Aaron Copland (1900-1990)

Suite from The Tender Land (1956)

Scored for 3 flutes and piccolo, 2 oboes and English horn, two clarinets and bass clarinet, two bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion and strings

For the thirtieth anniversary of the league of composers, Rodgers and Hammerstein approached America’s most famous composer, Aaron Copland, about writing an opera to commemorate the occasion. The composer accepted and set to work on what would be his only full-scale work in the genre, The Tender Land.

As little as two years before, it would have seemed strange to ask the composer of the most famous ballet scores since Stravinsky to take on the task. But 1950 saw the performance of the Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson, which stunned into silence those who argued that Copland’s melodies were too angular to work as vocal lines. The Dickinson score was hailed as a re markable and powerful masterpiece of incredible scope and deep emotion, Copland reaching right to the heart of the great poet’s words. This new opera would proudly represent America.

The Rodgers and Hammerstein commission must have been something of a relief for Copland who’s personal life had moved directly into the sights of Senator Joseph McCarthy. He would escape the senator’s attacks relatively uninjured, but the pressure was overwhelming.

The Tender Land was inspired by the book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men by the playwright James Agee with heart-stirring depression-era photographs by Walker Evans. The photographs, especially, sparked Erik Johns, Copland’s companion, who wrote the libretto under the pseudonym Horace Everett.

Copland offered the following scenario to his friend William Flanagan:

The opera takes place in the mid 30’s, in June, spring harvest time. It’s about a farm family – a mother, a daughter who is just about to graduate from high school, a younger sister of ten, and a grandfather.

Two drifters come along asking for odd jobs. The grandfather is reluctant to give them any, and the mother is alarmed because she’s heard reports of two men molesting the young girls of the neighborhood. Nevertheless, the fellows are told that they can sleep in the shed for the night.

The graduation party begins at the opening of the second act. The heroine, Laurie, has, naturally, fallen in love with one of the drifters.

But about their budding love affair there is something of a complication. You see, she associates him with freedom, and he associates her with settling down. Martin (that’s the hero’s name) asks Laurie to run away with him and she, of course, accepts. But in the middle of the night, after a long discussion with his fellow hobo, Top, he decides that his kind of roving life is not for Laurie, so he silently steals off.

When Laurie discovers she’s been jilted, she decides to leave home anyway, and at the conclusion of the opera the mother sings a song of acceptance that is the key to the opera. In it she looks to her younger daughter as the continuation of the family cycle that is the whole reason for their existence.

When the work was first performed on April 4, 1954, it was met with mixed feelings. Copland revised and expanded the score from two acts to three and it was again performed at the Oberlin Conservatory on May 20, 1955. Again, its reception was less than stellar. Copland said, “I don’t think the libretto I used was that fascinating from a theatrical standpoint. The fellow who wrote it was a friend of mine, and I thought it would be easy to work with him, but he wasn’t a real pro. The music carries the comparatively simple plot along adequately and it’s meant to make a kind of warm and personal feeling rather than a big dramatic number on the operatic stage.”

Concerning the suite he extracted from the score in 1956, the composer said, “Naturally, you take those parts which seem to transcribe the vocal sections of the opera adequately in instrumental terms.” To that end, Copland chose three sections to represent the work. Introduction and Love Music presents the opening music to Act III which leads into the love duet between Martin and Laurie. The lively Party Scene is taken from the graduation party in Act II and the suite closes in Finale with the re markable Promise of Living quintet which ends Act I.

 

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)

Voi avete un cor fedele , K. 217

Ah, lo previdi , K. 272

Scored for soprano, 2 oboes, 2 horns and strings

Added to his gifts as a master melodist, Mozart is also recognized as one of the greatest vocal writers who ever lived. It was not simply a matter of melody in these works, but of wedding the music to the words in order to bring out every nuance of emotion and take advantage of every dramatic opportunity. Certainly mozart’s operas, especially Don Giovanni and The Marriage of Figaro, are rightly considered among the greatest masterpieces in the genre and proudly display Mozart’s genius for using music to bring a story to life. It is not unusual to hear arias taken from the composers great operas and presented simply as concert works in their own right. But Mozart also wrote a large body of these pieces not taken from operas intended mainly for the concert stage which have come to be known as Concert Arias.

There are fifty-four of these pieces in all, but their history and intention are quite varied. First of all, the term concert aria, though a term that can conveniently be applied to these works as a whole, is not a precise one. Though some of these were composed strictly to be sung in concert, there are also two other kinds of arias covered by the term. The first is an insertion aria, intended to be inserted into the score of an existing opera, by Mozart or another composer, to extend the role of a particular character. The other is a substitution aria, meant to replace an aria in an existing opera. Most of these works were written with specific performers in mind, and Mozart prided himself on his ability to match his music with their particular qualities. The best of these works are as much a treat for the listener as a formidable challenge for the singer.

Both of the arias performed in these concerts are insertion arias. The earliest is Voi avete un cor fedele, K. 217. Written in Salzburg in October of 1775, it was intended as an extra aria in Baldassare Galuppi’s The Marriage of Dorinda, with a libretto by popular comic playwright Carlo Goldoni. Here, as in his own The Mariiage of Figaro, Mozart shows himself a master of sarcasm and comic wit. Sung by the title character with impassioned disillusionment, Dorinda makes it clear to her declared husband with more than a hint of irony that she isn’t falling for his sweet talk and he\d better shape up, though she doesn’t think he has it in him.

Ah, lo previdi, K. 272 was also composed in Salzburg, but two years later than Voi avete. According to the famous musicologist Alfred Einstein, “Mozart almost never wrote anything more ambitious, or containing stronger dramatic feeling, than this aria.” In fact, this aria is considered something of a turning point for Mozart in his vocal writing, one of many he would achieve during the 1770’s. The piece was intended for insertion into Giovanni Paisiello’s Andromeda and is set to words by Vittorio Amadeo Cigna-Santi.

The piece was commissioned by Czech soprano Josephine Duschek, one of the first specialists in works for the concert stage. Christopher Raeburn gives us a synopsis of the action: In Act II, scene 10, Euristes, betrothed to Andromeda, tells her that he has met perseus, her true lover, wandering in a garden, holding an unsheathed sword and bereft of his senses. Andromeda, imagining that Perseus has killed himself, at first turns with rage upon Euristes for not having prevented the suicide. Then in the second recitative and the concluding cavatina, her passion turns to resignation and she welcomes death so that she can accompany Perseus to “Lethe’s other shore.”

The piece is characterized by furious vocal passages of passionate fervor and raw emotion, with heart-rending recitative. The final cavatina is a lovely but melancholy statement that ends the work with quiet submission to the inevitable.

 

 

Bedrich Smetana (1824-1884)

The Moldau from My Country (1874-1879)

Scored for 3flutes and piccolo, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, strings and harp

Bedrich Smetana long had a dream to establish a new music in his native Czechoslovakia, but before 1859 the ruling Austrians imposed their own culture upon Bohemia, forcing them to abandon all that made them who they were, including their music, art, traditions, and even their language. With the defeat of Austria by Napoleon III, though, all that changed. Bohemia was still not free, but the suppression of native culture was no longer a submissive device. Smetana and his fellow composers and musicians could now play an important role in re-establishing a truly bohemian voice.

Smetana at first helped to instill that voice through opera in works like The Brandenburgers in Bohemia, The Bartered Bride and Dalibor. In fact, by 1866, Smetana had become so important a voice that he was offered the post of Principal Conductor of the Provisional Theatre in Prague. The decades of struggle had been worth it. At last he was receiving the recognition that he had dreamed of. There were, of course, those who vigorously opposed Smetana’s appointment, but the composer held his own. At least for a time.

In 1874, Smetana realized to his horror that he was losing his hearing. The pronouncement of the doctors was not good. He had syphilis, and the damage was irreversible. Smetana was forced to leave his post with the theatre, and by October of that year he was completely deaf. The pain in his tortured heart must have been overwhelming, but if one were to judge by his music alone, there would be scarcely a hint of it. 1874 was the year Smetana started on what would turn out to be his most fervently heartfelt and dearly beloved work, My Country.

This suite of six tone poems was and is the heart of Bohemia. Each of the movements is drawn from the history and legend of Smetana’s people as well as the beauty of the natural landscape. For the second movement, Smetana chose as his subject the majestic river Vltava, also known by its German name: The Moldau. This magnificent portrait was destined to become not only Smetana’s best-known work, but one of the most famous musical works of all time. The composer himself gave us the following description:

Two springs gush forth in the shade of the Bohemian forest, the one warm and spouting, the other cool and tranquil. Their waves joyously rushing down over their rocky beds unite and glisten in the rays of the morning sun. The forest brook fast hurrying on becomes the river Vltava, which flowing ever on through Bohemia's valleys grows to be a mighty stream: it flows through thick woods in which the joyous noise of the hunter's horn are heard ever nearer and nearer; it flows through grass-grown pastures and lowlands, where a wedding feast is celebrated with song and dancing. At night the wood and water nymphs revel in its shining waves, in which many fortresses and castles are reflected as witnesses of the past glory of knighthood and the vanished warlike fame of bygone ages. At the St. John Rapids the stream rushes on, weaving through the cataracts, and with its foamy waves beats a path for itself through the rocky chasm into the broad river into which it vanishes in the far distance from the poet's gaze.

Smetana’s music is brilliantly conceived. The opening phrase representing the two springs that form the mighty river is a freely flowing melody shared between the flutes, which floats effortlessly into the rising and falling of the strings as the ebb and flow of the waves, which acts as accompaniment to the famous river theme. Oddly, the origin of this theme, which has come to be accepted as a Czech folk tune, was actually derived from music Smetana heard some years later when he lived in Göteborg – it is actually a Swedish folk song. As the river passes through a forest, we hear the horns of a royal hunt, the majestic dance of a peasant wedding, and the nocturnal beauty as the nymphs frolic in the moonlight. Later the agitation of the St. John’s Rapids carry us into majestic Prague, the ebb and flow gradually subsiding as the water, losing its identity, flows gracefully into the Elbe. Throughout, Smetana’s famous Moldau theme reappears, lest we forget the mighty source that gave birth to music in the first place.

 

Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971)

Suite from The Firebird (1919)

Scored for 2 flutes and piccolo, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, strings, piano and harp

 

On that day in 1910, when Sergei Diaghilev prepared to meet with the largely unknown, untried, and untested young composer Igor Stravinsky, he was a very frustrated and desperate impresario.

The previous year, the Ballet Russe, under the artistic guidance of Diaghilev, had made a mark by presenting both opera and ballet of strongly national Russian character. Though the operas were more soundly representative of a truly Russian art, it was the ballet that had attracted the most attention, the expensive operas having been a relative failure. In fact, his company was nearly bankrupt. The previous year’s ballets had been largely modeled after the French style of dance, which had long dominated the art form. But thanks to Diaghilev’s keen ability to spot greatness, his handpicked dancers far exceeded anything the French were now capable of executing. Even the Parisians were impressed.

With this firmly in mind, Dighilev decided that for his new Paris season he would dispense with the opera (he couldn’t afford it anyway). He would present the French with a kind of ballet that would move toward a more authentically Russian style and mood. The ballets would now move away from the traditional practice of short numbers comprising an act, to a continuous storyline alternating mime and dance numbers that generally followed the operatic practice of recitative and aria.

To this end he approached his choreographer, Mikhail Fokine, about a scenario that would inspire the intended goal. But Fokine had been one step ahead of Diaghilev and was waiting for his chance. He had been mulling over the idea to craft a scenario based on the Russian folk character “The Firebird.” Though the Firebird was never the central character of these folk tales, it was well known to Russians. Several other ‘stock’ folk characters would fill out the story: the evil sorcerer (Kaschei the deathless), the Princess taken captive, and the hero prince (Ivan Tsarevich). The scenario was largely pieced together from several well-known Russian tales, but Dighilev recognized it as just the thing that was needed, and was anxious to get underway. The problem was getting the composers to cooperate.

When Diaghilev’s staff composer Nicolai Tcherepnin had a falling out with Fokine, he abandoned the project. Next, Diaghilev decided that he would call upon the composers he had worked with the previous season. Les Sylphide, inspired by music of Chopin had been a great success, and now the impresario would call upon the men who had arranged Chopin’s music so brilliantly for orchestra, and approach them in order of preference.

One by one Liadov, Glazunov, and Sokolov declined his offer. Now, on his fifth try, he must have wondered if even Russians were ready for a Russian ballet. Stravinsky’s acceptance must have caused Diaghilev to breathe a sigh of relief.

If Diaghilev was a little wary of what Stravinsky might produce, he needn’t have worried. The composer’s idea, which was inspired by his teacher Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, was to represent the human characters in a more traditional musical language, and employ chromaticism, a more dissonant sound, for the mythical beings. Also taking a cue from Rimsky-Korsakov was Stravinsky’s inspired use of Russian folk themes and rhythms, which would define his musical style into the early 1920’s. The composer was guided throughout by choreographer Fokine, and the final result was astonishing. When it was performed for the first time on June 25, 1910, Stravinsky’s place in music was never again in doubt, and the Ballet Russe would soon take the world by storm.

Stravinsky’s 1919 suite extracted from the full score, touches on the main themes of the ballet. The following synopsis is taken from the original Ballet Russe program.

The theme for this ballet fantasy is taken from one of the most popular Russian folk tales, one which best demonstrates the power of the poetic vision of the creators of the old legends of Slav mythology. One day Ivan Tsarevich sees a marvelous bird of flaming gold. He pursues but fails to catch it, and only succeeds in snatching one of its glittering feathers. The chase has taken him into the domain of Kastchei the immortal, demi-god of evil, who attempts to capture him and, as he has already done with many valiant knights and princes, turn him to stone. Kastchei’s daughters and thirteen princesses intercede for Ivan Tsarevich and try to save him. Finally the firebird appears, breaks Kastchei’s spell, and rescues everyone. Ivan Tsarevich and the knights, delivered from their fate, seize the golden apples from Kastchei’s garden.

The suite consists of the atmospheric Introduction followed by the flitting and fluttering

of the winds, and piano and harp glissandi in The Firebird and its Dance. Next, the gentle

Russian folk character of The Princesses’ Round Dance is contrasted with the infernal, maniacal dance of Kastchei in what is probably the most famous music in the suite, and which gives a hint of the harmonic and rhythmic complexities that would appear in The Rite of Spring three years later. The Lullaby combines beauty with an otherworldly atmosphere, and the Finale presents a gradual building of texture and tempo. This music accompanies the last scene (not finalized until after the program was finished) representing the coronation and wedding of Ivan Tsarevich and the Princess to bring the work to a magical and magnificent end.