Rodion Shchedrin Concerto for Orchestra No. 1, Naughty Limericks Rodion Shchedrin Was Born in Moscow in 1932

Rodion Shchedrin Concerto for Orchestra No. 1, Naughty Limericks Rodion Shchedrin was born in Moscow in 1932. He composed this work in 1963, and it was first performed in Warsaw by the USSR Radio and Television Large Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Gennady Rozhdestvensky the same year. The score calls for 2 flutes, piccolo, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 4 trumpets, 4 trombones, timpani, percussion, harp, piano, and strings. The death of Stalin did not immediately liberate Soviet composers, though many did breathe a little easier. Shchedrin came of age while Stalin was the lethal enforcer of artistic taste, but graduated from the Moscow Conservatory shortly after the dictator died. His early career rode the usual Soviet roller coaster of disapproval and approbation, but as the Soviet Union gradually opened up—and ultimately fell—his eclectic style gained both critical approval and official sanction. In later years he became part of the establishment itself, succeeding Shostakovich as the chairman of the Composers’ Union of Russia. His works are now played all over the world. The Russian title of this work—Ozornïye Chastushki—defies literal translation. It has been rendered variously as Mischievous Folk Ditties and Naughty Limericks, and the latter has stuck to it even though it’s a distant approximation at best. Shchedrin himself explained it this way: “In a chastushka there is always humor, irony, and a sharp satire of the status quo, its defenders and the ‘leaders of the people.’ Even such powerful or dreaded names as Marx, Lenin, and Stalin have been ridiculed in chastushki. Everything that occurs in the life of the people, from events of historic importance to the most intimate sensations, finds its way into chastushki on the same day or—through extemporizing—at the very moment. Brevity is the chief characteristic of the chastushka. Its specifically musical traits are a four-square and symmetric structure, a deliberately primitive melody of limited scope, driving syncopated rhythm, improvisation, numerous repetition involving variation (chiefly shifting the strong and weak beats) and—which is a must—a sense of humor pervading both the words and the music. “Unfortunately, the word chastushka is associated in the minds of many musicians with simple tunes of eight bars, suggesting nothing but boredom. I think, however, that this modest and unassuming form may be likened to a door opening, like an old fairy tale, upon a world of most varied and inexhaustible musical riches. In Ozornïye Chastushki, conceived as a virtuosic orchestral work, I treat only the comic and dance chastushka tunes. The concertante style and virtuosic effects are, to my mind, inherent in this type of chastushka.” As you might expect, the Concerto for Orchestra No. 1 is brisk, lighthearted, and full of rhythmic sleight-of-hand. But Shchedrin’s sense of humor didn’t leave off there—there’s a bonus. At the end of the score is a sort of built-in “encore” which, as the composer notes in the score, “may be performed at the option of the conductor in the event of public success.” Since Ozornïye Chastushki always meets with a rousing response, this “encore” is always played. Sergei Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini for Piano & Orchestra, Op. 43 Sergei Rachmaninov was born in Semyonovo, Russia in 1873 and died in Beverly Hills, California in 1943. He composed this work in 1934, and it was first performed the same year with the composer as soloist and the Philadelphia Orchestra conducted by Leopold Stokowski. The score calls for solo piano, 2 flutes, piccolo, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, harp, and strings. ***** Nicolò Paganini (1782-1840) radically changed people’s expectations of what the violin could do and the music that would be written for it. He was, simply, the best violinist anyone had ever heard. He had assimilated virtually every known technique into a unified virtuoso style, along with unprecedented speed, accuracy, and perfect intonation. At age sixteen he composed his 24 Caprices for unaccompanied violin as showpieces for himself; since then they have inspired such composers as Liszt, Schumann, Brahms—and Rachmaninov—to compose variations on their themes. Paganini’s on-stage persona frequently overwhelmed those who saw him play: his skeletal figure and demonic intensity reminded people of a man possessed. His manner prompted rumors, believed by many, that he had sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for his prowess—and perhaps for his lady-love as well. A silly notion, but one that gave Rachmaninov an idea that would make his variations unique. There would be two themes in his work: Paganini’s, and the Dies Irae, the call to judgment from the Mass for the Dead. Rachmaninov explained in a letter: “Why not resurrect the legend about Paganini, who, for perfection in his art and for a woman, sold his soul to an evil spirit? Paganini himself first appears in the theme. All the variations which have the Dies Irae represent the evil spirit. The evil spirit appears for the first time in Variation 7, where there is a dialog with Paganini about his own theme and the one of the Dies Irae. Variations 8-10 are the development of the evil spirit. Variation 11 is a turning point into the domain of love. Variation 12—the minuet—portrays the first appearance of the woman. Variation 13 is the first conversation between the woman and Paganini. Variation 19 is Paganini's triumph, with his diabolical pizzicato.” Rachmaninov's own diabolical twists include delaying the theme, heard in the violins, until one of the variations has already been presented, and in using an inversion (upside-down form) of Paganini’s theme as one of the tunes in the love episodes. In all, a clever tribute to the great virtuoso and a bravura showpiece in its own right. Lera Auerbach Icarus Lera Auerbach was born in Chelyabinsk, Russia in 1973. She originally composed this work as the last two movements of her Symphony No. 1 in 2006 on a commission from the Düsseldorf Symphony. It was first performed with the symphony in 2006 by the Düsseldorf Symphony under the direction of John Fiore. Icarus itself was first performed in 2010 in Washington, D.C. by the National Symphony Orchestra under the direction of James Gaffigan. The score of Icarus calls for 3 flutes, piccolo, alto flute, 3 oboes, English horn, 3 clarinets, bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, optional termin vox (an electronic instrument), 2 harps, celeste, piano, and strings. The astonishingly multi-talented Lera Auerbach is a pianist, composer, poet, writer, and visual artist. Given her first music lessons by her mother, Auerbach gave her first solo performance at age six, her first performance with an orchestra at eight, and composed her first opera at twelve. After emigrating to the United States in 1991 she received her bachelor’s degree from the Julliard School, where she studied piano with Joseph Kalichstein and composition with Milton Babbit and Robert Beaser. She did her post-graduate work in piano at the Hanover University of Music, Drama, and Media in Germany. When she wasn’t busy concertizing or writing and publishing both poetry and prose, she has found time to compose over 100 works for orchestra, opera, ballet, choral works, and chamber music. Auerbach’s Icarus was originally composed as the final two movements of her Symphony No. 1, Chimera and has since gained a concert life of its own. Auerbach writes: “Icarus was one of my heroes (or anti- heroes, depending on the interpretation)—the winged boy who dared fly too close to the sun. What makes this myth so touching is Icarus’ impatience of the heart, his wish to reach the unreachable, the intensity of the ecstatic brevity of his flight and inevitability of his fall. If Icarus were to fly safely—there would be no myth. His tragic death is beautiful. It also poses a question—from Deadalus’ point of view—how can one distinguish success from failure? Deadalus’ greatest invention, the wings which allowed a man to fly, was his greatest failure as they caused the death of his son. Deadalus was brilliant, his wings were perfect, but he was also a blind father who did not truly understand his child.” Modest Mussorgsky Pictures at an Exhibition, Orchestrated by Maurice Ravel Modest Mussorgsky was born in Karevo, Russia in 1839 and died in St. Petersburg in 1881. He composed Pictures at an Exhibition for solo piano in 1874. Ravel orchestrated the work in 1922 and this version was first performed in Paris the following year with Serge Koussevitzky conducting. The work is scored for 3 flutes, piccolo, 3 oboes, English horn, 3 clarinets, bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, alto saxophone, timpani, percussion, 2 harps, celeste, and strings. One of Modest Mussorgsky’s closest friends was Victor Hartmann, an architect, designer, and artist of great talent and even more promising potential. When Hartmann died suddenly of a heart attack at age 39, Mussorgsky was devastated. A retrospective of the artist’s works was organized shortly after his death, and Mussorgsky was deeply moved by what he saw there. A few weeks later he began his own tribute to Hartmann, Pictures at an Exhibition. Mussorgsky composed a piano work of colossal proportions, so immensely difficult that performances are still quite rare. The piece is a collection of short movements, each representing one of Hartmann’s works, with a recurring “Promenade” that represents Mussorgsky strolling through the “gallery.” Many assume that all of the pictures described by the music had been on display at the Hartmann retrospective, but this is not so.

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