Divertimento Leonard Bernstein (1918–1990) Written: 1980 Movements: Eight Style: Contemporary American Duration: Fifteen minutes

If the classical music world ever had a “Renaissance Man,” Leonard Bernstein was it. He was a composer, pianist, and conductor. As a composer, he was at home in both worlds of classical and popular music. Both American and European audiences admired him as a conductor; orchestral musicians revered him—unheard of! His discourses on music could be hi-falutin’ enough for the esteemed Norton Lectures at Harvard, but almost every baby-boomer learned the basics of music from his inimitable television broadcasts of the Young People’s

Concerts. There is a long list of current conductors and composers who proudly list Leonard

Bernstein as their teacher.

The American orchestra that is most closely associated with Bernstein is the New York

Philharmonic. He was their assistant conductor in the 1940s and served as their music director from 1958 to 1969. However, because he grew up in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and attended the Boston Latin School, Harvard, and Tanglewood, the Boston Symphony was his “home-town” orchestra. In 1980, the Boston Symphony commissioned a work from Bernstein to celebrate their centenary. What was supposed to be a short opening fanfare grew into an eight-movement Divertimento.

It is full of self-referencing musical motives, funny nods to other composers, inside jokes, and extroverted humor. He based all of the movements on the same two-note motive, B–C, for

“Boston Centenary.” In just 15 minutes, Bernstein provides a complete sonic guide to the orchestra. “Sennets and Tuckets” (a Shakespearean direction meaning “fanfares”) opens the

Divertimento. It explodes with the same sort of upward energy as Bernstein’s Overture to

Candide. “Waltz,” featuring the string section, has a strange “halt” in its step because of its 7/8 meter. “Mazurka” has a more lugubrious tone and features the woodwinds, primarily the double reeds. An exact quote of the oboe cadenza from the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth

Symphony sneaks in at the end.

“Samba” sounds a bit like the Mambo from West Side Story. “Turkey Trot” seems to reference Bernstein’s On the Town. Another lugubrious movement, “Sphinxes,” is written with the gnarly, atonal 12-tone method and then ends with a very tonal cadence. The brass section gets to shine in the “Blues,”again written in the 12-tone style. After a somber introduction for three flutes memorializing deceased Boston Symphony players and conductors, the final movement launches into a Sousa-tinged march: “The BSO Forever!”

©2018 John P. Varineau

Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 14 Samuel Barber (1910–1981) Written: 1939–40 Movements: Three Style: Contemporary American Duration: 26 minutes

The movie Platoon—using the Adagio for Strings—re-introduced the music of Samuel

Barber to the general public. He is one of the most important American composers from the middle of the 20th century. Unlike his peers, he did not consider himself a modernist. His early music combined a Romantic lyricism with a sure handling of Classical forms, much as Brahms had done several generations earlier. His later works, though more dissonant, still retained a sense of rhythmic and tonal direction.

Barber’s Violin Concerto, completed in 1940, is a pivotal work, looking nostalgically to the past, but with an eye toward the future. The first two movements of the piece are conservatively “Neo-romantic,” while the finale is more dissonant, aggressive, and irregular. The history of the concerto itself probably sheds light on why there is this sudden change of style mid-piece.

Samuel Fels, famous for Fels Naptha Soap, and a member of the board of trustees of the

Curtis Institute of Music, offered Barber $1,000—with $500 paid in advance—to write a violin concerto for his adopted son, Iso Briselli. Barber worked on the concerto while he was in

Switzerland and sent the first two movements to Briselli. The young violinist complained that they were “too simple and not brilliant enough for a concerto.” Still in Europe, Barber continued to work on the concerto but was interrupted when the Nazis invaded Poland and all Americans were advised to leave. Back in the states, he showed the third movement to the soloist. This time it was “too difficult,” and Nels demanded his money back. But Barber had already spent it! He recruited another violinist, Herbert Baumel, to demonstrate the third movement. Having proved that it was, indeed, playable, Barber received the rest of the commission. However,

Briselli gave up his right to premiere the concert. Instead, Albert Spalding gave the first performance with the Philadelphia Orchestra in February 1941. (Years later, Briselli insisted that the third movement was not too difficult. Rather it was “too lightweight” compared to the other two movements.)

The first movement consists of two main themes developed in traditional concerto form.

The soloist begins quietly with a long uninterrupted phrase that leads into a perky, jazzy second theme introduced by the clarinet. The second movement is even more hushed and song-like than the first. It begins with a beautiful oboe solo. Eventually the movement rises to a terrific climax, but returns immediately to the melancholy mood of the opening. The finale opens with a brief rhythmic timpani solo, which is taken up in turn by the solo violin and orchestra. A sense of perpetual motion drives the entire movement with the violinist playing almost nonstop. A sudden change of pace leads to a brilliant conclusion.

©2018 John P. Varineau

Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92 Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) Written: 1811-12 Movements: Four Style: Romantic Duration: 36 minutes

By the time the Viennese public heard his Symphony No. 7, it had been quite a long time since they had heard a new symphonic work from Beethoven. After all, Beethoven presented his second through sixth symphonies in only five years—between 1803 and 1808—and then nothing for another five years. Finally, in December 1813, Beethoven premiered two new orchestral works: his Symphony in A Major, and Wellington’s Victory (or The Battle of Vittoria).

The public greeted the symphony enthusiastically, but they much preferred the “Battle

Symphony”—Napoleon had been handed a series of stunning defeats, and Austrian national pride was on the rise. Today the verdict is reversed. We wink at the banality of Wellington’s

Victory, while the Seventh Symphony stands at the peak of the symphonic repertoire.

Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony could be nicknamed—but fortunately hasn’t – the

“fast” symphony because all of the movements are in a fast tempo, some blisteringly so. And the rhythmic vitality of all the movements results in a sort of fire and energy that is seldom achieved in any other symphonic work. The first movement begins with an extended slow introduction, really the only slow section in the whole symphony. Here, using the simplest of materials, Beethoven explores the three main keys of the symphony: A major, C Major and F

Major. To our ears the relationships between these keys seem normal, but to the ears of

Beethoven’s listeners, C Major and F Major were drastic shifts from the prevailing A Major. This slow introduction eventually dissolves into a repetition of a single note that leads directly into the body of the first movement. Listen carefully to the rhythm of the fast section. That rhythm serves as the glue that holds the whole first movement together, much like the famous four notes in Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Although it is incessant, this rhythm is buoyant, joyous, pounding, and vital.

Though there is no slow movement in this symphony, the second movement, played somewhat quickly, acts as one. It begins mysteriously in a minor key, and the melody is dark and solemn. Contradicting what was later to become taboo, the people who first heard this symphony applauded after each movement. They liked this movement so much that they demanded that it be played again right then and there! (Oh, for the good ol’ days!)

The third movement is a sparkling scherzo. And true to its name, this scherzo has fun little jokes inside. Funny little rhythmic twists pervade the faster sections along with sudden and explosive dynamic changes. The trio sections are significantly slower. Beethoven takes us on a spin three times through the scherzo and twice through the trio (the normal number is twice and once). And just when you will be saying to yourself, “not the trio again,” the movement will be over. The finale is one of Beethoven’s wildest, completing this rhythmically vital work that

Richard Wagner called “the apotheosis of the dance.”

©2018 John P. Varineau