program notes

2020 - 2021 SEASON Celebrating 100 Years

Wilkins Conducts Dvořák January 15 and 16, 2021 at 7:30 pm | Holland Center Thomas Wilkins, conductor

VAUGHAN WILLIAMS Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (1872-1958)

ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Op. 88 (1841-1904) I. Allegro con brio II. Adagio III. Allegretto grazioso IV. Allegro ma non troppo

MasterWorks Series Sponsor program notes Program Notes by Steven Lowe

Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis Ralph Vaughan Williams Born: Down Ampney, Gloucestershire, October 12, 1872 Died: London, August 26, 1958

As Béla Bartók and Zoltán Kodály had done in their Hungarian homeland, Ralph (pronounced “Rafe”) Vaughan Williams played a vital role in the exploration of old English folk music and its incorporation into “serious” composition in the 20th century, no surprise given his deep roots in the English countryside. He also had an abiding love for English music of the Renaissance, especially for the rich modal polyphony of the 16th century, and modal writing played an important role in Vaughan Williams’ music throughout his long life.

His Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, composed and first performed in 1910 (rev. 1913 & 1919), was his first major orchestral work and has maintained a strong place in the string orchestra repertoire ever since. Based on a tune by the estimable Renaissance genius Thomas Tallis (ca. 1505-1585) contributed to Archbishop Matthew Parker’s Psalter of 1567, Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia captures with depth and conviction the ecclesiastical solemnity of both Tallis and his age. The rich sonorities and powerful harmonic idiom convey a sense of timelessness and exaltation. The quiet introduction posits Tallis’ theme sounded by low pizzicato strings alternating with a complementary tune by Vaughan Williams. Vaughan Williams skillfully employs the full range of string sonorities to present the Tallis hymn in a variety of subtly shifting colors. After a series of central variants on the main theme, the work ends with a serene and quietly ecstatic coda. One of the Fantasia’s most arresting qualities is its Janus-faced sound world: one foot sits firmly rooted in the Renaissance while the other asserts its grounding in the still-young 20th century.

Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Op. 88 Antonín Dvořák Born: Nelahozeves, Bohemia, September 8, 1841 Died: Prague, May 1, 1904

A wave of national fervor spread across Europe throughout the 19th century. It was a veritable Pandora’s Box that released, on the one hand, ideas of self-governance and healthy pride about one’s culture, and virulent xenophobia on the other. One of the salutary expressions of Romantic nationalism lay in the wealth of new and often exotic musical vocabularies that enriched the concert literature. Among a host of creative artists, Antonín Dvořák stands high as a spokesman for benign nationalism in music. He was emphatically a non-political nationalist, proud of his region’s rich cultural legacy, yet free of any of the “anti” dogmas that sadly were a corollary of the darker side of this same pride. For one thing, Dvořák, who had to fight to ensure that the Czech version of his first name replaced its German counterpart—Anton—on newly-published scores, was beholden to the enthusiasm of musicians and audiences in non-Czech areas, predisposing him toward an all-embracing humanity. Much of his early success was in England, and his chief advocate among fellow composers was the echt Deutsch Johannes Brahms. Dvořák’s own musical enthusiasms reached far beyond his Bohemian countryside; many of his early works bask in overt Wagnerism (third and fourth symphonies), while many more wed his natural/national tendencies toward a Brahmsian intellectualism most noticeable in the Seventh Symphony in D minor and in many middle period chamber works. Yet whatever outside influences can be perceived, Dvořák’s love for the Bohemian countryside permeates his music, never more than in his Symphony No. 8.

By the year of its composition, 1889, the composer was thoroughly enjoying the success wrought by his efforts and talent. Written during an annual retreat in the country, the Eighth luxuriates in winsome melody and bucolic writing for winds. A distinct national— i.e., Bohemian—fervor courses through the work, most tellingly in the brass-driven sonorities of the rousing finale. As positive and optimistic as the Symphony is, it is curious that the first movement opens in the minor mode, its flowing melody entrusted to the burnished timbre of the cellos. This expressive passage serves to introduce the movement’s main theme, announced by the flute. The second subject emerges in the wake of a brief horn solo after an energetic transitional section. A number of new themes make welcome appearances throughout the movement—a total of eight beguiling melodies that confirm Dvořák’s reputation as one of the 19th century’s great tunesmiths! The Adagio that follows is equally rich in mood changes and anticipates the emotionally labile world of Mahler and his 20th-century descendants. Poignant intimacy alternates with gestures of symphonic grandiloquence, creating a world of heightened emotional contrast. Perhaps that explains the comment of a New York Times reviewer who wrote after the 1892 U.S. premiere, “The music of the symphony is certainly modern and strange enough to meet the demands of most modern extremists.” One doubts that even the most conservative of modern concertgoers would so characterize this movement! In 3/4 time, the delectably lilting third movement is in the style of an Austrian Ländler, that rustic precursor to the Viennese waltz. This is Dvořák at his most dance-like, even though the music is tinged with melancholy. The writing for winds is especially endearing. As with the opening movement, a lengthy introduction in G minor leads to the beguil- ing main theme in the major, sung by oboe against soft timpani and gently lifted aloft by syncopated chords in the strings. An up-tempo coda sweeps aside any traces of lingering sweetness and prepares the listener for the energetic and rousing finale. A blazing trumpet fanfare launches this concluding movement. As he had done in the first movement, Dvořák gives the cellos a flowing theme that recalls both the immediately preceding trumpet call as well as the flute’s tune from the opening movement. All manner of theme variants follow only to be interrupted by an odd little funeral march that sounds weirdly cheerful. After a busily energetic development section, the bold main theme is reprised. An irrepressi- bly bounding coda enters the piece on a note of great jubilation. (c) 2021 Steven Lowe

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