November Program: Heart’s Desire
Comments by Music Director John Thomas Dodson
The ASO begins the First Federal Bank Classical Series with a program featuring extraordinary Romantic music and the return of pianist Maria Asteriadou. We start with a monumental overture by Johannes Brahms. The Tragic Overture begins with two hammer-stroke chords, and a world of passion immediately unfolds. One of my favorite writers talks about this music as having "overpowering pathos." This is gripping stuff — full of drama. The Tragic Overture is considered by many to be the single greatest overture in the whole repertoire — What a way to begin! And then, from the tragic to the sublime: Maria will perform Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto in A Minor, which he wrote for his wife, Clara. Without question one of the greatest pianists of the Nineteenth Century, she rivaled Liszt for technique. While other composers of the day created works full of virtuosic display, Schumann created a work rich in musical content and full of love for his wife. A concerto that offers a perfect balance between gentle stillness and energetic motion, the A minor concerto has become one of the most beloved works of the piano repertoire. Maria has played it numerous times around the world, and I've looked forward to the day when we could present this concerto in Adrian. The program ends with one of the sunniest symphonies ever written, Dvorak's Eighth. Many people know his New World Symphony, but if you haven't heard this one, you're truly missing out on one of the most beautiful works ever penned. Words like exciting, melodic and dramatic come to mind, but, honestly, words can't begin to convey the experience of hearing the Dvorak Eighth. If there ever was one, THIS is a concert of great music!
Program Notes by Beryl McHenry
The Tragic Overture
Johannes Brahms (1833–1897)
During the summer of 1880 Brahms composed two of his most famous works, reminiscent of the two faces of the thespian mask. The first of these was the Academic Festival Overture, a playful, rousing medley of student songs, and the other the Tragic Overture. In a letter to a friend, Brahms stated that “ one laughs and the other cries.” One biographer suggests that Brahms was fascinated by the Faust legend and that the Tragic Overture was written as the opening for a production of Goethe’s Faust in Vienna. Brahms himself insisted, however, that he had no particular tragedy in mind when he composed the piece. His intention as a composer was not to tell a story but to elicit emotion on the part of his audience. It appears that his other goal was to balance the mood of his earlier piece. Since it appears that he intended the pieces to complement each other, it is strange that the two pieces almost never appear on the same program. In the original sketches which Brahms worked out in a notebook, notations at the end of the work suggest that it was intended as the first movement of a symphony. There is no known Brahms Symphony in D minor, although Brahms reportedly had attempted to write one earlier. That particular creative process was apparently interrupted by the tragic death of Brahms’ friend and mentor, Schumann.
The work comprises three main sections, all in the key of D minor, as the opening bare theme expands into three main subjects. The first involves all levels of the orchestra and is strong and vigorous. The second subject is announced by a plaintive oboe and stalking trombones. The third subject is introduced by horn calls and is taken over by the violins. At its end the first subject returns. Strong tympani follows, bringing with it a dark, mysterious section leading into the return of the second subject, then again the first. This reprise of the first subject begins the drive into the coda, a turbulent and somber rush to the “ final disaster” , which ends the work in the true character suggested by its title.
The Tragic Overture premiered in Vienna in 1880, and Brahms has created a listening experience that, even 128 years later, speaks to his audiences at a basic emotional level.
Piano Concerto in A Minor
Robert Schumann (1810–1856)
It is impossible to consider the creative life of Robert Schumann without also considering his marriage to Clara Wieck, the daughter of his teacher. Although fiercely opposed by Clara’s father, theirs was one of the happiest and most productive unions in the archives of the lives of composers. Clara herself was recognized as a great pianist, and Robert gave up his former ambitions to become a professional pianist to concentrate on becoming a composer, leaving the performance role to his wife. Clara encouraged her husband to move beyond the songs and short piano pieces that he had been writing and try something grander. In a letter just before their wedding, Clara wrote to Robert, “ I’ve been seized by the desire to encourage you to write for orchestra. You imagination and spirit are too great for the weak piano.” A short time after his wedding he composed in only one week a one-movement work — a fantasy in a minor for piano and orchestra.
Schumann went on to compose a number of large-scale masterworks over the next five years. What had begun as the Fantasy for Piano and Orchestra in 1841 was transformed in 1845 when he reworked the fantasy, added a slow movement and a finale and completed the three-movement Piano Concerto in A Minor. Clara gave the first performance of the new concerto on New Year’s Day of 1846.
The work opens with a flourish for the solo piano leading to the four-note motif that will eventually tie all three movements together. Although in a minor key, it is a sunny, free-wheeling work which ends with the piano and orchestra marching toward a final cadence.
The second movement begins with exchanges between piano and orchestra, and Schumann’s crystal clear writing produces lovely interchanges between strings, and notably cellos, and the solo piano. This slow section leads directly into the finale, nearly a thousand measures of music flying by and picking up the theme of the opening movement, then moving with great freedom toward an extensive coda which one reviewer refers to as “ three minutes of unadulterated perfection.”
Symphony No. 8 in G Major
Antonin Dvorak (1841–1904)
Dvorak’s earlier writing, especially his symphonies, reflected the strong influence of Brahms, his friend and mentor, who helped Dvorak promote and publish many of his works. Following the publication of the Seventh Symphony, Dvorak waited five years before composing the eighth. During those five years he strove to uncover his own individuality, and in 1889 Dvorak returned to his country home in Vysoka, removing himself from the stress of demanding publishers, temperamental performers and urban life as a well-received conductor of his own works. In the quiet and solitude he found himself ready to compose another symphony. This time, he said, he was eager to compose something “ different from the other symphonies, with individual thoughts worked out in a new way,” He had no difficulty coming up with material, saying “ melodies simply pour out of me. “ He finished the first movement in two weeks, the second a week later, and the remaining two movements in a few days each. He orchestrated the whole in about six weeks.
The G major symphony stands apart from Dvorak’s other works. It is often described as “ sunny,” “ warm,” and “ optimistic.” While it is all of those things, it begins with a hint of darkness. It actually begins in G minor with long, melancholy passages by the cellos. This first movement is thought to be the most complex Dvorak ever wrote, and as the movement progresses, the darkness clears and the sunshine emerges. The second movement uses both G major and G minor alternately, with gentle passages for strings and winds, and a thrilling trumpet fanfare with timpani as it approaches its climax. The scherzo movement, again in G minor, features descending chromatic scales, once against infusing a sense of darkness, while the Trio consists of merry children’s tunes. The finale begins with a trumpet fanfare, and then introduces a theme in the cellos which is expanded upon by other instruments. The movement proceeds with a feeling the Dvorak is letting go of something precious. There is one last burst of enthusiasm before the ending, again sunny and spirited.