linz," of three years before – had been completed back in December in Vienna, and Mozart brought the score with him to Prague. Contrary to some accounts, the work was not written specifically for that city, as it had been completed before Mozart was invited to visit. In any event, those Prague concerts, which also included Mozart-led performances of Figaro, were thoroughgoing successes and led to an important commission for an opera – Don Giovanni, which was premiered in Prague in October 1787.

The Symphony No. 38 is unusual in that it only features three movements – it is possibly the only major symphony of the time that dispenses with the minuet that had become a standard part of the form. Perhaps Mozart felt that the three movements of the "Prague" Symphony were substantial and dramatic enough on their own.

In common with only two other Mozart symphonies (the aforementioned "Linz" and No. 39), the first movement opens with a slow introduction. It explores a range of moods and textures, including some poignant dissonances and a dramatic turn into the minor key with trumpets and timpani blazing. The Allegro main body of the movement begins almost unobtrusively, with a quiet rising sequence and syncopations over a single repeated note in the violins, leading into another trumpet and drum outburst, this time a festive one. This and the lyrical second theme are only two of the six motives that Mozart introduces. Although it sounds effortless, the counterpoint of the development section – called by Alfred Einstein "one of the greatest, most serious, most aggressive in all Mozart’s works" – was complex enough that Mozart actually had to sketch it out in advance, one of the rare times in his life that he did so.

The graceful theme that opens the central Andante has some darker undercurrents: a purposeful bass line, passing dissonances, and a brief turn into the minor. In fact, as songful as the movement is, it also plumbs some surprising depths. The colors of the orchestra here, and throughout the work, are radiant – Prague was known for the quality of its wind players, and its audiences would have been pleased with how Mozart shows off the colors of the winds in this symphony.

The third movement is propulsive and impetuous, opening with a little hint of the duet "Aprite presto" from Figaro that must have caught the ears of the Prague audiences. The movement is one of contrasts – winds and strings, loud and soft, grace and drama. One writer remarks on how this music “must have been highly demanding of the players of the time, for Mozart assigns the orchestra parts requiring great agility, a refinement of phrasing, an attack and ensemble work that would push them to the limit.”

A note from Scott Faulkner about Edgar Meyer…

Ever since I became executive director of the RCO in 2001, I have dreamed of having Edgar Meyer come to perform with our orchestra. Well, this year the stars aligned, and as you know he will be performing on our March 14-15, 2009 concerts. I’m writing to tell you in as strong a language as I can, DO NOT MISS THESE CONCERTS and TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW TO ATTEND THESE CONCERTS! This is not the concert to go out of town, or be too tired, or not to have enough money for, or forget to attend.

Simply put, Edgar Meyer is the greatest bass player who ever picked up the instrument. He makes it sound like a bass AND a cello AND a violin. He is the Tiger Woods and Michael Jordan and Muhammad Ali and Warren Buffet and Bill Gates and Yo Yo Ma and Jascha Heifetz of the string bass. If you have not heard his jaw-dropping technique, his beautiful sound, and his mind-blowing musicianship, I envy you that you can still hear his playing for the first time.

They say that when promoting a concert, one is not supposed to use too much hyperbole, in case the experience is a let down. Well, I’m not worried about that. THIS CONCERT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE! YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO HEAR ONE OF THE GREATEST INSTRUMENTALISTS IN HISTORY IN THE INTIMACY OF NIGHTINGALE CONCERT HALL AND IT WILL BLOW YOU AWAY!

In case I didn't make it clear how I feel, here is what some others have said about Edgar Meyer:

“The most remarkable virtuoso in the history of his instrument.” -The New Yorker

“One of the greatest virtuosos on the double bass…he’s also a fabulous composer…I love him as a human being and as a musician.” -Yo Yo Ma

“Quite simply the best bassist alive.” -San Diego Magazine

“Meyer is a chameleon-like virtuoso…no bassist has combined his range of talents in different genres at such a high level.” –Washington Post

"I don't consider that Edgar and I play the same instrument. He is a soul that has decided to locate itself in a bass." -Susan Ranney, principal bassist, Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra

"Anyone with Edgar's intensity is going to be somewhat unusual. He's a genius, and that's not a word I toss around lightly. He's also the sweetest, nicest, most interesting guy to hang around with. He has incredible patience. But he also expects everybody to be great, and he really won't accept anything less. He expects you to be in tune and in time, and he expects you to have perfect intonation and to phrase things beautifully. He expects that because that's the way he does it." -Fred Sherry, cellist with the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center

"I sat through an hour and a half of the most awesome bass playing I had ever heard. It was totally overwhelming. Both his technique and creativity were amazing. The musical expressiveness he demonstrated, coupled with his personality, which he wraps around his instrument, was spectacular." -Karen Deal, assistant conductor, Nashville Symphony

Get your tickets by going to: www.renochamberorchestra.org or calling 775.348.9413

You can see and hear Edgar play by going to the RCO's You Tube page: www.youtube.com/renochamberorch