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Home , Joseph Szigeti, Octet (Stravinsky), Sinfonia

PROGRAM NOTES by DANIEL MAKI

Octet by (1882- 1971)

Duration: Approximately 14 minutes First Performance: October 18, 1923 in Paris Last ESO Performance: These are the first ESO performances of the work

Early in the twentieth century the American poet Ezra Pound made famous the slogan “Make it new,” a kind of call-to-arms for artists to find new styles and forms suitable to a new age. Such encouragement was hardly necessary, for the impulse to innovate was already in the air and quickly spawned innumerable artistic “isms”, e.g. impressionism, expressionism, primitivism, vorticism, and fauvism, to mention just a few. In music, it can be argued that the most complete break with the previous century was the style that has come to be known as neo-classicism, a practice that influenced many composers in the period between the world wars. One of the most important moments in the history of this new style and one that has special meaning for today’s program was a concert held at the Paris on 18 October 1923. On that occasion Igor Stravinsky conducted the premiere of his , and the No. 1 of Serge Prokofiev received its first performance as well. Attending that performance was a certain 22 year old American composer named , then studying in Paris. As he wrote many years later, Copland was deeply puzzled by Stravinsky’s striking new work. Although it had a certain modish shock value which for the fashionably hip audience overshadowed the Prokofiev Concerto and made that work seem by comparison almost Romantic in a relatively old-fashioned way, the Octet caused general mystification which Copland described as follows: “Everyone was asking why Stravinsky should have exchanged his Russian heritage for what looked like a mess of eighteenth century mannerisms.” Stravinsky had already turned the world upside down with the music of his so-called Russian phase, including the ballet and, most spectacularly, with the ballet (1913), which had literally caused a riot in Paris and had become an iconic symbol for artistic modernism. As revolutionary as The Rite was, however, in a certain sense it was, with its huge and overpowering emotional impact, a continuation of so-called maximalism, as some musicologists call it, the urge to produce ever more overpowering and shocking effects that was characteristic of late nineteenth century Romanticism as well as of early modernism. To break completely with the past, something quite different was called for. Neo-classicism, or the “Back to Bach”movement as it was sometimes also called, strove in every way to be the polar opposite of Romanticism by returning to some of the principles of eighteenth century music. If Romantic artists had worn their hearts on their sleeves, emphasizing subjectivity and “sincere” deep emotion, the neo-classicists would strive for objectivity and emotional restraint. For the Romantics qualities such as humor and irony were in short supply (they took themselves very seriously indeed), whereas the neo-classical style embodied sarcastic wit and highly self-conscious irony. Instead of soaring, lush, emotional melody we hear frequent use of pastiche, i.e., deliberate imitation of various styles, past and present. This is music in quotation marks, so to speak, and thus a waltz would be actually a parody of a waltz, an eighteenth century gavotte really only the abstract concept of a gavotte. Rather than the enormous of the Romantic period, composers returned to the smaller ensembles of the eighteenth century and in place of Romantic free forms there was a return to the strict forms of the Classical period as well as a return to the of the period, hence “Back to Bach.” All these qualities are were immediately apparent in Stravinsky’s Octet and, once the shock of this completely new approach wore off, it became a very influential work. As has often been noted, it is ironic that it should be a work like the Octet that would help to trigger an important new direction in contemporary music. It is, after all, a relatively slight work in the form of an eighteenth century divertissement (entertainment music) but that is itself part of the joke. Maximalism is history, welcome to the twentieth century. Any discussion of the neo-classical traits of the Octet obviously begins with the instrumentation itself, a chamber group not presenting the lush sound of strings but rather the dry, pungent tones of an unusual combination of woodwinds and brass. (Flute, , two , two and two .) The playing style required of the performers is anti-romantic, emphasizing crispness and clarity. If the reader will pardon a personal reference, I can say that one of my most vivid memories as a conservatory student was the opportunity to play in an orchestra under Stravinsky’s direction. Although I spent most of the time in awe of the fact that I was breathing the same air as the Great Man, I do remember his most important performance directions, ones that he said repeatedly : “secco” (“dry”), and staccatissimo (“ as short as possible”). The work is in three movements, each with a time -honored title that could apply to an eighteenth century composition. The opening begins with a brief introduction that leads into a textbook form, that procedure that was used from the time of Haydn and Mozart for the first movement of virtually every sonata, , and concerto. The slow movement is another eighteenth century favorite, a theme with five variations which the composer clearly identifies with letters in the score. After the statement of the theme we hear Variation A, which Stravinsky called the “ribbons of scales “ variation including the striking passage with the chugging motion of two bassoons and which comes back as connecting tissue between several of the other variations. Variations B, C, and D are “quotation music”, parodies of, respectively, a march, waltz, and polka. Variation E is a somber -like construction that leads without pause into the perky finale. Here we hear a good deal of neo-Bachian counterpoint sitting side by side, irony of ironies, with Jazz-Age American popular music including hints of the Charleston and even Latin rhythms. The work ends with a thumb- of-the nose to tradition by the use of a C major chord in second inversion, which as any freshman theory student knows, is the weakest position of a chord and the one least suited for a conclusion. Finally, to those willing to adjust their palates, the Stravinsky Octet is a delightfully refreshing respite from sweetness, lushness, and bigness. To this listener it is like a fine dry wine or perhaps an extra dry brut champagne toast to another aspect of Igor Stravinsky’s genius.

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Concerto No. 1 in D major for Violin and Orchestra, op.19 by Serge Prokofiev (1891 – 1953)

Duration: Approximately 22 minutes First Performance: October 18, 1923 in Paris Last ESO Performance: These are the first ESO performances of the work

As any good wine taster knows, dry comes before sweet, a principle that applies to today’s program. At the risk of abusing the oenological metaphor, it can be said that if Stravinsky’s Octet is refreshingly dry, Prokofiev’s First is a considerably sweeter vintage, although parts of it have their own tannin-like tartness. Prokofiev was known to complain that he was not given enough credit as a composer of melodies. He, of course, had only himself to blame, for he had made his early reputation as a musical enfant terrible, frequently writing bad-boy music filled with ferocious dissonance and furious rhythmic energy. The point about his lyrical gift was well taken, however, and when he used the Violin Concerto No. 1 as an example, he couldn’t have found a better illustration of his argument. Long, soaring melodies were, of course, very much a part of the Russian tradition, as illustrated by the music of composers such as Tchaikovsky, Borodin, and Rachmaninoff. Prokofiev’s lyricism is certainly recognizable as that of a twentieth century artist, while retaining some of the emotion and sense of fantasy of the previous Romantic age. The First Violin Concerto was completed, along with a number of other masterpieces, in one of the most productive years of Prokofiev’s life, smack in the middle of one of the greatest upheavals of recent human history, the Russian Revolution of 1917. After he literally dodged bullets in St. Petersburg in the spring of 1917, by the middle of summer he had completed the Violin Concerto and by September his Classical Symphony, which, incidentally, was Prokofiev’s own contribution to the neo-classical style. The premiere of the Concerto would have to wait for some time, however, as Prokofiev, like many other Russians, fled the turbulence of the Revolution. His travels included trips to various parts of Europe and even a trip to the United States, where his adventures included being mistaken for a Bolshevist spy as well as the production of his new opera The Love for Three Oranges at the Auditorium Theatre by the Chicago Grand Opera. By 1923 he had decided to settle in Paris where he found one of his greatest musical allies, the conductor Serge Koussevitsky, on whose concert series the above mentioned concert containing the premieres of both the Octet and the Violin Concerto No. 1 took place. The concerto, which was performed by Marcel Darrieux, concertmaster of Koussevitsky’s orchestra, was not well received. As mentioned above, it struck the ultra- sophisticated audience as a throwback to Romanticism and was dwarfed by the shockingly new Octet. The tables were quickly reversed, however, when the Concerto made its way back to Russia, where its lyricism soon made it a popular favorite. The concerto found its greatest champion when the great Hungarian violinist Joseph Szigeti took it into his repertoire and eventually made the first recording of it. The Concerto begins with what is surely one of the most beautiful melodies that Prokofiev ever wrote, a tune marked sognando (“dreaming”) and played against a shimmering backdrop of string tremolos and quiet woodwind murmurings. If this is the dreamy side of the composer’s musical personality, we are soon introduced to another aspect of it which was well described by the violinist Szigeti in his memoirs. What the violinist found particularly fascinating about this concerto was its “mixture of fairy tale naïveté and daring savagery in lay-out and texture.” The second theme has some of this “savagery” as expressed by the furious, somewhat mechanical motor energy that Prokofiev was known for. Fragments of both themes are heard in the development section, which includes a good deal of virtuoso writing. Finally, after a brief reflective passage for solo violin, the dreaminess of the opening returns, this time with the flute playing the ravishing open theme in its high octave while the solo violin provides a background of pattern work. The movement ends quietly with a whimsical little flourish of quick notes in the flute. Although it had been the custom for two hundred years to make the middle movement of a three movement concerto a slow, lyrical one, Prokofiev here flaunts the tradition, returning to the “savagery” mentioned above in the form of a (Italian for “joke”). Again we hear driving rhythmic energy as well as deliberately naughty “wrong note” music, often played in a very un-romantic way. The movement ends abruptly. The finale brings us back to the quiet lyricism of the opening movement. After a brief sardonic melody in the the texture changes, bringing us more of the composer’s sensuous lyricism. Finally, as the tempo slows, the delicious theme that opened the concerto returns one more time, this time played in the soloist’s high register as a chain of trills. The work ends quietly like the first movement as a flute again contributes a small bouquet of notes which add a touch of perfume to the dreamy ending.

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Symphony No. 3 in E –flat major, op. 55 , Eroica by (1770-1827)

Duration: Approximately 47 minutes First Performance: April 7, 1805 in Vienna Last ESO Performance: January, 2007; Kenneth Slowik, conductor

To most concertgoers the word “symphony” probably brings to mind a work that can be taken as the musical equivalent of the novel, i.e., a work of hefty proportions that exudes a certain requisite high level of gravitas. The extreme examples of the type would be the immense, sprawling of composers such as Anton Bruckner and Gustav Mahler, written in the second half of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. Bruckner, after having dedicated symphonies to such worthies as King Ludwig of Bavaria and Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria, dedicated his last one to none other than God Himself. Mahler said that a symphony should be “a world” and should “embrace everything”. No shrinking violets, these late Romantics. They took their symphonies very seriously indeed. Symphonies were not always thus. The earliest symphonies were written in the middle of the eighteenth century as relatively short works intended as light entertainment. They were performed at various public events such as banquets, (between acts), and on concerts where the more important fare was considered to be or vocal music. Only gradually did symphonies gain sufficient respect to be considered an important musical event in their own right. In Mozart’s case, for example, it was not until his late great symphonies, written in the 1780’s, that we begin to sense the weight commonly associated with the genre. The most important single milestone along the symphony’s journey from divertissement to Big Metaphysical Statement was certainly the work which Beethoven himself called Sinfonia Eroica. (“Heroic Symphony”). At the first performances in 1805, the audience was sharply divided between those who were amazed at its originality and those who found it chaotic and inordinately long. Both factions knew that this was a symphony unlike any heard before. To those of us of a certain age who still measure music in terms of long- playing records, the Eroica is known as the earliest symphony in the repertoire to require both sides of an LP. The Eroica is not merely longer than previous symphonies, however, but speaks with a musical language of unprecedented force. Such emotional intensity was necessary for a work which, unlike the symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, was clearly intended to make a political statement. Although details may have been distorted, the famous story of the origins of the Eroica is for the most part true and well documented. Beethoven had intended the work to be a “Bonaparte Symphony” as an homage to the man who represented the ideals of the French Revolution. When he heard that Napoleon had crowned himself Emperor, however, Beethoven scratched out the title with such force as to leave a hole in the title page. His liberalism thus offended, Beethoven would change his dedication from Napoleon in particular to an heroic man in the abstract. The eventual title was to be Sinfonia Eroica, Composed to Celebrate the Memory of a Great Man. Beethoven immediately sets the heroic tone with two startling introductory chords followed by the militaristic opening theme, which is actually a horn call. Innumerable original touches occur throughout the movement, including ferocious accents on normally unaccented beats, dramatic dissonances, and the famous “false recapitulation” where the horn enters with the opening theme four bars too soon. Instead of a conventional slow second movement, Beethoven gives us the famous Funeral March, an epic outpouring of grief which acquires added grandeur in the middle of the movement with a magnificent evocation of the old fugal style, For the third movement Beethoven has banished the old aristocratic minuet used by Haydn and Mozart and substituted one of his symphonic trademarks, a scherzo of tremendous energy. The finale is a large set of variations which has almost as much weight as the first movement, itself a strikingly new idea. Previous finales had usually been jolly entertainments intended to send the audience home whistling, but here we have something close to the Grand Finales that would become characteristic of Beethoven symphonies, eventually culminating, of course, in the finale of the Ninth. Finally, the Eroica would seem to be the result of a unique confluence of forces, both public and private. In addition to the political influences of this turbulent period of European history, Beethoven had just passed through a grave personal crisis during which he wrestled with thoughts of suicide before coming to terms with his growing deafness and his mission as an artist. Both of these influences probably found expression in the wonderfully flexible High Viennese style which had been perfected by Haydn and Mozart and which Beethoven stretched, pulled, and pounded to meet his own needs. Symphonies would never be the same. * * *