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A
brief selection of some previous concerts with notes.
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Saturday 22nd.
May 2004.
Honiton International
Music Festival.
Grand finale concert
St. Paul's
Church, Honiton, East Devon.
Weber : Overture 'Oberon'
Barber : Adagio for strings
Mozart : Sinfonia Concertante for violin, viola and orchestra K364
Karin Leishman (violin)
Matthew Souter(
viola
Dvorak : Symphony No. 6
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'Outstanding
performance by EMG Symphony Orchestra and soloist, Richard Jenkinson'
Click here for a full
'Concert
Review'
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"The
packed cathedral was proof of the tremendous following this
orchestra has and playing of the standard we heard on this
occasion explains why.
Throughout Roger Hendy cajoled his players into performances
both of great brilliance and heart-searching delicacy
...
Symphony No.1 in A flat by Elgar .... the moment when
the second movement allegro melted into the adagio was
magical."
Click here
for a full 'Concert review.'
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Gustav Mahler
Symphony
No. 2
'The Resurrection Symphony'
Exeter Cathedral April
2000
EMGSO and the EMGSO chorus
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Programme
notes.
The "Resurrection" was Mahler's favorite
symphony, which he led on many auspicious occasions, and it had
the longest gestation of any of his works. The opening was
completed in 1888 as "Totenfeier" ("Funeral Rites"),
a stormy symphonic poem to bear the hero of Mahler's
recently-completed First Symphony to his grave, amid
torment over the meaning of his life. The middle movements awaited
Mahler's summer vacation of 1893 and reflected his fascination
with the same medieval folk poetry which provided the texts for
most of his songs.
His creative block for a suitable finale was finally broken in
a startling way. Conductor Hans von Bulow was a cherished mentor
but had violently rejected the Totenfeier as
incomprehensible after encouraging Mahler to play it for him.
Thus, when he attended von Bulow's funeral, Mahler's feelings must
have been quite conflicted. As he later recalled, at the climax a
children's choir sang Friedrich Klopstock's Aufersteh'n
("Resurrection Ode"), and "it flashed on me like
lightning and everything became plain and clear in my mind."
Seized with inspiration, Mahler added his own apocalyptic and
cathartic verses to the Ode and quickly pulled his symphony into
final form.
The first movement is hugely dramatic; according to Mahler's
own program notes it aims to convey nothing less than a search for
the meaning of life. The second, representing long-forgotten
pleasure, is a gentle, old-fashioned dance of lilting grace,
occasionally challenged by creeping shadows. The third is a
grotesque and wickedly sarcastic waltz, shot through with
anguished outcries. The fourth is a child's song, naive and
wistfully introspective.
And then comes the vast finale, which depicts the full terror
and glory of a pagan last judgment and resurrection. It begins
with a huge crash and progresses through episodes of hushed
expectancy, quivering tension, funeral dirges, hopeful fanfares
and fevered misgiving, culminating in a triumphant apocalyptic
chorale, one of the most glorious and powerful climaxes in all of
music. Mahler adds to the awesome wonder with extraordinary
instrumental effects, including offstage brass, a massive battery
of percussion and ultimately the sheer visceral excitement of the
potent sound produced by hundreds of singers and players.
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Leonard Bernstein
Chichester
Psalms
Exeter Cathedral
April 2001
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Programme
notes.
The Chichester Psalms was Leonard Bernstein's
first composition after the Third Symphony, Kaddish
(composed for the Boston Symphony Orchestra's seventy-fifth anniversary, though
not completed until 1963, eight years after that event).
Both works add to the orchestra a chorus singing texts in
Hebrew. But where the Kaddish Symphony is a work often at
the edge of despair, the Chichester Psalms is serene and
affirmative. It is also for the most part strongly tonal,
the result of months of work during a sabbatical leave from
Bernstein's post as music director of the New York
Philharmonic, during which time he wrote a great deal of
twelve-tone music, but finally discarded it. "It just
wasn't my music; it wasn't honest."
Following an introductory phrase that dramatically
outlines the interval of the seventh (in a figure that will
frame both the first and last movements of the work), the
orchestra begins a vigorous 7/4 dance, prompting the chorus'
joyous outburst of praise to Psalm 100. The second movement
is, for the most part, a serene, lyrical setting of Psalm
23, featuring a boy soloist (or countertenor) accompanied by
the harp to represent David, the shepherd-psalmist. The
sopranos of the chorus repeat the song, but the men's voices
violently interrupt it with verses from Psalm 2 recalling
the warfare of nation against nation. The upper voices
return with the song of tranquil faith, though the tension
of suppressed violence is never far away. The orchestra
introduces the last movement with an extended prelude built
on the opening figure of the first movement. Suddenly the
orchestra becomes hushed and the chorus enters with a song
of comfort (the 10/4 meter, divided into 2+3+2+3, produces a
wonderful rocking effect of utter tranquility).
Unaccompanied, the chorus sings a chorale-like version of
the opening figure to the psalmist's plea for peace, and the
orchestra quietly adds its "Amen."
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Anton
Dvorak
Symphony
No. 7
Exeter Cathedral
&
St. Paul's Church, Honiton, Spring 2001
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Frederick
Poulenc
Missa
de Gloria
Exeter Cathedral
April 2001
Julia
Partridge (soprano)
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VERDI
REQUIEM
Exeter Cathedral
April 1999
EMGSO & EMGSO chorus
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I. Requiem
II. Dies irae
III. Offertorio
IV. Sanctus
V.
Agnus dei
VI. Lux aeterna
VII. Libera me |
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Giuseppe Verdi was the finest of all Italian opera
composers of the 19th century, and arguably the finest opera
composer of any nationality or period. Born into a family of small
landowners near Parma in Northern Italy, he showed some musical
ability at an early age, but when he applied to study at the Milan
conservatory he was turned down. Undaunted, he studied privately,
and soon became "town music master" in the small town of
Busseto. His first opera Oberto was premiered successfully at La
Scala in Milan in 1839.
When he was 23 he had married, but in 1840 his wife and their two
children all died in quick succession. Verdi was distraught, and
nearly gave up composing altogether, but a libretto for Nabucco
caught his attention. Produced to huge acclaim in 1842, this opera
with its famous chorus of Hebrew slaves Va pensiero established
his reputation not only in Italy but across Europe. Over the next
10 years there followed a succession of fine operas, some on
literary themes and some political, which culminated in his great
trilogy of popular works La Traviata, Il Trovatore and Rigoletto.
By this time Verdi was sharing a house with the soprano Giuseppa
Streppani; this relationship caused much scandalous gossip which
they serenely ignored, though they eventually married in 1859. It
does, however, show Verdi's willingness to flout the morals and
conventions of his time.
He continued to create a stream of fine operas, though not as
rapidly as before; one reason for this was his involvement in
politics. After hundreds of years as a patchwork of rival states,
Italy was becoming unified under the king Victor Emmanuel,
supported by Garibaldi. At this time a nationalist slogan
appeared: "Viva VERDI"; "Viva Victor Emmanuel Re
D'Italia" (Long Live Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy). Perhaps
Verdi was fated to get involved in politics!
The operas at this time were his mature masterpieces such as The
Force of Destiny, Don Carlos, A Masked Ball, Aida, and finally in
his old age Otello and Falstaff. These last two show Verdi's
lifelong love of Shakespeare; he had written an opera on Macbeth
as a young man, and long toyed with setting King Lear. Both are
great works, and Falstaff is an amazingly vital and humorous work
for a man of 80 years.
In his old age Verdi put some of the money he had made form his
music to charitable causes, funding a hospital for poor labourers
near his country house, and a home for retired musicians in Milan.
Verdi died in 1901 within just a few days of the death of Queen
Victoria in England. The Italians felt the loss of their beloved
composer quite as much as Britain felt the loss of its queen -
28,000 people lined the streets of Milan for his funeral.
This year, 2001, being the centenary of Verdi's death, is seeing
many performances of his works, and a reassessment of his place in
musical history.
Verdi's love of literature was not restricted to Shakespeare; he
also loved with a devoted passion the work of the contemporary
writer Alessandro Manzoni. Manzoni's greatest novel I Promessi
Sposi (The Betrothed) is set in 17th century Lombardy (Northern
Italy) when it was under Spanish rule: it was easy for his 19th
century readers to relate it to their own time, when Lombardy was
under Austrian rule. Verdi's admiration for Manzoni amounted to
hero-worship, and despite his own great fame, Verdi was in
complete awe of the older man.
When Manzoni died in May 1873, Verdi decided he wanted to honour
the great man with a Requiem Mass, to be performed on the
anniversary of Manzoni's death. The authorities in Milan agreed to
the project, Verdi wrote his score with rapid fluency, and the
Requiem was duly performed in the church of San Marco, Milan on
22nd May 1874, a year to the day after Manzoni's death, with Verdi
himself conducting. His forces comprised soloists from La Scala
opera house, a chorus of 120 singers (small by modern standards)
and an orchestra of 100 (which must have drowned out the choir
considerably!). Performances in La Scala soon followed, and were
hugely successful, with several of the movements being encored.
Further performances in Italy and Europe soon followed, and while
some listeners thought the work too overtly emotional for
supposedly sacred music (this view particularly held sway in
Victorian England) its direct appeal soon won over the hearts of
most of the musical public.
The Requiem is scored for four solo singers, choir and a normal
orchestra, though there are four bassoons to strengthen the bass
line, four extra trumpets to add power in the Tuba Mirum section,
and a notable solo part for the bass drum. The writing is dramatic
and operatic, full of emotion and of contrasts, with a range of
dynamics from a shattering ff down to an inaudible pppp. As well
as its direct appeal, it is also a subtly constructed score, with
many thematic links and cross-references which reveal themselves
only on close study and careful listening.
Verdi based some of the Requiem, in particular the final movement,
on a Libera Me he had written a few years earlier for an abortive
requiem in memory of the composer Rossini. This was a
collaboration between 13 different composers, but although all the
separate movements had been written, for a variety of reasons -
e.g. the work was only to be performed on the anniversary of
Rossini's death, no-one was to make a profit from it, the
disparate styles of the movements - the project was never brought
to a performance.
1. Requiem and Kyrie
The Requiem opens quietly, with the choir's subdued pleas for rest
for the departed - Requiem aeternam dona eis, domine. There is an
abrupt key change into the next section (Te decet hymnus) which
gives the unaccompanied choir a chance to show what it can do; the
soloists soon get a chance to shine too in the Kyrie, the words of
the standard opening to the mass (Lord have mercy, Christ have
mercy). The movement ends quietly.
2. Dies Irae
Four colossal thunderbolts from heaven release the Dies Irae, a
tempestuous vision of the fury of the day of judgement (Dies Irae,
dies illa) - the day of anger, the day of wrath, when the
prophets' warnings of final judgement are realised. You can't fail
to notice how, when the four thunderbolts strike a second time,
they are echoed from the earth by the bass drum. This subsides
into fearful mutterings, which are soon interrupted by the distant
trumpets of the Tuba Mirum. These are the trumpets that summon the
legions of the dead to appear before their maker. Following a huge
climax ending on a high shriek, the bass comments that even death
itself is stunned by this summons (Mors stupebit). Then in Liber
Scriptus the mezzo-soprano tells how all of our deeds have been
recorded and will be remembered at this day of judgement (Liber
scriptus - it is written). It is a terrifying prospect - nothing
will be missed in this record (nil inultum - nothing forgotten) -
and leads to a repeat of part of the Dies Irae section.
A pause follows, and two clarinets lead into a duet for the
mezzo-soprano and bassoon Quid Sum Miser. Here the soloist asks
Who will plead for me on my behalf, in front of the divine judge?
She is soon joined by the soprano and tenor, which leads into a
vision of the dread judge himself - Rex Tremendae. This alternates
the awesome (Rex tremendae) and pleading (Salva me - save me). The
Recordare follows without a break, a duet for soprano and mezzo,
in which they remind us of Christ's dying on the cross for our
salvation - was this all in vain? It would be indeed a hard judge
who could resist pleading of this insinuating beauty.
After a pause, the tenor soloist adds his voice in a gloriously
operatic aria expressing repentance for sins, and asking to be
forgiven (Ingemisco). The bass is more direct; he requests When
the wicked are consigned to the flames of hell, may I be blessed
and saved (Confutatis maledictis). This leads back to a
recapitulation of the Dies Irae section, almost in its entirety.
Finally, all the soloists and chorus join in a final expression of
grief (Lacrymosa) and hope that the gentle Lord will grant rest to
the dead (Pie Jesu, Domine, dona eis requiem). An unexpected
cadence in the last few bars is like a shaft of sunlight across
the fears and shadows we have experienced.
3. Offertorio
This begins with a glorious soaring melody in the cellos, to
reveal a movement in which the chorus is not used, only the
soloists. The opening and ending are a plea to Jesus to free the
souls of all the faithful from the torments of death (Libera
anima). After this comes a more vigorous section (Quam olim
Abrahae), leading into the central section (Hostias) which is a
beautiful and delicate prayer. Starting on the solo tenor, it has
the most transparent of orchestral accompaniment. A repeat of the
Quam olim Abrahae section leads to a climax, and the movement ends
with the Libera anima music with which it began.
4. Sanctus
Holy, holy, holy, .. Heaven and Earth are full of Thy glory! The
Sanctus could hardly be a greater contrast to the peaceful
Offertorio. It is a vigorous double fugue for the chorus, who are
divided into eight parts instead of the normal four, and is loud
and energetic throughout. Verdi gives the orchestra a good chance
to share in the fun too.
5. Agnus Dei
Again, a dramatic contrast to the previous movement. Where that
was loud and fast, this is calm and peaceful. It begins
liturgically, as the soprano and mezzo intone a unison chant (Lamb
of God that takes away the sins of the world, grant them eternal
rest). This is immediately repeated in unison by chorus and
orchestra. Notice how, when the opening is later repeated, the two
soloists are accompanied only by a beautiful trio of flutes.
6. Lux Aeterna
The Lux Aeterna (Let perpetual light shine upon them, Lord) is
introduced by the mezzo-soprano, surrounded by a glowing shimmer
of strings, followed by the bass in a dark B-flat minor. The
movement unfolds as a trio for soloists, emphasising the contrast
of darkness (sombre brass chords) with light (airy, floating
woodwind patterns). The end is serene.
7. Libera Me
The last movement is more complex - this is the movement Verdi
wrote for the failed 'Requiem for Rossini' project, and he crammed
a lot into it. Of the four soloists only the soprano sings here -
the other three are silent. It begins as an urgent chant (Libera
me, domine, de morte aeterna - Lord, free me from eternal death)
with hints of the terror of the Dies Irae. At the words Tremens
factus sum ego (I am full of terror) we feel the earth beginning
to sway beneath us, and a brief pause leads to a full restatement
of the Dies Irae section from earlier. This subsides into a
section for chorus and soprano alone (Requiem aeternam), based on
a section at the very opening of the work when it was set for
strings. It ends with the soprano soloist soaring (as quietly as
possible!) up to a high B flat. Another chant leads into the
second major section of the movement - a determined fugue of great
energy and drive for the chorus and orchestra. The soprano soon
joins in, and Verdi alternates the energetic fugue with the
falling Requiem aeternam theme. This works up into a huge climax,
after which the entire Requiem ends in calm with the almost spoken
prayer - Libera me.
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ELGAR
Enigma Variations
Exeter Cathedral APRIL
2002
'Elgar's
ever-popular Enigma Variations was the other work in
the programme. Under Roger Hendy's direction, it received
a fine performance, well shaped and with the variety of mood
in each variation well characterised.'
'Delicacy,
rhythmic excitement and those typically broad Elgarian tunes
came in turn, and dynamics were consistently well
handled.
No part came over better than the famous Nimrod
variation.'
East Devon Press.
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SAINT-SAËNS
ORGAN SYMPHONY.
Exeter Cathedral APRIL
2002 EMGSO
' .. EMG Symphony Orchestra
concert
featuring Robin Davis (organ)
....the full power of the cathedral's newly renovated instrument was
unleashed in the Saint-Saens popular Organ Symphony, it
was a magical moment, as the crashing chords reverberated around
the building like the sounds of an electrical storm.'
East Devon press.
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Anton
Dvorak
Symphony
No. 8
Exeter Cathedral
Rennes , Brittany
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Allegro con brio ~ Adagio ~
Allegretto grazioso ~ Allegro ma non troppo
Dvorak,
a Czech viola player, was strongly influenced by Brahms and
Schubert. This is illustrated in this very melodic symphony
which was written in 1889 and had its first performance in
England. It is a work in which Dvorak playfully suggests
something more disturbed and sinister is lurking in the offing.
The introduction to the work is a solemn passage
in the minor key which is immediately dispelled by a flute melody,
suggesting a musical painting of birdsong which, in turn, ushers
in something earthier and more robust. This procedure of
making something solemn give way to a more joyful spirit also
turns up again in the Finale and is inherent in little rhythmic
touches which undercut the more reserved nature of the slow
movement. It has been suggested that the third movement, a
sort of slow folk waltz, could be one of Dvorak's loveliest
melodies.
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Anton
Dvorak
Symphony
No. 9
'From the New World'
Exeter Cathedral
Rennes , Brittany
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Antonin
Dvorak was born in Nelahozeves, in the heart of rural
Bohmeia, north of Prague. It comes as no surprise that Czech
folksongs should therefore dominate his music. Then at the
age of five came the second great influence on his life, the
arrival of the railway, and the young Dvorak became a
confirmed train spotter.
After
showing musical promise, he was packed off to Prague to
become a poor music student, surviving by playing the viola
in the theatre orchestra. But he had started composing and,
soon, symphonies, operas and chamber music flowed from his
pen, little of which was successful. It was only after
Brahms discovered him and, with his help, Dvorak's
Slavonic Dances swept Europe. His Stabat Mater and the
gothic horror tale The Spectre's Bride became all the rage
with English choral societies. Then in 1893 came the
invitation to work in America. During his stay, Dvorak
produced this symphony, the 'cello concerto and some of
his most famous chamber works.
After
the return to Prague, Dvorak continued to compose symphonic
poems and operas. Then, one day, he went train spotting,
caught a cold and never really recovered.
The
ninth symphony was first performed in the Carnegie Hall, New
York. Some have suggested that the opening represents the
arrival of an ocean liner in New York (Dvorak was also a
keen ship spotter). But the loud chords of the introduction,
whether or not they be the siren of the S.S. Saale arriving
with Dvorak on board, are the key to the whole symphony, for
their dotted rhythm is used in the main tunes of all four
movements, as rapidly becomes apparent when the horns
introduce the first subject at the allegro. Another feature
of the symphony is that the subsequent movements all
incorporate the tunes of the previous movements. Can you
spot them?
There has been much discussion about how great
was the influence of American music on the symphony.
Certainly Dvorak was much taken by Negro spirituals but he
always denied that he had used any "New World" tune.
Writing in the New York Herald, he confessed that the music
of the second and third movements was originally for a work
about Hiawatha with the scherzo being based on an Indian
dance. However, the most common image conjured by the last
movement (marked "with fire"!) is that of one of the
mighty American trains thundering across the Prairies.
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DMITRI
SHOSTAKOVICH
Symphony No. 5 in D minor,
Op. 47
GREAT
HALL,
UNIVERSITY OF EXETER.
I. Moderato
II. Allegretto
III. Largo
IV. Allegro non troppo
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In
1934 the young Shostakovich was a brilliant star in
the firmament of Soviet music. He had just capped his
career to date with his first major opera, Lady
Macbeth of Mtsensk. It was a stunning success, and
over the next two years was staged in both Moscow and
Leningrad. It ran for 83 performances just in
Leningrad, many of them totally sold out, and received
six (!) radio broadcasts. Shostakovich was ecstatic:
he had finally gained the national recognition he
craved. On 26th January 1936 Joseph Stalin, the
Communist Party leader himself, attended a performance
in Moscow .
. and two days later, the thunderbolt fell. An
unsigned editorial in Pravda, the official newspaper
of the Communist Party, blasted the opera as
"Muddle instead of Music". It described the
opera as "a deliberately dissonant, muddled
stream of sounds . a din, a grinding, a squealing
.. The music quacks, hoots, pants and gasps.".
The editorial ended with a thinly veiled threat:
"This is a game that may end very badly." As
if this was not clear enough, barely a week later
another Pravda editorial severely criticised some of
Shostakovich's recent ballet music. We can only assume
that this criticism came directly from Stalin,
presumably jealous of Shostakovich's popular success.
The composer's name virtually disappeared from concert
programmes, and he withdrew his fourth symphony
shortly before its planned premiere late in 1936. (It
was not heard until 1960).
And then as 1936 moved into 1937 the "Yezhov
Terror", first of Stalin's great purges, gained
momentum. It was a time of knocks on the door in the
night, arrests, show trials, disappearances and
executions. Many millions of people fell victim,
including several Shostakovich knew well. Most
famously, in May 1937 Marshall Tukhachevsky, a high
ranking Red Army commander who was also a close friend
and supporter of the composer, was arrested, accused
of Treason, tried and shot.
It was in this terrifying atmosphere that Shostakovich
wrote his fifth symphony. He wrote it rapidly in the
summer of 1937, and it was premiered by the Leningrad
Philharmonic Orchestra under Yevgeny Mravinsky. The
significance of the occasion was obvious to everyone;
Shostakovich's career - and possibly life - was at
stake.
In the event, the triumph was total. A friend later
recalled that, as the Largo unfolded, both men and
women were weeping openly. And that well before the
end, the whole audience was on its feet, and gave
Mravinsky and Shostakovich a deafening ovation.
Popular success was no guarantee of rehabilitation
with the authorities - potentially quite the opposite
- and it was only after a few months that Shostakovich
felt sure he was safe - for the time being.
Incidentally, it is not true (as often stated) that
the symphony is subtitled "A Soviet Artist's
Reply to Just Criticism". This remark was made by
a Soviet critic at the time, but was never appended to
the score. Indeed, Shostakovich said to many friends
that he never accepted the Pravda criticisms as valid.
The symphony is in the usual four movements, and the
orchestral writing is always clear, even in the
biggest climaxes, allowing the relationships between
the many themes to be heard quite clearly.
The jagged opening motto subsides after a few bars,
and then accompanies the violins in the long and
winding principal theme of the movement. Soon a second
theme appears, calm and ethereal, again on violins and
supported by a lilting rhythmic figure. The
development section starts as a march, based on the
first theme low on the horns, accompanied by piano and
lower strings. This section is reminiscent of Mahler,
and works up more and more violently, until the jagged
opening motto threatens to tear the whole fabric
apart, while the second theme is no longer calm but
threatening and aggressive on the brass. The climax is
a restatement of the main theme in unison for the
whole orchestra, fortissimo. Once this collapses
exhausted, the movement gradually unwinds, and ends
bleakly with a lonely celeste.
The second movement is a sardonic scherzo; Mahler
would have called it a Ländler. The middle section
employs a tipsy-sounding violin solo, while the third
section is an exact repeat of the first, though
orchestrated very differently.
The largo is the spiritual heart of the symphony. It
is a mourning piece, a lament, in which the brass are
silent and the strings are divided into eight parts
throughout. It begins in the strings, rich and
sorrowful, with a central section for flutes and harp.
Then the grieving becomes more personal as oboe, then
clarinet, then flute sing a sad lament accompanied by
tremolo strings. This is the movement that caused such
public emotion at the premiere in Leningrad - after
all, many of the audience had lost friends and
relatives in the terror. The pain becomes agonising
when the cellos take over the melody fortissimo,
supported by upper strings, clarinets and barking
double basses. The last notes, though in the major
key, suggest emptiness rather than comfort.
The brass and percussion, having been silent in the
Largo, shatter the mood with a ferocious march. This
is constantly loud, and seems to get ever faster. When
this finally relents, it allows a long, thoughtful,
quiet section to consider themes which are clearly
related to those from the first movement. This
sections ends in consoling beauty, but gives way to a
restatement of the opening march, slower and more
threatening (notice the ominous low horn notes). This
eventually heaves itself out of D minor and into D
major for the closing coda - though any feeling of joy
is very strained, both by the dissonant trumpets, and
the relentless battering of the timpani.
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Ottorino
Respighi
(1879-1936)
The Pines of Rome
(1923-4)
I.
Pines of the Villa Borghese
II. Pines by a Catacomb
III. Pines of the Janiculum
IV. Pines of the Appian Way
Exeter Cathedral April 1993
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1
The Pines of the Villa Borghese (Allegretto
vivace) -
2 Pines near a catacomb (Lento) -
3 The Pines of the Janiculum (Lento)
-
4 The Pines of the Appian Way (Tempo
di marcia)
During the 19th century, the proper domain of
the Italian composer was felt to be opera.
Respighi - who also aspired, throughout his
career, to recognition as an operatic composer
- was much more versatile. In addition to
copious chamber music, choral works and songs,
he became one of the first Italians to be
generally admitted to the concert repertoire,
even if admiration for the brilliance of his
scoring was sometimes tempered by reservations
about substance and taste. Though he wrote many
'abstract' works, including a symphony and
several concertos, he became most celebrated for
his vividly colourful suites and symphonic poems
- above all, for the 'Roman trilogy': The
Fountains of Rome (1916), The Pines of
Rome (1924) and Roman Festivals
(1928).
Respighi's greatness as an orchestrator is
proved not just by his original works but by his
breathtaking orchestrations of Bach, Rakhmaninov,
Rossini, Vitali and Italian lute works of the
Renaissance. Like Rimsky-Korsakov (with whom he
studied), like Debussy and Ravel, he knew
exactly what would sound well, be the aptest and
most striking colour, create a sonic metaphor
for a visual impression. Open the score of The
Pines of Rome anywhere and the sheer
bravura of the instrumentation - in the
quietest as well as the most grandiose pages -
takes the breath away: the sovereignty of the
imagination that guides the ear.
Critics who would like to consign Respighi to
the status of a 'mere' orchestrator make
much of his 'naďve pictorialism'. But in
seeking to summon up pictures in sound, he
clearly belongs to a grand tradition of 'naive
pictorialists' (Berlioz, Liszt, Musorgsky,
Rimsky, Richard Strauss). If his thematic
invention is often simple, and the emotions
direct, this doesn't mean his aims are
unambitious. The 'Roman' poems are music as
spectacle, and brilliantly successful at what
they set out to do; much subtle compositional
craft goes into the shaping of each movement,
the placing of climaxes, the art of transition
- which in Respighi's hands often becomes a
kind of cinematic 'dissolve'.
Indeed his symphonic poems are often dismissed
as 'like film music' (as if that was
necessarily a criticism). It's truer to say
that in them he created, to depict matters
Roman, a distinctive idiom that film composers
have gratefully imitated ever since when called
upon to score some sword-and-sandals epic. Some
have, in fact, directly plagiarised Respighi -
two instances that come to mind are
'Caesar's March' in Miklós Rózsa's
score for Julius Caesar, modelled to
the point of reproduction on the march in the
finale of The Pines of Rome, and the
troika ride in the snow in Sergei Bondarchuk's
War and Peace, which his composer,
Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov, lifted wholesale from
Respighi's first movement. If this music can
be transferred from Roman urchins to Russian
sleighs, what kind of 'pictorialism' are we
talking about? It remains to add that in Fantasia
2000, the modern-day sequel to Walt
Disney's Fantasia, Respighi's Pines
of Rome is used to accompany a sequence
about a pod of humpbacked whales. Something in
this music must exist beyond its programme.
The Pines of Rome was premiered to a
packed audience at the Augusteo, Rome, on 14
December 1924, conducted by Bernardo Molinari,
and was a tremendous success.
In the published score, Respighi supplied his
own descriptive programme for each of the four
linked movements:
The Pines of the Villa Borghese
'Children are at play,' Respighi writes,
'in the pine groves of the Villa Borghese;
they dance round in circles, they play at
soldiers, marching and fighting; they are
wrought up by their own cries like swallows at
evening; they come and go in swarms.'
Respighi evokes the children's high-pitched
excitement through prominent scoring for flutes
and piccolo, harp, piano, celesta and
glockenspiel. One tune is clearly a traditional
children's singing-game: this is taken up by
the full orchestra, building to a climax of
uproarious activity, at the peak of which three
unison trumpets urgently break in upon the
proceedings, their insistently repeated C in
dissonance to the A major revelry...
Pines near a Catacomb
'Suddenly the scene changes and we see the
shades of the pine trees fringing the entrance
to a catacomb. From the depth rises the sound of
mournful psalmsinging, floating through the air
like a solemn hymn, and gradually and
mysteriously dispersing.'
The catacomb location is the cue for Respighi to
introduce the flavour of Gregorian chant - a
resource of which he was very fond - to evoke
the spirit of the early Christians. Muted horns
hint at a plainchant fragment; then in the
distance a solo trumpet (with celesta) instils a
mood of rapt serenity. In the depths of the
orchestra a chanting figure begins: Respighi
marks it sotto voce (come una psalmodia)
- 'like psalm-singing'. On this figure he
builds up a long crescendo, spreading through
the orchestra as the psalm gains in ardour and
intensity to a fervent climax, in counterpoint
with the horn and trumpet themes. It subsides
into the depths, and after a quiet coda Respighi
transports us to the vicinity of the Janiculum
Hill .
The Pines of the Janiculum
'A quiver runs through the air: the pine-trees
of the Janiculum stand distinctly outlined in
the clear light of a full moon. A nightingale is
singing.'
The 'quiver' is a cadenza-like solo for
piano; the moonlight is limned in a
long-breathed clarinet solo. The pines rustle in
Rosenkavalier-ish harmonies; an
exquisite oboe and viola theme sounds over harp
and celesta figuration, taken up ecstatically by
violins in textures of dreamlike
insubstantiality.
At the end, evocation gives way to a concrete
phenomenon, thought very daring in 1924: the
nightingale sings on a gramophone recording,
nested among quietly shimmering strings.
This literal birdsong falls silent, and a
distant, heavy tramping makes itself felt...
The Pines of the Appian Way
'Misty dawn on the Appian Way: solitary pine
trees guarding the magic landscape; the muffled,
ceaseless rhythm of unending footsteps. The poet
has a fantastic vision of bygone glories:
trumpets sound and, in the brilliance of the
newly-risen sun, a consular army bursts forth
towards the Sacred Way mounting in triumph to
the Capitol.'
The Via Appia was the great military highway of
classical Rome. In his depiction of Roman
Imperial might, Respighi's quiet
'speaking' lines in the introductory section
are notable, as of weeping and wailing,
especially the cor anglais's plangent lament.
Stentorian fanfares arise: Respighi introduces a
group of six saxhorns (or flügelhorns) to
represent the sound of the buccina, the
Roman army bugle. With a fine mastery of
cumulative effect he builds up an overwhelming
climax, with full brass, percussion and
eventually organ contributing to the musical
vision of the grandeur that was Rome.
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