DARIUS MILHAUD 1892–1974 Cello Concerto No.1, Op.136 1 I. Nonchalant 5.13 2 II. Grave 6.16 3 III. Joyeux 3.05 ARTHUR HONEGGER 1892–1955 Cello Concerto, H72 4 I. Andante 5.51 5 II. Lento — Cadenza 4.09 6 III. Allegro marcato 5.21 (Cadenza: Maurice Maréchal) ALUN HODDINOTT 1929–2008 Noctis Equi, Op.132 7 I. Andante — Presto — Andante 9.57 8 II. Presto — Cadenza — Andante — Adagio 11.03 51.08 Mstislav Rostropovich cello London Symphony Orchestra Kent Nagano 2 Milhaud: Concerto No.1 for cello and orchestra This is the first of the two concertos written by Milhaud for the cello. It was first performed by Maurice Maréchal, who had commissioned it, at the “Concerts Sérénades” in Paris, conducted by lnghelbrecht, on 28 June 1935. There is no need to look here for the sombre heroism of the great classical concertos; Milhaud unveils quite another facet of the instrument, a lighter, gayer side, one that is more nonchalant: the very title of the first movement. But first Milhaud gives a wink in our direction by beginning the work with deliberately broad and strong gestures before introducing the orchestra with... a foxtrot. This soft melody, singing out over a tapping accompaniment, lends colour to the whole movement, and is soon taken up and freely developed by the soloist. Some new melodic fragments appear with the intervention of the woodwinds, and after a second cadenza, the soloist calmly takes up the first theme again in a sort of abbreviated résumé. The second movement, “Grave”, is a complete change of atmosphere. It is somewhat reminiscent of an elegy, but it lacks heaviness and, despite the use of the lower registers, and mutes, the textures remain transparent. Over a backcloth of brass, percussion and strings in the bass, the cello unfolds a long, majestic, solemn theme, rising suddenly from the deep on occasion in a lyrical outburst. Further on, a few plaintive appeals from the violins, clarinets and brass introduce a contrasting element, before the main theme returns, with the same accompaniment, but used as a canon between the flute and the cor anglais, while the soloist weaves a counterpoint of fleeting arabesques. A small cadenza brings us a last reminder of the beginning. The atmosphere radically changes once again for the vigorous, playful finale, a quite joyful one in fact, as it says on the score. A great tutti — the first in the entire work — prepares the entrance of the soloist, who accompanies a brisk theme from the clarinet with a robust ostinato. After a little dialogue between cello and woodwinds, the soloist takes hold of the theme and then presents another — nonchalant again. A third theme arrives on the trumpet, a quicker, more syncopated one, and the soloist picks up his ostinato again. This theme takes on more and more importance, despite the furtive return of the first theme. The impetus is constantly maintained with brio, and if the music seems to take on a semblance of calm, it is merely a final wink from the composer. The work closes with panache. Jeremy Drake Translation: Stewart Walters Arthur Honegger: Concerto for Cello and Orchestra Honegger wrote only three Concertos: the Concertino for Piano (1924), the Concerto da Camera for flute, English horn and strings (a late work, 1948) and the Cello Concerto recorded here. All three are modest in size, call for a small or medium orchestra, and bear no relationship to the big virtuoso concertos of the Romantic tradition. Their mood is invariably relaxed and entertaining, and both the Concertino for Piano and the Cello Concerto are not above casting a wink or two at jazz. The Cello Concerto was completed in August 1929, thus being a relaxation between vaster and more ambitious works such as the melodrama Amphion (in collaboration with Paul Valéry) and the First Symphony. The Concerto is dedicated to Maurice Maréchal, who wrote its cadenza, and who premiered the work on 17 February 1930 in Boston, with that city’s orchestra conducted by Serge Koussevitzky. The following 16 May he presented it in Paris, this time under Pierre Monteux. The orchestra 3 calls for double woodwind, two horns, two trumpets, no trombones but one tuba, percussion and strings. The piece is in three parts played without a break, fairly free in form. The main key is C major. The introductory theme, Andante in 3/4, often returns by way of a ritornello, and radiates a peaceful, idyllic mood, aptly befitting the solo instrument’s lyrical, dreamlike quality. The tempo barely livens up at the entry of the 4/4, with an easy-going theme bordering on light music, with its swaying gait and jazz syncopations. But the harmony soon tightens and becomes more dissonant, the rhythms sharper, and the orchestra more vivid. However, at the end of a modest progression, the “easy-going” theme returns, alternating with the opening Andante before leading to the central Lento. This is set in the key of F-sharp, the “antipode” of C, to reveal a slightly harsher and gloomier mood than its neighbours. The form is ternary, but it really consists of a theme followed by two variations, the second of which surrounds it with figurations of typically Honeggerian polyphonic ease. The cadenza written by Maurice Maréchal leads into the concluding Allegro marcato, whose obstinate hammered rhythms and cheeky dissonances bear the stamp of their day. However, towards the end, one finds again the initial Andante and its “easy-going” corollary, preceding a few bars of energetic Presto which brings the work to a full stop. Harry Halbreich Translation: Elizabeth Buzzard Alun Hoddinott: Noctis Equi — Scena for cello and orchestra Born in South Wales in 1929 Hoddinott is one of the most prominent and prolific composers of his generation with five operas, six symphonies, ten piano sonatas and over fifteen concertante works to his credit. The London Symphony Orchestra and Shell UK commissioned Noctis Equi for Mstislav Rostropovich to perform at Hoddinott’s 60th birthday celebration at the Barbican, London, on 27 October 1989. Noctis Equi springs from a quotation in Marlowe’s Dr Faustus: “O lente, lente, currite noctis equi”. Faustus in a soliloquy cries out to prolong night so that the fateful hour in which he is judged may never approach: “Stay night, and run not thus”. But Marlowe is actually quoting Ovid pleading with Aurora, goddess of Dawn, to allow him to remain in the arms of his lover forever: “Hold in thy rosy horses that they move not”. This synthesis of sacred and profane imagery provides a potent source of inspiration for a single-movement score, which unfolds not as descriptive or programmatic music but as an intense abstract drama in which the solo cello is the protagonist. The music opens with a long-breathed nocturne (Andante) whose uneasy lyricism runs into an eerie spectral scherzo (Presto) and back to an intensified reprise of the Andante now yielding a soliloquy-like cadenza. This evaporates into a second Presto, a brilliant, scurrying toccata whose dramatic climax issues in a second, impassioned soliloquy expiring as a distillation of the Andante merging with a moving Adagio — a final metamorphosis of nocturnal magic. Geraint Lewis 4 Milhaud : Concerto no 1 pour violoncelle et orchestre Voici le premier des deux concerti que Milhaud a écrits pour violoncelle. Il fut créé par son commanditaire, Maurice Maréchal, aux Concerts Sérénade à Paris le 28 juin 1935, sous la direction d’lnghelbrecht. N’y cherchons pas le sombre héroïsme des grands concerti classiques ; Milhaud dévoile un tout autre visage de l’instrument, plus léger, plus gai, plus nonchalant : le titre même du premier mouvement. Mais d’abord Milhaud nous fait un clin d’œil en commençant l’œuvre justement avec une cadence aux gestes larges et forts, avant de faire entrer l’orchestre avec... un fox-trot. Cette douce mélodie, très chantante sur un accompagnement tapotant, colore tout le mouvement. Elle est bientôt prise et librement développée par le soliste. Quelques fragments mélodiques nouveaux apparaissent, avec des interventions des bois, et, après une deuxième cadence, le soliste reprend calmement le premier thème dans une sorte de récapitulation abrégée. Le deuxième mouvement, Grave, change complètement d’atmosphère. On peut penser à une élégie, mais elle est sans lourdeur, et malgré l’utilisation des registres bas et des sourdines, les textures sont toujours transparentes. Sur fond de cuivres, percussion, cordes graves, le violoncelle déploie un long thème majestueux et solennel, surgissant de temps à autre des profondeurs dans un élan lyrique. Plus loin quelques interventions plaintives des violons, des clarinettes, des cuivres, introduisent un élément contrastant, avant que le thème principal ne revienne, avec le même accompagnement, mais en canon entre la flûte et le cor anglais, pendant que le soliste tisse un contrepoint d’arabesques fuyantes. Une petite cadence amène un dernier rappel du début. Encore une fois nous changeons radicalement d’atmosphère pour un finale vigoureux, enjoué, joyeux en fait, ainsi qu’il est marqué dans la partition. Un grand tutti — le premier dans toute l’œuvre — prépare l’entrée du soliste qui accompagne avec un ostinato vigoureux un thème guilleret à la clarinette. Après un petit dialogue entre violoncelle et bois, le soliste accapare le thème, puis présente un deuxième — nonchalant encore. Un troisième thème arrive à la trompette, plus vif, plus syncopé, le soliste reprenant son ostinato. Ce thème prend de plus en plus d’importance, malgré un retour furtif du premier thème. L’élan est constamment maintenu avec brio, et si la musique fait semblant de se calmer, ce n’est qu’un dernier clin d’œil.