SAN DIEGO SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA A JACOBS MASTERWORKS CONCERT Peter Oundjian, conductor

December 3 and 4, 2016

JOHN ADAMS Doctor Atomic Symphony The Laboratory Panic Trinity

INTERMISSION

GUSTAV HOLST The Planets, Op. 32 Mars, the Bringer of War Venus, the Bringer of Peace Mercury, the Winged Messenger Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age Uranus, the Magician Neptune, the Mystic

Doctor Atomic Symphony JOHN ADAMS Born February 15, 1947, Worcester, MA

John Adams’ three operas have been based on historical events pinpointed precisely in time. Richard Nixon’s February 1972 meeting with Mao Tse-tung and Chou En-lai in Beijing became the context of Nixon in China. The hijacking of the cruise ship Achille Lauro by Palestinian terrorists in October 1985 was the basis for The Death of Klinghoffer. And the events leading up to the detonation of the first atomic bomb in New Mexico in July 1945 furnished the dramatic situation of Doctor Atomic. Yet Adams and his librettists were not so interested in the events themselves as in how the characters caught up in them responded. Adams’ operas become psychological studies of the characters participating in these events and grappling with themselves in the midst of crucial situations. Adams composed Doctor Atomic between 2003 and 2005, and it was premiered by the San Francisco Opera on October 1, 2005. Peter Sellars’ libretto uses the run-up to the first test of the atomic bomb as a way of studying the impact of that event on those racing to create that weapon. The opera focuses on the moral dilemmas faced by J. Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the Manhattan Project, and there are also important roles for his wife Kitty, fellow atomic scientist Edward Teller and Leslie Groves, the army general charged with overseeing the production of the first atomic bomb. The opera proved a great success: it has been performed in Amsterdam, Chicago, at The Met in New York and in London; it has been recorded several times and released as a video. Like many composers of operas, Adams felt that some of the music from Doctor Atomic was too good to leave buried beneath the sets and action of the opera stage, and so he “took some of my favorite music from the opera and made this compact and high-energy symphony.” The symphony was originally in four movements, but Adams reduced these to three; the Doctor Atomic Symphony, as he titled it, was first performed by the Saint Louis Symphony under David Robertson on March 16, 2007. Its three interconnected movements – The Laboratory, Panic and Trinity – are drawn from both instrumental and vocal music in the opera, and they are not in correct chronological order: Adams felt free to arrange the operatic excerpts for maximum impact in the concert hall. The brief opening The Laboratory is derived from the opera’s overture. Pounding timpani strokes (which have reminded many of the opening of Brahms’ First Symphony) introduce music that Adams said was in some way inspired by the soundtracks to science fiction films he saw as a boy in the 1950s at the height of the Cold War nuclear terror; this opening tension eases into the tentative calm of quiet wind chords. Panic bursts to life on a blast of unrelenting energy. In the opera this is the music that accompanies the electrical storm that unnerved scientists just prior to the detonation of the first bomb. General Groves’ hectoring aria, driving the scientists to get the job done, is here undertaken by a solo trombone. The final section, Trinity, takes its name from Oppenheimer’s own name for the first blast site. Stuttering brass attacks lead the way here, and these give way to a long passage for solo trumpet, which sings Oppenheimer’s great aria “Batter my heart, three-personed God” from the end of Act I. The text, one of John Donne’s Holy Sonnets, was one of Oppenheimer’s favorite poems; in it the poet, agonized by his separation from God, admits his many failings and pleads to be readmitted to a state of grace. (One understands why such a poem might speak with particular force to someone engaged in creating the atomic bomb.) The aria complete, the stuttering brass chords from the beginning of the movement return to drive the Doctor Atomic Symphony to its emphatic concluding chord. Though the Donne sonnet is “sung” here by the solo trumpet, listeners may wish to know the text of that poem (and perhaps to better understand why it appealed to Oppenheimer): Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurped town, to another due, Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end. Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captived, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betrothed unto your enemy: Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The Planets, Op. 32 GUSTAV HOLST Born September 21, 1874, Cheltenham Died May 25, 1934, London

Mystic, visionary, and socialist, Gustav Holst was also fascinated by astrology, and that passion helped shape The Planets. Holst composed this seven-movement suite for large orchestra during the years 1914-16, when he was teaching at St. Paul’s Girls School in Hammersmith, a borough of London. The name The Planets can be misleading, and Holst’s intentions in this work need to be understood carefully. Each movement has the name of one of the seven known (at the time) other planets: Holst eliminated Earth, and Pluto was not discovered until 1930, twelve years after the first performance (though its recent downgrade in status makes Holst’s original vision correct). It is important to note, however, that Holst was not interested in depicting the planets themselves. Listeners should not expect an aural depiction of the frosty, windswept deserts of Mars or of the sun-baked surface of Mercury. This is emphatically not a Grand Canyon Suite or La mer of outer space. Instead, Holst was interested in the names of the planets and the associations that went with them. But rather than being drawn to the mythological meanings of those names, Holst turned to their astrological associations. Only in certain cases do the mythological and astrological meanings agree (Mars and Mercury), and in some other cases they differ sharply. Jupiter, for example, was the king of the Roman gods, but he becomes for Holst simply “The Bringer of Jollity”; Neptune, the Roman god of the sea, becomes “The Mystic.” The physical planets themselves supply only the loosest sort of unity to this massive work; Holst’s daughter Imogen noted that once her father began to compose a work, “he let the music have its way with him.” When he began composing The Planets, Holst was convinced that he would never be able to arrange a performance, so rather than feeling constrained by the limits of a normal symphony orchestra, he added many unusual instruments, writing for an ideal orchestra rather than for the one he thought he might have. The Planets calls for an orchestra of four flutes, two piccolos, bass flute in G, three oboes, English horn, three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, contrabassoon, six horns, four trumpets, three trombones, tenor tuba, bass tuba, two harps, celeste, organ, six timpani, a massive percussion battery (triangle, side drum, tambourine, cymbals, bass drum, gong, bells, glockenspiel and xylophone) plus the usual strings. And then, much to the composer’s pleasure and surprise, Balfour Gardiner, a wealthy patron of the arts, learned of this score and arranged a private run-through with a professional orchestra. On September 29, 1918, Holst heard this music come to life for the first time. Mars, the Bringer of War An insistent 5/4 meter, tapped out by the wood of the bows, opens Mars and continues throughout, either clicking lightly in the background or hammering full-blast into the listener’s consciousness. Trumpet calls announce the arrival of the god of war, and his violence saturates this entire movement, rising to the massive chords that bring the movement to its grinding close. Many early listeners believed that this movement depicted World War I, but Holst noted that he began Mars during the early summer of 1914 and had it complete before the guns began to sound that August. Venus, the Bringer of Peace – pure, cool and precise – brings complete contrast, a draught of clear water after the fire and smoke of the opening movement; silvery violin solos contribute to this movement’s mood of calm. Mercury, the Winged Messenger Though Mercury is placed third in the suite, it was the last movement to be composed and is – musically – the most complex. Mercury is a scherzo, and its complexities arise from the fact that Holst mixes meters and tonalities daringly. In this movement, for example, the first and second violin sections play in different keys. While complex, the movement is also a lot of fun, with its portrait of the messenger whirling and swirling on his rapid way. Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity Though his subject is nominally the king of the gods, Holst is a good deal more earthbound in his intentions here, describing his Jupiter as “one of those jolly fat people who enjoy life.” The movement is in rondo form, and right at the center comes a stately melody that has become a virtual symbol of English pomp and ceremony. (Holst later used this tune to set the text “I Vow to Thee, My Country.”) A charming story: at the first run-through of The Planets, the cleaning-women in the hall were so struck by this theme that they set aside their mops and buckets and began to dance. Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age This movement, Holst’s own favorite, opens with eerie, empty chords and soon leads to madly-tolling bells that signal the passage of time, but a noble chorale for trombones (Holst’s own instrument) establishes a mood of acceptance and serenity. Uranus, the Magician One of the most brilliant sections of the suite, Uranus has been compared to The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, though Holst did not know Dukas’ music when he wrote The Planets. Here is a portrait of a magician going through all his tricks. The movement opens with a four-note motto that will recur in many forms. Near the end, the magician vanishes in a puff of smoke, the four-note motto thunders out, and the music ends in silent mystery. Neptune, the Mystic Like Mars, Neptune is in 5/4, but spiritually it is far removed from the violence of the opening movement. Holst takes an artistic risk here, choosing to end quietly after all the brilliance that has preceded this last movement. Mysterious and icy swirls of sound hover at the edge of this solar system, and the orchestra remains at a pianissimo dynamic throughout. At the end, a six-part women’s chorus sings a wordless text offstage, repeating the final measure until, in Holst’s words, “the sound is lost in the distance” and the audience is left at the silent edge of infinite space. -Program notes by Eric Bromberger

PEFORMANCE HISTORY by Dr. Melvin G. Goldzband, Symphony Archivist The Doctor Atomic Symphony, from music the American composer John Adams composed for his opera about Oppenheimer and the initial testing of the atomic bomb, is being given its first appearance at these concerts. The popular suite by Gustav Holst, The Planets, was given in pieces the first few times any of it was programmed here, initially via only three movements when Earl Bernard Murray conducted Mars, Venus and Jupiter during the 1964-65 season. That kind of presentation went on for a number of seasons under Peter Eros, David Atherton and Charles Ketcham. Atherton finally did the whole thing during the 1981-82 season, and Yoav Talmi followed through in 1993-94. Jahja Ling also led the entire suite, with the added ladies of the San Diego Master Chorale, during the 2008-09 season.