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SAN DIEGO SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA A JACOBS MASTERWORKS CONCERT Lahav Shani, conductor February 10-11, 2017 SERGE PROKOFIEV Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 25: Classical Allegro con brio Larghetto Gavotte: Non troppo allegro Finale: Molto vivace FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN Sinfonia concertante in B-flat Major, Hob.I:105 Allegro Andante Allegro con spirito Wesley Precourt, violin Chia-Ling Chien, cello Sarah Skuster, oboe Valentin Martchev, bassoon INTERMISSION BÉLA BARTÓK Concerto for Orchestra Introduzione: Andante non troppo – Allegro vivace Giuocco delle coppie: Allegretto scherzando Elegia: Andante non troppo Intermezzo interrotto: Allegretto Finale: Pesante – Presto Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 25: Classical SERGE PROKOFIEV Born April 23, 1891, Sontsovka Died March 5, 1953, Moscow Prokofiev appears to have been born to give meaning to the term enfant terrible. Here was a young man whose music scandalized audiences from the moment he appeared at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. “Musical mud,” howled one critic; “a cacophony of sounds,” moaned another. Prokofiev delighted in alienating listeners: when the audience at the premiere of his Second Piano Concerto in 1913 responded by hissing and heading for the doors with their hands over their ears, Prokofiev’s response was to sit down and play an encore as they booed. Such a background makes the creation of his Classical Symphony all the more remarkable. In the summer of 1917, with the Russian Revolution beginning to explode around him, Prokofiev set to work on an experiment: he wanted to write a symphony and to write without being seated at the piano. He wished to think “orchestrally” rather than conceiving his ideas pianistically, and in fact this symphony was composed mostly during long walks in the woods outside St. Petersburg. But what makes this symphony so remarkable – and so charming – is that this young firebrand chose as his model the classical symphony of the eighteenth century: “It seemed to me that had Haydn lived to our day he would have retained his own style while accepting something of the new at the same time. This was the kind of symphony I wanted to write: a symphony in the classical style.” The symphony he wrote during the summer of 1917 – only 12 minutes long – is a model of classical order and style, enlivened at some points by Prokofiev’s characteristically pungent harmonies. This symphony seems to exist outside time: there is not the faintest echo here of the political cataclysm about to engulf Russia, nor is this music consciously a part of the neo-classical movement then beginning in music. (Ravel was composing Le Tombeau de Couperin and Debussy his Violin Sonata at just this same time.) Rather, the Classical Symphony seems a stylistic experiment: a fiery young composer, seeking greater clarity and a specifically orchestral sonority, consciously chose to turn to the distant past for his model. Music this clear and pleasing needs little explanation or comment. The Allegro is built on the expected two theme-groups: the lively opening explosion, and a poised second theme for first violins that Prokofiev marks con eleganza, full of wide skips and grace-notes. It is a measure of Prokofiev’s attention to classical form that these two themes are in the “correct” keys: the first is in the home key of D Major, the second in the dominant of A Major. The form of this miniature movement is right out of Haydn: exposition, lively development, a big climax and a recapitulation of both theme-groups. The gentle second movement is in ternary form. Over pulsing accompaniment from the lower strings, first violins have the very high main idea, which Prokofiev marks molto dolce. The center section features pizzicato strings and the bubbling sound of the two bassoons before an abbreviated return of the opening section. The third movement brings a slight deviation from the classical model: this is not the expected minuet but a gavotte, based on a main theme that dances by stomping. (Prokofiev marks it pesante.) A stately middle section gives way to a concise repeat of the gavotte tune by the two flutes before the music suddenly vanishes on two quiet pizzicato strokes. Out of this quiet, the finale bursts to life. In sonata form, complete with exposition repeat, this Molto vivace is full of the sound of chattering woodwinds; the bright energy of the opening never lets up as the symphony rushes to its shining close. The Classical Symphony is scored for classical orchestra: pairs of woodwinds, trumpets, and horns, plus timpani and strings. Prokofiev consciously chose to step outside time when he wrote this music. In the process, he wrote a symphony that may live for all time. Sinfonia concertante in B-flat Major, Hob.I:105 FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN Born March 31, 1732, Rohrau Died May 31, 1809, Vienna Haydn wrote this wonderful music quickly during the winter of 1792. This was a very good time for the composer. After three decades of quiet obscurity as Kapellmeister to the Esterhazy family, Haydn found himself lionized on his first visit to England: acclaimed by cheering audiences, feted by nobility and handsomely rewarded for the concerts he directed of his own music. H.C. Robbins Landon has suggested that the Sinfonia concertante was written in response to the great popularity of similar works by Ignaz Pleyel, which were then being performed on a rival concert series in London. Haydn’s manuscript shows signs of haste: perhaps he was hurrying to have it ready for the concert on March 9, 1792, a week after the successful premiere of his Symphony No. 98. The sinfonia concertante (or “Symphonie Concertante,” as Haydn called it) is a concerto-like form, but with some important differences. It is for two or more soloists, who are more fully integrated into the orchestral texture than is the soloist in the standard concerto; the soloists in a sinfonia concertante emerge from the orchestral texture and return to it rather than carving out the independent identity of the soloist in a concerto. The mood is usually light, with the music somewhat in the manner of a divertimento, and the sinfonia concertante was often written for unusual combinations of instruments. The form flourished at the end of the eighteenth century, primarily in the hands of such composers as Pleyel, Stamitz and Boccherini, but passed out of fashion early in the nineteenth. Ironically, the three finest examples of the form were written by two composers who otherwise ignored it: two by Mozart (one for a quartet of winds and the other for violin and viola) and the present work by Haydn. Haydn’s manuscript may betray signs of haste, but there is no hint of carelessness in this polished music. Part of its success lies in Haydn’s choice of the four solo instruments. He chooses a high and low string instrument (violin and cello) and a high and low wind (oboe and bassoon) and then combines and contrasts these quite different sonorities in endless ways. And throughout all three movements runs an atmosphere of spaciousness, elegance, and relaxation that has made this music an audience favorite for two centuries. Music this agreeable needs little detailed comment. The entire piece takes its character from the orchestra’s genial opening melody, and the four soloists emerge gracefully from the texture of this opening; Haydn writes out an extended cadenza for them just before the close. It is difficult for the soloists to emerge from the orchestra in the Andante, for Haydn virtually eliminates the orchestra here: he dispenses with trumpets and timpani and has the strings play pizzicato or accompany unobtrusively; essentially this movement is chamber music for the four soloists with minimal accompaniment. With its firm beginning, the concluding Allegro con spirito promises more serious things, but soon Haydn is playing sly jokes. He wrote the solo violin part for the impresario-violinist Johann Peter Salomon, who had brought him to London, and the violin has a very prominent role here: it interrupts things with a series of mock-serious recitatives that threaten to change the music’s course, but the violin is repeatedly swept up in the fun, and Haydn propels matters firmly to the good-natured close. Concerto for Orchestra BÉLA BARTÓK Born March 25, 1881, Nagyszentmiklos, Hungary Died September 26, 1945, New York City Bartók and his wife fled to the United States in October 1940 to escape World War II and the Nazi domination of Hungary, but their hopes for a new life in America were quickly shattered. Wartime America had little interest in Bartók or his music, the couple soon found themselves living in near-poverty, and then came the catastrophe: in the spring of 1942 Bartók’s health failed. By the following spring his weight had dropped to 87 pounds (a ghastly photo from these months shows an emaciated figure, his bones pressed through his skin), and he had to be hospitalized. Bartók fell into a deep depression, convinced that he would neither recover nor compose again. To his publisher he wrote, “Artistic creative work generally is the result of an outflow of strength, high-spiritedness, joy of life, etc. – All these conditions are sadly missing with me at present.” At this point, Bartók’s friends rallied around him – and very discreetly too, since the fiercely proud composer would never accept anything that savored of charity. Fritz Reiner and Joseph Szigeti convinced Serge Koussevitzky to ask for a new work from the ailing composer, and so the conductor visited Bartók’s hospital room in New York City to tell him that the Koussevitzky Foundation had commissioned an orchestral work for which it would pay $1000.

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