Scherzo Capriccioso Antonin Dvořák
(1841 – 1904)
The Scherzo Capriccioso seems to us like a forcible attempt by the composer to put sad events behind him and regain lost happiness. It comes from a period of Dvořák’s life overshadowed by the death of his mother. Some of his most turbulent and, often, somber compositions come from this time, including the F minor Piano Trio and the dramatic Symphony No. 7 in D minor (which seems to end this particular period in his output). Infused with the composer’s rich melodic gifts, fiery and richly varied rhythms, as well as his wonderful use of orchestral color, the work has long enjoyed great popularity.
Dvořák began sketching the composition on April 4, 1883 and finished the full score less than a month later. It received its premiere on May 16, 1883 in Prague. Less than a year later, the composer, himself, led the London Philharmonic in a performance at the Crystal Palace, along with several other of his compositions. Conductors Hans Richter and the great Artur Nikisch championed this piece and helped it achieve its enduring popularity.
The Scherzo opens with a horn call, followed by an echo. Other instruments individually repeat the last three notes of the horn call in an increasingly rapid imitation until the full orchestra takes up the whole motive and turns it into a full fledged theme that begins the main body of the work. In this section, Dvořák mixes the colors of all three large sections of the orchestra in a swirling array of colors. A transitional passage makes way for a typically romantic second theme. It is a gentle melody of Bohemian character that wanders freely from key to key before breaking down into a whirlwind of motives that lead back to a complete recapitulation of the first section.
The passion and tension finally unwind into a bridge passage to the Trio, which is filled with tender and sometimes melancholy melodies of great beauty. It is initiated by a fine solo for the English Horn and then moves through the orchestra with a gentle restlessness before the arrival of a strongly dance-like section. The Trio closes with a very brusque fashion before the Trio is repeated and a large-scale development section ensues. Here all the thematic material is commented on and varied. Tension is gradually built up, sometimes by the use of very soft passages, until the first section returns, but with some strange modifications to the harmony. A short interlude is initiated by the horns, who play a harmonized version of the opening theme, which is immediately followed by fragments of other thematic sections and closes with an extended horn call surrounding a harp cadenza. The following Coda moves with breathtaking speed and vigor, effectively bringing the work to a conclusion.
Conductors speak of the great demands for orchestral virtuosity made by the composer and they are correct. Nevertheless, it is frequently programmed and enjoys a wide popularity with concert audiences.
Ancient Airs and Dances for the Lute, Suite II Ottorino Respighi
(1879 – 1936)
One of the most outstanding composers in that small and select group of Italian composers, who didn’t specialize in opera, is Ottorino Respighi. By training, a violinist, he studied composition with Rimsky-Korsakov and Max Bruch and admired the works of Richard Strauß. His original works include Pines of Rome, Fountains of Rome and Roman Festivals, to name the most popular. In addition to his original compositions, he transcribed a number of works from the 17th and 18th centuries for modern ensembles. He also wrote nine operas, but none are nearly as popular as his instrumental output.
Respighi’s great talent in orchestration and his deep respect for the music of the past resulted in two different arrangements that are captivating and well established in the repertoire of modern orchestras. These are the Ancient Airs and Dances, and Gli Uccelli (The Birds). A work that is both original and also based on pre-existing melodies is his Botticelli Triptych, which was performed here a few years ago.
In the Second Suite, the first movement is based on music from the ballet Loara Soava by Fariozo Caroso (1531 - ?), written in honor of Christina di Medici, Grand Duchess of Tuscany. The dances are balletto con gagliarda (the gagliarda being a dance in moderate tempo that had exaggerated leaps); saltarello (a dance faster than the preceding one but based on the same melody); and a canario (a sprightly dance supposedly from the Canary Islands).
The second movement is based on a Danza Rustica by the French doctor, writer and devoted amateur musician Jean-Baptiste Besard (1567 – 1625). The dance is actually known in France as a Branle de village. In it, Respighi asks the trumpets to play with mutes that imitate the sound of the old cornetto, a hybrid instrument that fingered like a woodwind, but was blown with a cup mouthpiece, like modern brass instruments.
The third movement is based on two works: Campanae parisienses (The Bells of Paris) by an anonymous composer; and an Aria by the French composer Marin Mersenne, a monk and music theorist who was a friend of Descartes. The Campanae… is based on a song Les Cloches de Paris and surrounds the Aria.
The final movement is based on a Bergamasca by Bernardo Gianoncelli (c. 1600). The Bergamasca was described by contemporary writers as a “clumsy” dance that imitated the rustic dances of Northern Italy, which is also the source for some of the melodic material. The rhythmic figures are quite syncopated and remind us that “jazzy” sounding rhythms are far older than we may think.
As music that has its much of its original material based on dances, it has the capacity to get your toes tapping and provides a fresh outlook on what we might consider “old” music. If you are of a mind, feel free to “cut a rug” and dance a saltarello or a branle in the aisles as we perform.
Violin Concerto in D Major, Opus 77 Johannes Brahms
(1833 – 1897)
Johannes Brahms is remembered today as a composer. And that was the major part of his fame during his lifetime. However, he was also a virtuoso pianist and also played French Horn. His abilities as a pianist earned him his first professional engagements, beginning with his tour accompanying the Hungarian violinist Hugo Remenyi. It was, however, his work as an accompanist to the great violinist Josef Joachim that was highly influential in his career. It was Joachim who introduced Brahms to Robert and Clara Schumann. Robert Schumann was a tireless advocate of the young Brahms as a composer of great talent and greatly aided the rise of his career. The collaboration with Joachim became a friendship that lasted until Brahms’ death. Their professional positions and personal friendship led Brahms to compose a concerto for Joachim that is one of the greatest written for the instrument, along with the Double Concerto and three sonatas.
As a performer and composer, Brahms eschewed any for m of empty virtuoso display. His piano works, which he often premiered, display a deep craftsmanship and musical worth that avoids any writing for the soloist that does not serve the music. His violin concerto is no different. It is, perhaps, this lack of flashy writing for the soloist that caused some early violinists to reject the work – including Wieniawski and Sarasate. Brahms, himself, must have known his friend well enough to sense that this deeply musical and technically demanding concerto would receive a warm reception.
Brahms began work on the concerto in the summer of 1878, while on vacation in Pörtschach, Austria. Unsure, exactly of the demands he might be making in the solo part, he sent the draft of the first movement to Joachim writing, “You should correct it, not sparing the quality of the composition…I shall be satisfied if you will mark those parts that are difficult, awkward or impossible to play.” The result was that the concerto fully tested Joachim’s immense talent and was rather frightening to some other renowned virtuosi. Experienced listeners can compare this concerto with many of the flashier works so beloved by these virtuosi and conclude that Brahms had more in mind that a mere showpiece for technical display; rather, that he had far higher artistic aims.
The first movement opens with a lovely, broad, Brahmsian melody, whose placid beauty only betrays the musical and technical challenges to come near its very end. This is followed by a Second Theme Group of similar character, in the slight unusual key of A minor. Finally, the Closing Group, likewise in A minor, bursts suddenly from a very soft passage with a vigorous and jagged rhythm and great intensity of motion. All the basic thematic material is fully laid out by the orchestra, before the entrance of the solo. The violinist then repeats and enlarges upon this material after first playing a long, rhapsodic introductory section. All the material is then mutated and developed, and a new theme introduced in the Development. Finally, the thematic material of the Exposition is played, again, with all harmonic tensions resolved. At this point, a breathtaking cadenza allows the soloist to fully display his or her technical and musical mastery. The most commonly used one was written by Joachim, himself.
It is the second movement that so frustrated violinist Pablo de Sarasate. It opens with an oboe solo of incredible beauty and tenderness. Sarasate didn’t want to just stand there while this happened, even though the soloist then can take over the same melody and expand it into a soaring creation of unexcelled beauty. In a brief span of 116 measures, a world of serene beauty and repose is created that, while it also tests the technical prowess of the soloist, is chiefly demanding of lyrical expression of the highest caliber.
The finale, a rondo, is described by Brahms as to be played in a jolly but not too fast manner. The soloist begins immediately with a melody that has a strongly folk-like feel, which is then passed to the full orchestra. The following section is so harmonically unstable that it is not difficult to imagine Brahms having a good chuckle at the possible mystification of listeners as to exactly where he was headed. The A section then returns in shortened form before the composer indulges in a surprising contrast. The movement has been in 2/4 time; but with the C section, he suddenly writes in 3/4 time, with a short return to 2/4 before continuing on in 3/4. The effect is one of immediate relaxation and is quite charming. A transition returns us to the A section and then a tiny cadenza which is followed by a faster section which is a modified A, but with a rolling rhythmical feel and immense good humor. In effect the orchestra is accompanying what may be the only virtuoso display in the whole piece – a sort of cadenza with orchestral assistance, leading to a surprising and quirky ending, perhaps Brahms having a final chuckle.