Tarentelle for Flute, Clarinet and Orchestra, Opus 6 – Camille Saint-Saëns (1835 – 1921)
Those who regularly attend these concerts will no doubt recall from past program notes the outlines of
Saint-Saëns biography. Most of all, they are likely to remember that he was an prodigiously intelligent
and diverse individual. Truly a “renaissance man” he was not only a child prodigy and an amazingly
accomplished organist (in the rarefied company of the composers likely to be encountered in our
programs gifts of this nature are not terribly unusual) but a scientist as well and an expert in
mathematics, astronomy, botany, meteorology and the study of acoustics!
The story most often told about the Tarentelle involves a soiree held in the home of none other than
Gioachino Rossini, the most famed opera composer of his era. An Italian by birth, Rossini, at 65, had
long since retired and moved to Paris, spending his time hosting lavish gatherings of luminaries.
Present at the soiree was the 22 year old Saint-Saëns. During the evening, Rossini presided over a
performance of the Tarentelle and, upon its conclusion accepted the accolades of those present as if he
were the composer. Only then did he delightedly acknowledge the young Saint-Saëns as the true
composer.
At least three conclusions can be drawn from this story: Rossini liked to have a good time, Saint-Saëns
was definitely “on his way,” and Rossini had really, really good musicians attending his parties!
Though an early work and perhaps not as “profound” as his more mature compositions, the Tarentelle
certainly demonstrates that Saint-Saëns, even at the age of 22, possessed the skills of a seasoned
composer and was a musical force to be reckoned with.
A tarantella is an Italian folk-dance that legend says originated from the frenzied movements of
individuals who had been bitten by a tarantula spider. While Saint-Saëns's version is considerably less
frenzied than the music one would imagine for a spider-bite victim's dance, it is quite “peppy” enough
to demand a high level of virtuosity from its performers. In the key of a minor, it begins in a somewhat
“spooky” vein but the listener soon forgets the spookiness as the wonderful interplay of the flute and
clarinet solo parts becomes evident. Because of its continuous and unrelenting motion, the work seems
almost a perpetuum mobile except for a more lyric, major-mode middle section with a slightly relaxed
tempo. But the minor mode and the intensity soon return and the piece hurries to its conclusion
abandoning the triple-pulse, six-eight time signature at the very end and finishing with a brilliant duplepulse passage marked prestissimo!
Concerto after Glière – David DeBoor Canfield (1950 - )
I can well imagine many listeners thinking upon hearing the present work, “Why would anyone
write a 19th century style piece in the 21st century?” While it is true that under normal circumstances a
composer might be considered rather presumptuous – or eccentric – to write in a romantic idiom a
hundred twenty years or more after the composition of the masterworks of Brahms, Tchaikovsky,
Schumann and yes, Glière, I believe that I can offer extenuating circumstances for having written this
extremely “retro” work.
The saxophone was invented around 1840 by Adolphe Sax. Despite quick acceptance by a
number of musicians, including Hector Berlioz, works written especially for the instrument were
slower to follow.
Even by the end of Adolphe Sax’s life in 1894, there were still fewer than 300 original works
composed for the instrument, and none by a composer who could be considered in the first rank. It was
not until 1901 that the first concerto was written for the instruments. This was from the pen of the
Belgian composer, Paul Gilson, and while his concerto is still occasionally performed, it seems not to
have gone into the standard repertory for the instrument. The earliest concerto that remains frequently
heard is probably that of Alexander Glazunov, who wrote his opus late in his life. It was an important
addition to the saxophone repertory, even if it is rather short, and uses an orchestra accompaniment of
strings only.
The relatively slow acceptance of the saxophone as an instrument worth the attention of serious
composers is now completely made up for by the wealth of contemporary works written in the past few
decades by composers of distinction around the world. In the 2003 edition of the Londeix catalogue,
there are more than 18,000 works for the various instruments of the saxophone family. Like Mahler’s
music, the time of the saxophone has come. The fact remains, however, that the saxophone was
invented too late to have inspired original works in earlier styles. I attended the World Saxophone
Congresses in 2003 and 2006, and was impressed by many works of high quality that I heard. I was
equally impressed, however, by the fact that they were virtually all in styles ranging from contemporary
to avant garde. It was this impression that eventually led to the Concerto after Glière.
In my student days at Indiana University in the 1970’s, I first became acquainted with the
artistry of Dr. Eugene Rousseau. Hi playing sparked an interest in me, as a budding composer, towards
the saxophone. Before that, I had never heard any classical players that made me particularly well
disposed towards the instrument (to be sure, in those days, I had not yet encountered any of the
recordings of certain artists, such as Marcel Mule). Hearing Dr. Rousseau, I determined that someday I
would write a work for him.
This dream began finally to be fulfilled in 1994, when I was commissioned by the
Bloomington Pops to orchestrate Reinhold Glière’s Intermezzo and Tarantella, originally composed for
double bass and piano. This orchestration was premiered that same year with soloist Bruce Bransby. I
liked the work as an orchestral piece, but (even as a string player myself) I have never been very fond
of the double bass as a solo instrument. Soon after the performance, I began thinking of what other
instrument could substitute as the solo instrument for this orchestration, and almost immediately the
saxophone came to mind. Fast forward, then, to 2007, when I finally was able to begin thinking about
a piece to write for Dr. Rousseau. Given that so many distinguished composers had already written
works for him, I began to think of doing something really different for him, and especially something
that would display both his gorgeous tone and brilliant virtuosity. At that point, my Glière
orchestration came to mind. I realized that I could not simply transpose the solo part up to the range of
the alto saxophone, but that the solo part had to be substantially rewritten to make it more idiomatic for
the instrument. I also wanted to increase the virtuosic level of the solo part, given that the saxophone
can play considerably faster than can the double bass. I also transposed the two movements to more
saxophone-friendly keys.
The Intermezzo posed another problem, and that was its length. At three minutes, it was simply
too short for a work of symphonic proportions. I solved that problem by adding a contrasting middle
section of my own composition to double the length of the movement, which clearly would function as
the middle slow movement of the concerto. The length of the Tarantella, at about five minutes, was
fine for the finale, so my only input on that movement was the orchestration and the rewriting of the
solo part. I was then left with the problem of what to do about a first movement. I considered looking
through Glière’s oeuvre to see if I could find another work that would suffice, were it to be
orchestrated. Looking again at my newly-composed middle section of the slow movement, I thought,
“Why not try my hand at an original work more or less in the style of Glière?” I immediately began
thinking of themes for the movement, and composed the entire movement in about 10 days. This
solution also had the advantage of allowing me to claim credit as composer of the work, rather than
merely as arranger, since more than half the running time of the piece was now original music – or as
“original” as anything written in a late 19th century style can be. The combination of Glière and
Canfield also allows me to make an exceedingly tenuous claim to call this the first saxophone concerto,
as the Glière work upon which almost half of the piece is based, was written in 1900, a year before the
concerto of Gilson.
Suite No. 2 from Romeo and Juliet – Sergei Prokofiev (1891 – 1953)
Montagues and Capulets
The Young Juliet
Friar Laurence
Dance
Romeo and Juliet Before Parting
Dance of the Girls with Lilies
Romeo at the Tomb of Juliet
The idea of a concert suite being derived from a ballet is not unusual – Stravinsky's Firebird and
Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker are examples that come immediately to mind. But having not just one but
three concert suites derived from a ballet and having two of them performed before the ballet itself is
unusual, perhaps unique!
The circumstances that led to Prokofiev's ballet music being debuted in this manner were, no doubt,
related in part to the music itself, but the political climate of the Soviet Union at the time was certainly
a factor as well. Prokofiev composed the ballet during the spring, summer and early fall of 1935 in
close collaboration with Sergei Radlov, a stage director of Leningrad's Kirov Ballet. Despite this
collaboration, the score was rejected first by the Kirov and later by Moscow's Bolshoi Theater Ballet as
being “too awkward for dance.” Though it is true that Prokofiev's music may have presented
challenges to the choreographers, and that the Kirov's management had changed during the ballet's
development, it seems likely that then-recent editorials in Pravda were at least a contributing cause of
the ballet companies' reluctance to stage a new work. These editorials had denounced other composers
including Shostakovich as being “degenerate modernists” – a dangerous accusation in Stalin's Soviet
Union! In an effort to salvage his work and, perhaps, to promote the ballet, Prokofiev derived two
suites for concert performance. Suite No. 2, the work on our program, and the most frequently
performed of the suites, was premiered in Leningrad in 1937. The premiere of the ballet itself was in
the Czech city of Brno in December of 1938 and the first Russian performance took place in January of
1940 in Leningrad.
The “undancable” ballet has since become a staple of the modern ballet repertoire and the two suites
have similarly found a firm place in the repertoire of the concert hall. Suite No. 3, composed some
years after the first two is rarely performed. It is worth noting that Prokofiev sanctioned the excerpting
and mixing of the suites and they are sometimes performed in that manner.
The music of Suite No. 2 does not specifically follow the ballet “plot” which closely follows
Shakespeare's story but is, instead, a sequence of scenes that uses the ballet's most memorable music.
It should be noted that Prokofiev's choice of instrumentation is somewhat unusual. In particular, his
use of the tenor saxophone is a welcome addition to the much-too-small orchestral repertoire of the
saxophone.
The first scene portrays the families of the two lovers, the Montagues and the Capulets. The scene
begins with a layered chord in the brass that build in power and dissonance, ending with a powerful and
dissonant tutti chord that resolves into a soft chord in the strings. With a change of notes but not of
mood, this sequence repeats, the whole representing the tension that is building between the feuding
families. Immediately following is the heavy, almost snarling march that, in the ballet is called Dance
of the Knights and depicts the Capulet men dancing at a masked ball. A contrasting, slow, minuet-like
section follows, featuring the woodwinds and the mallet percussion. This somewhat disquieting
melody portrays Juliet and the suitor who precedes Romeo in the plot, the young nobleman Paris. The
scene concludes with a return of the knight's music.
The Young Juliet begins with skittering scale passages in the strings and playful woodwind passages
that portray Juliet, as a giddy teenager. A brief melody played by the clarinet portrays her innocence.
The giddiness returns briefly but is replaced by broad, lyrical themes in the woodwinds and cello that
give the impression of Juliet's developing maturity. The movement ends with a slow and sensitive coda
that may allude to her impending tragedy.
Friar Laurence, is the well-intentioned priest who tried to help the young lovers and, in so doing, set in
motion the events that led to their deaths. The Friar is portrayed by a slow, plodding theme that is
reminiscent of the Bydlo movement of Moussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition.
Dance is not related to the plot. It is a scherzo-like movement that wonderfully demonstrates
Prokofiev's inimitable gift for tonality-bending melody. The melodic fragments seem to melt together
as they are passed from one instrument to another.
Romeo and Juliet Before Parting seems to capture the essence of Shakespeare's tragedy in one
movement, conveying longing, ardor, ecstasy and tragedy in one continuous and compelling statement.
The opening flute passage represents Juliet's wistful yearning. The music becomes more turbulent and
a horn motive announces the thematic material associated with Romeo which is passed among a variety
of instruments. The Romeo and Juliet themes are mingled and, at last, the horn motive is heard again.
This time the horn continues, soaring into one of classical music's most glorious evocations of ecstasy.
But we know that the lovers' story ends in tragedy: the music abruptly changes its mood, retreating
from ecstasy and foreshadowing the theme of the tomb that will be heard at the end.
Dance of the Girls with Lilies (sometimes also called “Dance of the Antilles Girls”) is another of those
upward-tending melodies that Prokofiev passes among multiple instruments. Somewhat sinuous and
yet paced steadily and deliberately until the very end it seems almost ritualistic in mood.
The strings begin Romeo at the Tomb of Juliet, playing with a pathos of fierce intensity. Momentarily it
seems that the mood may lighten as the trumpets introduce a major tonality but the minor mode quickly
wins out and darkness prevails. The tomb motive is played, first by the horns and, after a gutwrenching crescendo in the percussion, savagely repeated by the trombones. Through the remainder of
the movement the earlier love theme is sometimes heard struggling against the funeral music which
prevails until, at the very end, the mood seems to lighten to a sense of quiet resignation.