PROGRAM NOTES
NOVEMBER 17, 2012 Bedřich Smetana (1824‐1884) The Moldau Throughout the nineteenth century, feelings of nationalism swept across much of Europe. People hungered not only for political freedom but also for cultural experiences that would reflect their ethnic heritage. Nowhere were these sentiments stronger than in Bohemia, the birthplace of Smetana. (Although Bohemia is now the Czech Republic, it was part of the Austro‐Hungarian Empire in the early 1800s.) Like many of his countrymen, Smetana grew up in the shadow of Germanic culture and politics. His family spoke German, he was first inspired musically by the Viennese masters, and as a young man he is even reported to have said, “With God’s help and grace I shall one day . . . be a Mozart in composition.” Upon finishing school, Smetana moved to Prague, where he began earning a modest living as a piano teacher and composer. After participating in the unsuccessful Revolution of 1848, Smetana felt uncomfortable with the growing rift between Germans and Czechs in Bohemia, and as a result, accepted a teaching position in Sweden. Following the defeat of the Austrians by Napoleon III in 1859, however, the composer returned to Prague once again. With the Austrians gone, the climate was more favorable for Czech musicians, and Smetana now had a clear vision for his life and work. He changed his given name from Friedrich or Frédéric to Bedřch and began to consciously write works that reflect his ethnic heritage. In 1874 the composer described one of his recent travels: “Today I took an excursion to the St. John Rapids where I sailed in a boat through huge waves . . . . The view of the landscape was both beautiful and grand.” Smetana’s trip inspired his famous symphonic poem The Moldau, which depicts Bohemia’s main river as it flows through the countryside. Part of a cycle of six symphonic poems entitled Má Vlast (My Country), this orchestral work was written in three weeks shortly after Smetana became deaf, but its fresh, optimistic mood gives no hint of the composer’s anguish and despair. In many ways The Moldau is the epitome of quintessential Romanticism. There is a beautiful melody, and the entire work is filled with such programmatic associations as drama, nationalism, and nature. In the preface to the score the composer penned the following: The composition depicts the course of the river, beginning from its two small sources, one cold the other warm, the joining of both streams into one, then the flow of the Moldau through forests and across meadows, through the countryside where merry feasts are celebrated, water nymphs dance in the moonlight; on nearby rocks can be seen the outline of ruined castles, proudly soaring into the sky. The Moldau swirls through the St. John Rapids and flows in a broad stream toward Prague. It passes Vyšehrad [where an ancient royal castle once stood], and finally the river disappears in the distance as it flows majestically into the Elbe. Page 1 Smetana realized that the music for such a program would not fit within the confines of a “true” symphony. As a result, he turned to the newer, more flexible genre—the symphonic poem. The Moldau is thus in one movement, not several, and there is no sonata form in which contrasting themes are developed through tonal exploration and presented again toward the end. Instead, new thematic material occurs in each scene of the story. In the hands of a lesser composer, the result might have been a mere series of vignettes. With Smetana, however, all the sections “flow” (pun intended) seamlessly from one to the other, and a truly magnificent river theme periodically recurs, melding together the various parts to create a unified composition. Smetana takes advantage of the expanded orchestra of the nineteenth century. He uses relatively new instruments, such as the triangle, cymbals, and harp, for “magical” moments in the moonlight, while the lower brasses and shrill piccolo add excitement to the passage through the rapids. Toward the end of the work, a feeling of triumph emerges as the music changes from minor to major. We realize that the Moldau is not just a river. It’s a symbol of nationalist yearnings that can instill immense pride but sometimes stir audiences to violent political demonstrations. It’s no wonder that when the Nazis occupied Bohemia during World War II, performances of Smetana’s The Moldau (as well as the remainder of Má Vlast) were banned in Prague, the composer’s home city. Ironically, scholars have traced the “river theme” back to a Swedish folk song, one that Smetana probably heard during his one‐year teaching stint in Sweden. After the symphonic poem became well known, this melody appeared in a collection of Eastern Romanian songs and was later fitted to the words of Tikvatenu (“Our Hope”). The resulting hymn was Hatikvah, which was eventually adopted by the First Zionist Congress and became the national anthem of the State of Israel in 1948. According to Richard Taruskin: The Moldau theme, with its Czech manifestations, can thus be looked upon as a stage in the history of a melody as it passed from Swedish origins to its Israeli destination. But of course, even this characterization is misleading. There are no origins and no destinations in such histories, only stages. © Dr. La Wanda J. Blakeney Jeff Midkiff Mandolin Concerto “From the Blue Ridge” According to biographer Jon Weisberger, Midkiff grew up in Virginia, where bluegrass and traditional string band music thrived. When only seven, Midkiff was given his first mandolin, and he quickly learned to play it, even winning his first mandolin competition before reaching his teens. He also learned to play the fiddle and joined a local group, New Grass Revue. At the same time he began playing clarinet in his high school band. Midkiff continued to cultivate both classical and folk music. After earning degrees in music education and performance, and later a master’s in clarinet, he performed professionally as a clarinetist in symphony orchestras. Yet he also made recordings on the mandolin and fiddle with various bluegrass bands. Midkiff eventually began to create compositions of his own, combining his experience as a classical clarinetist with his love for the mandolin. Within the past few years he has performed the mandolin several times with the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra. Page 2 Perhaps the composer describes his music the best: My love for playing the mandolin, and a lifetime doing so, began to take on new meaning and motivation just a few years ago. After decades of also performing as a clarinetist, and countless orchestral concert situations, I felt a deep‐seated desire to bring my favorite instrument in line with that experience. I truly enjoy the color, language and structure of the symphony orchestra, and my many years as a clarinetist made me very familiar with it. At the same time, I enjoyed a highly improvisational approach to the mandolin that was uniquely my own. I had struggled to keep the two—orchestra and mandolin—a “safe” distance apart. But I knew I could say something with the mandolin on a symphonic scale. Deep down, I wanted to bring my most natural companion to the orchestra—two seemingly different worlds, together. The first movement begins with the mandolin on swirling sixteenth notes, setting the stage with excitement and anticipation, as does the entire movement. The commission for the piece came to me in November when the falling leaves drew this opening scene. Indeed, the Blue Ridge’s beauty and importance to me would form the piece. The middle of the first movement moves to major tonality with woodwinds in a waltz‐like dance before a return to the opening theme. The lyrical second movement draws on more typical and familiar bluegrass melodies. Having grown up in Roanoke, moved away, and returned to Roanoke, I wanted the concerto to echo the emotions associated with home, and with going home. To get there I looked no further than the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Roanoke Valley. Wildwood Flower by The Carter Family and Bill Monroe’s Roanoke are the thematic inspiration. The third movement is an upbeat, exciting, spontaneous and dynamic affair. It draws strongly upon jazz and bluegrass themes in a series of ideas in a sort of “controlled jam session”—one idea smoothly leading to another. Every section of the orchestra has a role to play with particularly expanded use of percussion setting up the different groves. Midkiff’s Mandolin Concerto has been met with rave reviews. The following response, by Professor Wallace Easter of Virginia Tech, is typical: I was proud to be a part of the triumph of the concert last night. What you did keeps the art of the orchestra alive and a vital force in the cultural life of the community. The combination of your mandolin virtuosity and your flair for the craft of creative composition should take you far. Your marriage of contemporary folk elements with the rich tradition of the western European orchestra is masterful and original. You’ve invented something new, and done it very well. Here’s hoping that this is only the first installment of a new direction of classical music. Just think of the long and distinguished list of great composers who elevated folk elements into great art! Midkiff’s Mandolin Concerto “From the Blue Ridge” was composed in 2011 in a commission from Music Director David Stewart Wiley and the Roanoke Symphony Orchestra. The work premiered on October 3, 2011, the opening night of the Roanoke Symphony Orchestra’s fall season, and on June 30, 2012, it was presented by the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra. Tonight will be its third public performance. © Dr. La Wanda J. Blakeney Page 3 Ludwig van Beethoven (1770‐1827) Symphony No. 6 in F Major, Op. 68 (“Pastoral”) Beethoven’s father and paternal grandfather were professional musicians, and the young Beethoven spent almost all his childhood studying and practicing the piano, organ, violin, and viola (whether he wanted to or not!). In 1792 he left his native city for Vienna, where he stayed the rest of his life, earning a living as a piano teacher, concert pianist, conductor, and composer. Whenever one thinks of serious classical composers, Beethoven is probably the first name that comes to mind. His compositions form a substantive portion of today’s concert repertoire, with little likelihood that their significance will ever become diminished. There is hardly a piano recital without a sonata by Beethoven or a symphony season without an orchestral work by the great master. Each of Beethoven’s nine symphonies is unique in character and style. Like Haydn and Mozart, he continues to compose multi‐movement works with varying structures, tempos, tonalities, and characters. Yet at the same time he begins to break away from the Classic mold by writing compositions that are more complex and more dramatic. His symphonies are also much longer, especially the development section and coda, and display greater flexibility of sonata form, often concluding with triumphant finales. Beethoven expands not only the number of instruments in the orchestra but also the kinds of instruments, producing more powerful dynamic contrasts and increased means of expression. Perhaps most important of all, Beethoven aims toward a unified, emotional whole rather than simply a cycle of contrasting movements. His innovations and new approaches to the symphonic genre influenced almost all subsequent composers, who have often been compared (much to their dismay!) to the venerated master. Many scholars have noted that Beethoven’s dramatic symphonies (the odd‐numbered ones) are followed by calmer, more lyrical ones, and this is certainly true with his Fifth and Sixth Symphonies. But not too much attention should be given to this observation, since Beethoven was working on both compositions during the same period and both were premiered together in the same concert, with the Pastoral labeled as “No. 5” and the iconic Fifth Symphony as “No. 6.” Beethoven later corrected the numerical designation, and the Fifth Symphony is rightly considered the older work. What may be more helpful is to place Symphony No. 6 in context with Beethoven’s other works of this genre. For example, the Sixth Symphony is the only one with five movements, and also the only one in which the last three movements are linked together with no pause. Two other Beethoven symphonies bear “extra‐musical” associations, but No. 6 is the only one that is described as a program symphony. It is also the only symphony whose nickname, “the Pastoral,” comes directly from the composer himself. Beethoven often sought inspiration while strolling through the woods and was touched by the wonders of nature and the rustic lives of the peasants. Hoping to transport the audience from the concert hall to the countryside, the composer attached his own comments to each movement: 1. Awakening of Pleasant Feelings upon Arriving in the Country: Allegro ma non troppo The pastoral setting is announced by two short melodic figures over an open fifth or drone‐like bass, which imitates the sound of bagpipes. The second melodic figure, one that involves eighth and sixteenth notes, is repeated many times; it begins quietly, becomes louder, and eventually subsides gently. The second main theme is a smooth, descending line that appears first in the strings and then the woodwinds. The Development relies on repetition of the second melodic figure rather than manipulation of materials. The drone‐like bass returns, Page 4 followed by a reappearance of earlier melodies. In the Coda there are several forte chords for full orchestra, but the movement ends softly. 2. Scene by the Brook; Andante molto mosso Movement two is calm and serene, with no strong thematic contrast. The meter signature, 12/8, suggests the countryside, especially the “murmuring stream” in the second theme. Most of the movement is piano and although in sonata form, does not have tension. In the Development there are bird‐like trills in the oboe and flute, with the latter also playing the decorative “giraffe‐throated yellow hammer” arpeggios. Toward the end Beethoven again imitates birds with several woodwind cadenzas, and he explicitly identifies them as the flute (nightingale), the two descending notes in the clarinet (cuckoo), and the oboe (quail). Years later, Anton Schindler, Beethoven’s friend and biographer, reports that he and Beethoven walked in the woods near Heiligenstadt, the composer’s favorite retreat: . . . along the pleasant grassy valley . . . which is traversed by a softly murmuring brook flowing rapidly down from the nearby hills, shaded in places by tall elm trees, Beethoven frequently stopped and, filled with happy feelings of rapture, let his gaze wander over the beautiful landscape. Then he sat down in a field . . . and said, “This is where I composed the scene by the stream . . . the quails, the nightingales, and the cuckoos . . . .” 3. Peasants’ Merrymaking; Allegro The peasants’ celebration is depicted by three lively dances, all of which return to form an expanded scherzo format—ABCABCA coda. The Viennese may not have needed any descriptive notes from Beethoven, since the first melody is derived from an Austrian country dance. It begins very softly and staccato, steadily building to a fortissimo before being interrupted by the second dance tune. According to the scholar Robert Greenberg, this section represents ”the wind band—flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, bassoon”—at Three Ravens, one of Beethoven’s favorite taverns. The melody first appears in the high range of the oboes before being taken over by the clarinet and horn. By entering on the second beat of the measure instead of the first, the oboes seem to be playing incorrectly. Other instrumental writing is very limited, e.g., the bassoon’s slow notes are restricted to tonic and dominant, leading some scholars to conclude that the performers’ skills were less than superb. The third dance is exuberant, even rowdy, and based on genuinely primitive drone harmonies. Beethoven adds a rhythmic figure—a very short note followed by a longer one—which is commonly associated with folk music. In the coda the tempo suddenly quickens to a furious presto. Perhaps the peasants realize a storm is coming? There are three powerful chords which at first seem to conclude the movement; instead, they lead directly into the fourth movement. 4. The Storm; Allegro Beethoven turns to the minor mode for this “extra” movement. Low rumblings in the strings warn of the approaching bad weather, as timpani rolls and outbursts from the brass instruments portray lightning and thunder. Trombones and piccolo enter for the first time to add drama. Gradually, the violence subsides, and the woodwinds play a hymnlike melody. Without pausing, Beethoven moves immediately to the finale. Page 5 5. Shepherd’s Hymn of Thanksgiving after the Storm; Allegretto The last movement is based on an authentic Alpine melody used by herdsmen to gather their flocks. First appearing in the clarinet and then the horn, this triadic, gentle theme is slightly altered and varied throughout much of the movement. A pastoral effect is further emphasized by a drone bass accompaniment. There are several long lines of crescendos and diminuendos, but the closing measures recall the shepherd’s call pianissimo. Played by a muted horn, this reference affords a last glimpse of Beethoven’s fleeting pastoral vision. Two fortissimo chords conclude this magnificent symphony. Schindler sums up the work appropriately: It begins peacefully enough in the foreground; the manifold parts are always resolved quietly. After the terrifying and fearsome depiction of the thunderstorm, the background again resolves itself peacefully, and when in the final measures the distant note of the hunting horn is heard, we feel as if we were in the great concert hall of nature. Praise be to thee, exalted master! It’s fun to read Beethoven’s commentary and listen for specific events in Symphony No. 6. However, we should keep in mind that along with the programmatic associations, Beethoven adds a caveat, Mehr Ausdruck der Empfindung als Malerei (“More an expression of feeling than tone painting”). We should thus not dwell on the written descriptions but simply appreciate and enjoy the music for its intrinsic beauty. © Dr. La Wanda J. Blakeney Page 6