THE PBILnARMOJIC SIMPaOSy SOCIETY «H2 OF HEW YORK W8 CONSOLIDATED 1928 ARTUR RODZINSKI, Musical Director

1945 ONE HUNDRED FOURTH SEASON 494g

CARNEGIE HALL THURSDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 14, 1946 at 8:45 FRIDAY AFTERNOON, FEBRUARY 15, 1946 at 2:30

4330th and 4331st Concerts

Under the Direction of ARTUR RODZINSKI Assisting Artist: JOHN CORIGLIANO, Violinist

PROGRAM COPLAND “A Lincoln Portrait” (First Performance by the Society') Speaker: KENNETH SPENCER BRAHMS Symphony in C minor, No. 1, Op. 68 I. Un poco sostenuto; allegro II. Andante sostenuto III. Un poco allegretto e grazioso IV. Adagio; allegro non troppo, ma con brio

INTERMISSION SZYMANOWSKI Concerto for and Orchestra, in One Movement, Opus 35 (First performance by the Society) JOHN CORIGLIANO ENESCO Roumanian Rhapsody, in A major, _____ No. 1, Op. 11 ARTHUR JUDSON, Manager BRUNO ZIRATO, Associate Manager THE STEINWAY is the Official Piano of The Philharmonic-Symphony Society ------COLUMBIA AND VICTOR RECORDS------“Buy Victory Bonds” These concerts will end on Thursday at approximately 10:35 p.m. and on Friday at approximately 4:20 p.m. ORCHESTRA PENSION FUND—It is requested that subscribers who are unable to use their tickets kindly return them to the Philharmonic-Symphony Offices, 113 W. 57th St., or to the Box Office, , at their choice either to be sold for the benefit of the Orchestra Pension Fund, or given to the uniformed men through the local organizations instituted for this purpose. All tickets received will be acknowledged. Holders of cards in the New York Public Library who wish to obtain scores of any of the works on this program for home study should apply at the Music Branch of the New York Public Library, 121 East 58th St., which has a large collection of music available for circulation. A collection of the Armed Forces Master Records has been presented to the Music Library for circulation to service men on authorization of their Special Services Officers. r Farion Rous will give weekly lectures in the Carnegie Hall Art Gallery on Current Philharmonic-Symphony Programs during the season 1945-1946. For particulars telephone WAtkins 9-2170 or write to 58 Charles Street, New York 14, N. Y

NOTES ON THE PROGRAM* By Robert Bagar and Louis Biancolli

“A Lincoln Portrait” AARON COPLAND (Born in Brooklyn, N. Y., November 14, 1900; now living in New York) This composition grew out of a suggestion made by the conductor Andre Kostelanetz shortly after America entered the war. What Mr. Kostelanetz had in mind was the use of music as a medium for convey­ ing the “magnificent spirit of our country.” He discussed the idea with three American composers. From that discussion resulted a panel of three portraits—“A Lincoln Portrait” by Aaron Copland a “Portrait for Orchestra” of Mark Twain by Jerome Kern, and a Portrait of Mayor Fiorello H. LaGuardia, by Virgil Thomson. "The greatness of a nation is expressed through its people and those people who have achieved greatness are the logical subjects for a series of musical portraits," Mr. Kostelanetz explained. "The qualities of courage, dignity, strength simplicity and humor which are so characteristic of the American people are well represented in these three outstanding Americans.” Mr. Kostelanetz, to whom the score is dedicated, conducted the premiere of “A Lincoln Portrait” at a Pension Fund Concert of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra in Cincinnati on May 14, 1942. The work was first performed in Boston by the Boston Symphony on March 26, 1943, and in New York by the same orchestra the following April 1. Since then “A Lincoln Portrait” has been played by most of the major American orchestras. There have been fifty performances of this work to date, including performances in , Zurich, and . Mr. Copland was informed that the work, rendered with a Spanish translation of Lincoln’s fervid utterances, caused a “political demonstration" at its Buenos Aires premiere. For the Boston premiere Mr. Copland informed the annotator John N. Burk that his first impulse had been to do a portrait of Walt Whitman, “the patron-poet of all American composers.” Mr. Kostelanetz, however, convinced him a political figure of world * Notes 011 this program may not be reprinted in their entirety without the written consent of the Society. Excerpts from the notes can be quoted if due acknowledgment is given to the authors and to the Society. stature would be a wiser choice. “From that moment,” Mr. Copland wrote, “the choice of Lincoln as my subject seemed inevitable. “In discussing my choice with Virgil Thomson, he amiably pointed out that no composer could possible hope to match in musical terms the stature of so eminent a figure as that of Lincoln. Of course, he was quite right. But secretly I was hoping to avoid the difficulty by doing a portrait in which the sitter himself might speak. With the voice of Lincoln to help me I was ready to risk the impossible. “The letters and speeches of Lincoln supplied the text. It was comparatively a simple matter to choose a few excerpts that seemed particularly apposite to our own situation today, I avoided the temptation to use only well-known passages, permitting myself the luxury of quoting only once from a world-famous speech. The order and arrangement of the selections are my own. “The first sketches were made in February and the portrait finished on April 16th. The orchestration was completed a few weeks later. I worked with musical materials of my own, with the exception of two songs of the period: the famous ‘Camptown Races’ and a ballad that was first published in 1840 under the title ‘The Pesky Sarpent’ but is better known today as ‘Springfield Mountain.’ In neither case is the treatment a literal one. The tunes are used freely, in the manner of my use of cowboy songs in ‘Billy the Kid.’ “The composition is roughly divided into three main sections. In the opening section I wanted to suggest something of the mysterious sense of fatality that surrounds Lincoln’s personality. Also, near the end of that section, something of his gentleness and simplicity of spirit. The quick middle section briefly sketches in the background of the times he lived. This merges into the concluding section where my sole purpose was to draw a simple but impressive frame about the words of Lincoln himself.” [The Text] “Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history.” That is what he said, That is what Abraham Lincoln said: “Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and this administration will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance or insignificance can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation. We—even we here ■—hold the power and bear the responsibility.” He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana, and lived in Illinois. And this is what he said: “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.” When standing erect he was six feet four inches tall. And this is what he said: He said: It is the eternal struggle between two principles—right and wrong throughout the world ... It is the same spirit that says, ‘You toil and work and earn bread and I’ll eat it.’ No matter in what shape it comes, whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is the same tyrannical principle.” Lincoln was a quiet man. Abe Lincoln was a quiet and melancholy man. But when he spoke of democracy, This is what he said: He said: “As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy.” Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of these United States, is everlasting in the memory of his countrymen, For on the battleground at Gettysburg, this is what he said: This is what Abe Lincoln said: “. . . that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion: that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation; under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

Symphony in C minor, No. 1, Opus 68 (Born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833; died in Vienna, April 3, 1897) Why Brahms delayed giving the world a symphony till he was forty- three might well puzzle students of the history of music. At that age Beethoven had already composed eight of his Immortal Nine, having launched the first in his thirtieth year. The incredible Mozart had scarcely reached his tenth birthday when the ink dried on his initial venture. Mendelssohn was a ripe fifteen at his symphonic debut, though the boy had twelve other symphonies to his unofficial credit. Schubert’s First dates from his sixteenth year. Before he reached his majority he had added five more to his symphonic score-card. Schumann was only thirty-one when his fourth symphony was per­ formed, and, of course, Haydn, living in the fantastic eighteenth cen­ tury, ran up a total of at least a half hundred before he was forty-three. Tschaikowsky’s record was four symphonies before his thirty-eighth year, the first dating from his late twenties. A later countryman, Dmitri Shostakovich, wrote his first symphony at nineteen, at thirty-five com­ pleted his seventh in a besieged city, and at thirty-seven gave the world his eighth. What made Brahms wait? Established and widely hailed as heir to the German tradition, he had long been expected to put his signature to a symphony. Vast technic and inventive resource were his to give. Friends prodded him repeatedly. Schumann impatiently awaited a fresh outburst of romanticism from him, tempered, of course, by Brahm’s own classic reserve. If only he would make a beginning, counselled the older composer and sponsor, “the end would come of itself.’’ Brahms did make several “beginnings.” As a young man Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and Schumann’s “Manfred” stirred him to symphonic writing. But the three movements of an abortive work ended as parts of the D minor piano concerto and “A German Requiem.” Fresh sketches were made in the late fifties, and soon it was com­ mon talk in musical circles that Brahms had finally made the plunge and was writing a symphony. Friends even reported that Brahms car­ ried the completed manuscript about with him for years before the premiere in 1876. Albert Dietrich saw an early version of the first movement in 1863. Later Clara Schumann made none too glowing allusions to the manuscript in her secret diary. The symphony shaped up slowly. Something was holding it back. To begin with, Brahms was always a prey to sharp self-criticism. Loss of confidence recurringly assailed him. Frequently he thought himself no composer at all. Whether seriously or jestingly, he often dismissed compositions of his own with flippant phrases. It was prob­ ably a way of inviting needed praise and encouragement. That he brought true humility to his work there can be no question. He toiled ceaselessly over a score to achieve technical perfection. He deleted, re­ jected, and rewrote unsparingly. Thus, the C minor symphony under­ went a long process of change and correction. False leads and forced developments called for fresh starts. Constant renewal of ideas was necessary. After all, Brahms was rather on the spot. A recognized master of form and standard-bearer of a rising neo-classical camp, he could not betray his ideals with a specimen of feeble and shoddy work­ manship. Nothing short of a compact and finished product would satisfy him or the waiting world. Then, Brahms’s views on musical esthetics were maturing to a fixed classical outlook. In that long period since the fifties Mendels­ sohn and Schumann had ceased to exert marked influence on his meth­ ods. The chasm between himself and the ebullient romantics had widened. Bach and Beethoven now bulked larger than ever in his artistic cosmos. Classicism was moulding a brave, new world in his con­ sciousness. The romantic in Brahms remained, subject to a stern dis- tipline. But the polyphonist and architect, eschewing liberties of color and “expression,” steadily gained firmer sway. Brahms could afford to wait until his symphony blossomed into full-fledged growth as the new manifesto of an older creed. He owed it to himself and the Great Tradition. “Composing a symphony is no laughing matter,” he con­ fessed succinctly. Over his labors hovered another huge shadow—Beethoven. As an epic figure in the German lineage and a bridge to Bach, the Bonn master loomed as a guide and a warning. Brahms was drawn to the fierce, pulsing vigor and rock-bottom classic force of his predecessor. But Beethoven, too, had written a C minor symphony. The risk was great. Brahms was courting disaster. Enemies would charge arrogance and overweening ambition. Malicious comparisons would be made, and his own puny merits would be measured with a Titan’s gauge. “You have no idea how it feels to hear behind you the tramp of a giant like Beethoven,” he complained. Brahms was right, but so were those who believed in him. The ex­ pected happened. The Wagnerites and supporters of the Weber-Ber­ lioz-Liszt school of unfettered romanticism pounced on the work as an ultimatum. Enmities deepened and alignments were more sharply marked. Von Bulow’s dictum that this was the Tenth Symphony—an allusion to Beethoven’s Nine—aroused the foe to stinging rebuttal. Even Hanslick, Viennese high priest of the Brahms cult, made reserva­ tions. Brahms was attacked for his cold, hollow formalism, for resist­ ing the main currents of the new music. In a word, he was a reaction­ ary, harking back to the closed system of classicism. But others knew that something else had come to pass. They rec­ ognized the grandeur and lyric surge of Brahms, his flair for simple melody, his warm humanity and manly strength. They saw, too, that far from reaction the C minor marked a fresh stage in the develop­ ment of the sonata form and a valid application of the full resources of counterpoint. If Brahms avoided the lush personal colorism of others and concentrated on an “absolute" ideal, he showed, on the other hand, even more rhythmic and harmonic ingenuity than they within his chosen classic frame. In the use of cross-accents, syncopa­ tion, rhythm combination, and novel turn of melodic phrase, Brahms had already outdistanced the daring innovators of his time. He never stooped to theatrical effects. Development and climax were immense and inevitable in Brahms’s symphonic scheme. Themes expanded and changed in answer to a logic of their own. No composer since Beethoven had shown such intellectual grasp of sheer design. This was music of strength, moulded in the great line, and noble and moving in its own way. That it could ever have been flouted by critics as morbid, strained, unnatural, and forbidding is hard to believe to­ day. Its musing tenderness and epic sweep have locked it securely in the hearts of concert-goers. L.B. Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 35 (Born in Timashovka, in the Ukraine, September 21, 1883; died near Lausanne, Switzerland, March 28, 1937) The composer began work on this Concerto in 1917 and completed the job in 1918. Its first performance was given at , in 1922, when Mlynarski was the soloist and Gregor Fitelberg the conductor. It had its American premiere by Paul Kochanski at a concert of the Philadelphia Orchestra in Philadelphia, November 28, 1924. The piece is dedicated “To my friend Paul Kochanski.” Although the Concerto is in one movement, it shows clearly a sub­ division into three sections. The first (Vivace, 4-4) opens with an orchestral introduction, in which the leads off with a sinuous figure closely surrounded by dissonances in the strings and other instruments. This idea is repeated in different forms several times, after which the solo violin offers a broad, cantilena type of melody that is not unrelated to the opening figure. The oboe comes along to give the melody some variation. The present a new theme (which is important later) after the solo instrument has disported itself in a florid passage, to the accompaniment of wind, brass and the pizzicato strings. And this figure, it will be seen, has also an impor­ tant function in the Finale. The second section (Andantino, 3-4) brings forward a main theme, which is in two parts, an upward and a descending figure, possibly representative of the question and answer technique. An accompanied follows (solo violin against string tremolos, harps and cymbals). Another subject is ushered in, rather episodic in nature, and all the material is closely woven together in the development. The third section (Vivace assai, 2-4) is truly sprightly, for a time, in the manner of a pre-finale scherzo. This leads, more or less, into a second subject, tranquil and expressive. Later the two are brought together contrapuntally. Subsequently there is a reminiscence of earlier material, then a lilting 6-8 dance rhythm takes the initiative in the whole orchestra (con passione). After some moments a fermata makes way for the cadenza, composed by Kochanski. It is based on previous themes of the piece. When it is completed the music rises and rises in sonority and complication to a great climax. Then the whole subsides down to a whisper. The solo violin echoes briefly the reply part of the second section’s first theme, and soon all is over quietly. Karol Szymanowski, born into an aristocratic family, took his first theory lessons from Gustav Neuhaus. His creative talents showed them­ selves early during this association, resulting in a set of piano preludes composed in 1900 (and published in 1905, as Op. 1). In 1903 he went to Warsaw to study there with Noskowski, and in 1905 his C minor Piano Sonata was good enough to win first prize at the Chopin Festival tn Lemberg. . .A*- , two years later, he joined forces with some other mu­ sicians of Polish birth to form a group known as “Young Poland in Music.” On his return to Poland he devoted most of his time to com­ posing and he wrote in six years, or so, a considerable number of works tor piano, violin, voice and orchestra (a concert overture and two symphonies), in addition to the “Hagith.” ■ ■RUri™§1t,he ■i!rSt World War Szymanowski was interned in Russia oy the Bolsheviks, but he managed to escape to Warsaw. After the war he travelled far and wide, coming to this country in 1921, where he was already known, thanks to performances of his music by and the Philadelphia Orchestra. The following year he accepted an appointment as professor of composition and director of the Warsaw State Conservatory. In 1926 Szymanowski was appointed director of the Warsaw Conservatory, in which capacity he reorganized the institution thoroughly, substituting for the old and conventional system one in accordance with modern views. AIL along he kept composing, his works betraying more and more a nationalistic spirit which had been strong in him from the start. One of the com- pusiuons expressing tnat most powerfully is the ballet “.” The “Stabat Mater,” produced at Warsaw in 1928, proved to be his most successful work. R.C.B. Roumanian Rhapsody in A major, Opus 11, No. 1 ,R , r- a • „ GEORGES ENESCO (Born at Cordarenu, Roumania, August 19, 1881; now living in Bucharest) Georges Enesco himself conducted the world premieres of his first and second Roumanian Rhapsodies at one of ’ concerts in the Salle Gaveau, , on February 7, 1908. By then it had become clear that a new voice had joined the swelling chorus of European music, a voice from a hitherto quiet corner of the music world. Creatavely, the history of Roumanian music almost co-incides with the career of Georges Enesco. Before that there had been good schooling and good performance and a great deal of folk singing and dancing. But in the art circles of Europe, Roumania had been con­ spicuous by her absence. And in Enesco, Roumania presented a spokesman who combined two great virtues. As a technician he could match the best other countries could offer. He was a pianist, a violinist, a ’cellist an organist, and conductor, and had won acclaim in the Vienna ’and Pans Conservatories. Composers like Faure and Massenet had early recognized his gifts and encouraged him to go on. Then, Enesco was a staunch nationalist, steeped in the folk lore and tradition of his land, and eager to make his music a channel for this legacy. Very early Enesco began to write music around his country’s popular songs and dances. There was a “Poème Roumain,” a “Pastorale Fantasie,” and then came the Roumanian Rhapsodies. Of course, there was more to Georges Enesco than folk-lore and rhapsody. There was music strictly his own, with traces of French and German influences, to be sure, but music of a sensuous character that reflected personal esthetics rather than national moods. Essentially, however, he was and remains a Roumanian in music. In the First Roumanian Rhapsody Enesco is, of course, the nationalist. These are genuine folk motives that appear and reappear in the pulsing web. There are dances colored in the rustic ways of the peasantry and themes of a marked gypsy flavor, all a-throb in a heaving caroussel of rhythm. “There is no hyper-refinement; no devital­ izing or polishing up of the original tunes,” wrote Olin Downes in his review of the Boston premiere in 1912. “They fly by in rotation, faster and faster, wilder and wilder, with capricious changes of rhythm, sudden pianissimos and mad bursts of tone, and whirling figures that set off the flight of the main melodies.” And what were these melodies like? Did the Roumanian folk tune have a quality of its own? Yes and no. Enesco himself has said Roumanian music shows traces of Indian and Egyptian folk songs, brought in by nomad captives of the ancient Romans. This may account for the Oriental sensuousness. Then there are hints of Magyar and Slavic influences, and the warmth and animation of Latin sources. So that Roumanian folk music is almost a unique amalgam of multiple racial elements. Chief among the types of Roumanian melody are the "doinas” (laments) and the dances, “sirba” and “hora,” of which Dinicu’s “Hora Staccato” is a now famous example. In the rhapsodic scheme of the A major, the main role is played by a widely popular drinking song, Am un leu si vrau sa (“I have a coin and I want a drink.”) It emerges at the very beginning in fragments given out by the , answered by the oboe, and before long it is dancing merrily among the strings. Four other melo­ dies appear in the course of the “Rhapsody.” They succeed each other in a span of growing intensity. Though one or two themes are de­ veloped slightly, the changes are rather shifts in pace and orchestral color. The transitions are such as to give the impression of gathering momentum towards an exciting goal. There are moments of deceiving repose; sudden headlong sweeps like chromatic descents among the woodwinds, and towards the end a maddening accelerando that seems to catch the frenzy of a dance carnival at its climax of whirling revelry. L.B.

JOHN CORIGLIANO Born in , of Italian parentage, John Corigliano, after studying with , made his debut in a recital at Aeolian Hall, New York City, in 1919. Besides giving recitals and appearing in many radio broadcasts, he has been soloist with the Cleveland Orchestra and the St. Louis Symphony, as well as the Philharmonic-Symphony. He has made tours as assisting artist with Feodor Chaliapin, Maria Jeritza and Marion Talley. In 1935, he became second concert­ master of the Philharmonic-Symphony, and in 1943 concertmaster.