Symphony Preview: A little traveling music

Share on Google+:

Guest conductor Robert Spano steps up to the podium this weekend (November 25-27, 2016) to lead the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a couple of vivid tone poems and a Beethoven piano concerto so noble in character it picked up the nickname "Emperor."

Jean Sibelius

The concerts open with Pohjola's Daughter from 1906, one of Jean Sibelius's many tone poems inspired by the Kalevala, an epic poem by Elias Lönnrot based on Finnish oral folklore and mythology. Originally published in 1835 and then again in an expanded edition in 1849, the Kalevala quickly attained the status of national epic in Finland and acted as a source of inspiration for Sibelius for many years.

The story told in Pohjola's Daughter is that of the aged but still vigorous warrior, minstrel, and sorcerer Väinämöinen. On his way home from one of his many adventures, he encounters one of the many daughters of Pohjola, a magical land in the far north. This particular daughter is seated on a rainbow and spinning cloth out of gold and silver fibers.

Poor Väinämöinen is smitten but, as Richard Freed writes in program notes for the National Symphony Orchestra, "she is not impressed. His overtures are answered in riddles, and when he perseveres the temptress sets him on a series of impossible tasks. He deals successfully with every challenge but the last, in which he wounds himself beyond the powers of his own magic to heal. Defeated but not humiliated, old Väinämöinen resumes his journey and the healing of his wounds begins as the laughing girl and her attendant spirits vanish."

Pohjola's Daughter begins with a vivid evocation of the dark and brooding Finnish landscape conjured up initially by low strings and deep-voiced wind instruments like the bassoon, contrabassoon, and bass clarinet. Before long, Väinämöinen arrives on the scene in the form of a heroic brass fanfare, to which Pohjola's daughter responds, decked out in diaphanous flutes and harp. Väinämöinen's futile attempts to perform his assigned tasks make up the dramatic middle section, after which the two main themes come back, followed by a quiet coda in which the strings slowly fade to black as poor Väinämöinen limps home to mull over his bad romantic choices.

Ottorino Respighi

Somewhat surprisingly, this weekend will mark this work's first performance by the St. Louis Symphony. Or maybe not; Sibelius was regarded as hopelessly old-fashioned for much of the 20th century despite being championed by luminaries like Leonard Bernstein. It wasn't until the 1980s that critics started to once again appreciate the Finnish master's unique voice.

Up next is The Fountains of Rome, the first in Ottorino Respighi's very popular "Roman trilogy" of tone poems composed between 1916 and 1928. In only fifteen minutes, Fountains takes you through a day in Rome. "In this symphonic poem", wrote Respighi in a preface to the score (quoted in its entirety in Paul Schiavo's program notes), "the composer has endeavored to give expression to the sentiments and visions suggested to him by four of Rome's fountains, contemplated at the hour when their characters are most in harmony with the surrounding landscape, or at which their beauty is most impressive to the observer."

We see the sun rise through the mists of the fountain at Valle Giulia, spend the morning frolicking with mythical creatures at the Triton Fountain, marvel at Neptune's majestic chariot at the Trevi Fountain at noon, and finally watch the sun go down behind the Fountain at Villa Medici. "The air is full of the sound of tolling bells, the twittering of birds, the rustling of leaves," Respighi concludes. "Then all dies peacefully into the silence of the night."

It is, in short, a quick trip to the Eternal City without long security lines or jet lag. Such a deal!

There are many apocryphal stories about how the work that concludes this weekend's concerts, Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat major, op. 73, got the nickname "Emperor." Personally, I think it's just a nod to the noble character of the work overall and of the main theme of the first movement in particular.

Beethoven
As if you didn't know.

Its noble character not withstanding, the concerto was written under the cloud of war and occupation. When Beethoven was writing the work in 1809, Vienna was not so much the fabled “City of Dreams” as a metropolis of nightmares. The French laid siege to it with shelling so fierce that at one point the composer took refuge in his brother's house and covered his head with pillows to escape the din. “[L]ife around me”, he wrote, “is wild and disturbing, nothing but drums, cannons, soldiers, misery of every sort.” The royal family-including Beethoven's friend and patron Archduke Rudolf-fled, along with many of the notable families with whom the composer had become close.

Left alone and, once the French occupation began, in difficult financial circumstances due to rapid inflation, Beethoven had little else to do but compose. The fifth concerto is probably the most famous work to emerge from this difficult period, although the Op. 81a piano sonata (“Les Adieux”) is probably a close second. Both were dedicated to Rudolph.

Much has been written about the Concerto No. 5, so I won't presume to waste your time with my own analysis, especially when there are concise and informative articles on Wikipedia and at the Classy Classical blog. The magisterial first movement, the wistful second, and the jolly concluding rondo all show Beethoven at his best.

The soloist this weekend will be the multi-talented Stephen Hough (he's a composer and a writer on music and theology as well as a virtuoso pianist), whom I last saw in the SLSO's 2012 "Rach Fest"-a series of concerts in which Mr. Hough took on the daunting task of performing Rachmaninoff's first, second, and third piano concertos over the course of two weeks. He demonstrated then that he had both tremendous power and a delicate touch, which should serve him well in the Beethoven.

The essentials: Robert Spano conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and piano soloist Stephen Hough in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 ("Emperor"), Respighi's The Pines of Rome, and Pohjola's Daughter by Sibelius. Performances are Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m., and Sunday at 3 p.m., November 25-27, at Powell Hall in Grand Center. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Preview: The folk school

This weekend (October 14 - 16, 2016) guest conductor Hannu Lintu leads the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a program of works by composers with their roots firmly in the traditions of their native lands: Poland's Witold Lutoslawski (1913 - 1994), Czechoslovakia's Antonín Dvorák (1841 - 1904), and Russia's Igor Stravinsky (1882 - 1971).

Witold Lutoslawski
Photo: W. Pniewski and
L. Kowalski

Lutoslawski, whose music opens the program, embraced his Polish heritage in many of his early works, especially those written in the aftermath of World War II. But the time he wrote this weekend's opener, Chain 3, in 1986, the composer had, as Paul Schiavo writes in his program notes, "evolved into a modernist whose music is international in style". The piece is the last of a trio of Chain pieces that Lutoslawski wrote in the 1980s, each of which was written for very different musical forces. Chain 3 is scored for a large orchestra-just under 100 players this weekend. Like its two companion works, it consists of small musical ideas which overlap and combine, like the links of a chain, to create a larger aural whole.

As it builds towards its conclusion, Chain 3 creates an impressive "wall of sound" that would have done Phil Spector proud and incorporates elements of aleatoric or "chance" music in that (quoting Mr. Schiavo again) "certain passages to be played ad libitum, with only loose coordination among the players." That sounds like it might be a recipe for sonic chaos and to some extent it is, but it's controlled chaos and pretty compelling.

Up next is a masterpiece that leaves nothing to chance and offers great opportunities for a soloist willing to take on its technical and emotional challenges: Dvorák's Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104.

The cello doesn't appear in the symphonic spotlight that often. It's not that there aren't concerti out there (although far fewer than for violin or piano); it's just that most of them are relatively obscure. The Dvorák A minor concerto is probably the most popular-right up there with the Elgar-and justifiably so. Written during the composer's final year in America, it's nevertheless a work that is suffused with the dark romanticism of the Bohemian countryside that the composer loved so dearly.

The Dvorák family in New York, 1893

This is mature and deeply felt music of genuinely symphonic proportions. It's also technically challenging without being superficially flashy. There are no cadenzas, for example, and the demands on the soloist's technique arise naturally out of the concerto's dramatic narrative.

To play this concerto well, then, you need not only nimble hands but also a warm heart. This is music of deep sorrow and overflowing joy. The soloist had better be open to all of it.

The cellist this weekend is Germany's Alban Gerhardt, a man praised as "one of the finest cellists around" by The Guardian and dubbed "Ein Kantabilitätszauberer und Meister virtuoser Rasanz" ("a magician of cantabile playing and a master of virtuosic panache" by Der Tagesspiel. "His gift for shedding fresh light on familiar scores," says his SLSO program bio, "along with his appetite for investigating new repertoire from centuries past and present, truly set him apart from his peers." All of which suggests that he has the right combination of skills to not only make the most of the concerto, but to offer some fresh insights into it as well.

The concerts this weekend close with a work in which folk influences are visual as well as auditory: the 1947 version of Stravinsky's Petrushka ballet, originally presented by Serge Diaghilev's Ballets Russes in Paris in 1911 with the legendary Pierre Monteux in the orchestra pit. Stravinsky was struck by the idea for the ballet while he was in the midst of working on the score for what would prove to be his most (in)famous Diaghilev collaboration, Le Sacre du Printemps.

Here's the composer describing his inspiration (as quoted in program notes for the Minnesota Orchestra): "I had in my mind a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life, exasperating the patience of the orchestra with diabolical cascades of arpeggi. The orchestra in turn retaliates with menacing trumpet-blasts. The outcome is a terrific noise which reaches its climax and ends in the sorrowful and querulous collapse of the poor puppet." Even without the dancers and scenery, this is tremendously descriptive music. If you're unfamiliar with it, I think you'll find it easy to play the story out in your mind's eye. Depending on your imagination, it might even be more vivid than the real thing.

Nijinsky as Petrushka

When Diaghilev discovered that Stravinsky had stopped work on Sacre for Petrushka he was indignant, but as soon as the composer began to play the score on his piano, the impresario was smitten. With the great Vaslav Nijinsky in the title role, the ballet was well received and went on to be one of the most popular items in the company's repertory and in Stravinsky's catalog.

Originally conceived as a work for piano and orchestra, Petrushka retains a prominent role for that instrument-a role emphasized even more in the 1947 revision you'll hear this weekend. At the keyboard will be Peter Henderson who, while not officially a member of the orchestra, nevertheless frequently appears as an ensemble keyboard player with them and has occasionally even been in the solo spot-something I wish would happen more often. I recall with fondness his remarkable performance of Frederic Rzewski's daunting The People United Will Never Be Defeated! at the Pulitzer Foundation back in 2012.

I also recall conductor Hannu Lintu's previous appearances with the SLSO fondly. He's a commanding and visually compelling figure on the podium. His big gestures are striking, but he can also coax delicate sounds with a minimum of physical display. He has, in short, a nearly ideal mixture of romantic intensity and intellectual control-which should work well for a program this varied.

The Essentials: Hannu Lintu conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, with cello soloist Alban Gerhardt, on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. October 14 - 16. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio.

National identity

Joshua Bell
Photo: Eric Kabik

Share on Google+

In case you thought music only got political in the 1960s, allow me to disabuse you of that notion. The great composers whose music fills concert halls these days were often very politically active and weren't shy about expressing their politics in their music.

Three of the four composers whose music David Robertson and the St. Louis Symphony will perform this weekend were ardent musical Nationalists, which means they used their compositions to advocate for the cultures of their native countries. Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884) and Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) were Czech patriots promoting the artistic and (in the case of Smetana) political independence of their homeland from the Austro-Hungarian Empire while Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) was passionate about the legends and landscape of Finland. The fourth composer, Einojuhani Rautavaara (1928- ), isn't generally regarded as a Nationalist per se, but he does draw inspiration from the Finnish countryside and folk tales.

Smetana

Smetana's music often has specific references to Czech legend and lore, so it's only right that he's represented here by two of the six tone poems that make up his epic cycle Má vlast (My Fatherland): Vyšehrad and the massively popular Vltava (more popularly known by its German name, The Moldau).

Vyšehrad, which opens the program, begins with a long introduction depicting the song of the bard Lumir, playing inside the great hall of the castle of Vyšehrad. A more dramatic central section suggests the strife that would characterize Czech history, after which the calmer voice of the bard returns. A few troubled final bars, though, suggest that the calm won't last. When you listen to Vyšehrad, notice how important the harp is as the voice of the bard. In the program book, principal harpist Allegra Lilly notes that the "big, rolled chords which are interspersed with arpeggiated passages" in the introduction help to "create a magical sound, a mystical element appropriate to the piece."

Vltava (which closes the program) is straightforward scene painting, vividly illustrating the course of the river Vltava from placid mountain stream to raging torrent at the St. John rapids (which manifest themselves as big crashing chords towards the end). The bard's theme from Vyšehrad pops up again near the end as well, to provide some artistic unity. When I was young, The Moldau (as it was usually known) was very popular with teachers of "music appreciation" courses (do they still have those?) because it was short (around 12 minutes) and the structure was simple. It's very appealing stuff.

Dvořák

Dvořák's nationalism tends to show itself more in reverence for the Czech countryside, which is very much on display in In Nature's Realm, op. 91. "Dvořák's pure woodwind colors," writes René Spencer Saller in her program notes, "and richly layered strings perfectly evoke the cries of birds, the murmuring of woodland streams, the sighing of wind in the trees." It's musical painting of a high order; some of Dvořák's most profound and touching work was inspired by his love of nature.

Originally the piece was the first of a cycle of three symphonic poems with the omnibus title Nature, Life, and Love. "His intention," writes Denby Richards, the late editor of Musical Opinion magazine, "was to explore every possible facet of nature and life and the effect they have had on the soul of man." These days the three works are usually performed separately under the titles In Nature's Realm, Carnival, and Othello.  Which is rather a pity, as there are thematic relationships among them that make more sense when they're performed as Dvořák originally intended.

Sibelius

Sibelius is represented by his Violin Concerto in D minor, op. 47. The violin was Jean Sibelius's first musical love. He began playing as a child and showed great promise as a performer, despite an elbow fracture that impeded his bowing technique. Even after it became clear that his real talent was for composition, he continued to play in chamber ensembles and even teach the instrument. It's no surprise, then, that his Violin Concerto—originally presented in 1903 and then again in a substantially revised form in 1905—is both thoroughly idiomatic and incredibly demanding. The long solo passages in the first movement and virtuoso fireworks in the finale will test the mettle of the best performers.

Fortunately, the symphony has one of the best violinists around as soloist this weekend: Joshua Bell. Born in Bloomington Indiana, Mr. Bell, who turns 46 on December 9th, began taking violin lessons at age four. By 14 he was already appearing with the Philadelphia Orchestra. He made his Carnegie Hall appearance at the age of 17 with our own St. Louis Symphony. Today he is very much in demand as a soloist with notable orchestras worldwide. As of 2011, he also became the music director of the Academy of St. Martin-in-the Fields—the first person to hold that post since the orchestra was founded in 1958 by Sir Neville Marriner. He recorded the Sibelius concerto for Sony in 2000, so he should be very comfortable with the piece.

Einojuhani Rautavaara

Like many music lovers, I expect, I discovered the last composer on this weekend's program, Einojuhani Rautavaara, via a recording of his most well known work Cantus Arcticus (1972). Subtitled "Concerto for Birds and Orchestra," this three-movement work uses recordings of birds from near the Arctic Circle to weave a remarkable musical tapestry.

It seems only fitting, then, that the Rautavaara piece we'll hear this weekend—Lintukoto (Isle of Bliss) from 2001— is inspired by a Finnish poem about the mythical isle of Lintukoto, a paradisaical place where birds migrate for the winter and where all the inhabitants are dwarves because the sky is so close to the ground. There's a kind of hallucinatory wildness to the music which should make for an interesting contrast from the Dvořák that precedes it and the Smetana the follows it. Still, all three pieces are fine examples of nature rendered as music, which makes for a nice through line in the second half of the concert.

David Robertson and The St. Louis Symphony, with violinist Joshua Bell, perform Smetana's Vyšehrad, Sibelius's Violin Concerto, Dvořák's In Nature's Realm, Rautavaara's Lintukoto (Isle of Bliss), and Smetana's Vltava at Powell Hall in Grand Center on Friday and Saturday at 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio, 90.7 FM and HD 1, as well as via the station web site. For more information: stlsymphony.org.