jso-mm

NOTES - not the finished versions...

Piotr TCHAIKOVSKY "Cossak Dance" from Mazeppa

Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

Dating from 1884, Mazeppa ("Мазе́па" in Russian) is the seventh of Tchaikovsky's eleven operas (ten if you discount Vakula the Smith from 1874, which Tchaikovsky reworked as The Slippers in 1885). Based on Aleksandr Pushkin's narrative poem Poltava (1829), the plot of Mazeppa draws from the real-life exploits of Ivan Mazepa (1639-1709), a controversial Ukrainian diplomat and military leader who became a Cossack Hetman (i.e., Chief Commander) during the reign of Peter the Great.

Early in Mazepa's career he served the King of Poland as an ambassador to Ukraine. Rumors of an alleged affair with a young noblewoman, the wife of a Polish count 30 years her senior, inspired Lord Byron's epic poem, Mazeppa (1819). As Byron tells the story, the cuckold count binds a naked Mazeppa to a merciless (and tireless) horse, which miraculously delivers the much-abused hero back to Ukraine and into the tender arms of a "Cossack Maid." Byron's portrayal of a romantic figure who triumphs over great suffering was adapted by Victor Hugo, and Hugo's 1829 French poem later would inspire piano and orchestral works by Hungarian composer Franz Liszt.

But it infuriated Pushkin, and not because of the extra "p."

To Russians Mazepa was (and is) seen as a traitorous anti-hero. Hoping to secure Ukraine's independence, Mazepa had conspired with King Karl XII of Sweden against the Tsar, but was defeated in the 1709 Battle of Poltava. Pushkin meant to set the record straight, and Tchaikovsky's opera reflects Pushkin's pro-tsarist view. But Tchaikovsky also focuses on the doomed love between Mazepa and his much-younger goddaughter, Mariya.

Here's the opera's story in a nutshell:

Mariya's father refuses his consent to a marriage between his 20-year-old daughter and her 63-year-old godfather, so the lovers elope. Amid much political intrigue, a greedy Mazepa tortures and beheads his father-in-law, but soon is righteously defeated by the Tsar's army. Meanwhile Mariya, unable to cope with the death of her father, goes insane.

The Cossack Dance, or Hopak, comes from the opera's first scene, just before Mazepa asks for Mariya's hand. In keeping with tradition, the dance conjures images of acrobatic Cossacks squatting, kicking and leaping about as they celebrate the coming together of good friends. Only in this case the party doesn't last very long.

Léo DELIBES March and Procession of Bacchus from Sylvia (Merle Isaac)

re Isaac: https://www.lucksmusic.com/cat-ed/spotarran/Isaac.asp

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39XLaelsz80

http://72.41.41.216/pdf/49028.pdf

French composer Léo Delibes (1836-1891) wrote over two dozen works for the stage, including the opera Lakmé (1883), from which tht Flower Duet is universally known, thanks to British Airways using it in commercials since 1989. Delibes began his professional life in 1853, having completed studies at the Paris Conservatory. Working as a rehearsal pianist and chorus master for operetta and opera productions, Delibes spent a decade at the Théâtre Lyrique before moving up to the more prestigious Paris Opéra; in 1881 he would return to the Conservatory as a composition professor. In the meantime theater life obviously agreed with him, and he enjoyed a long string of successes composing light-hearted operettas similar to those by Offenbach. The year 1886 brought a turning point (so to speak) when Delibes was asked to collaborate with Austrian composer Ludwig Minkus to produce a full-length ballet. Their La Source was a triumph, and its success led directly to a commission for Delibes' first masterpiece, Coppelia (1870), generally regarded as the first ballet music substantial enough to offer serious competition to opera since the days of Lully and Rameau.

Six years later Sylvia, ou La nymphe de Diane (1876) hit the stage. Due to its lackluster scenario Sylvia never got a lasting foothold in the repertoire--it took until 2004 before the complete ballet was produced in the United States. The music, however, has always been greatly admired. Tchaikovsky himself confessed that had he seen Delibes' score beforehand he would have been too intimidated to write Swan Lake, also completed in 1876.

Set in ancient Greece with Classical mythology as a backstory, the title character of Sylvia is an acolyte of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt and Chastity. Aminta, a naive shepherd, has fallen in love with Sylvia, but being sworn to chastity Sylvia becomes incensed with his advances. She blames Eros, the God of Love, and lets fly an arrow toward the god. Aminta grand jetés in front of Eros, collapsing as Sylvia's arrow strikes the selfless shepherd instead of its intended target. Eros retaliates with an arrow of his own, and Sylvia exits to tend her flesh wound. The huntsman Orion revels in Aminta's misfortune, which he has witnessed while stalking Sylvia from the shadows. Sylvia returns, now smitten with Aminta thanks to Eros' marksmanship, but Orion seizes her and drags her off to his cave. Eros resuscitates Aminta, and eventually helps Sylvia escape from Orion.

The March and Procession of Bacchus (Grand cortège de Bacchus) opens the last act, with Aminta awaiting the return of Sylvia while a crowd gathers at the Temple of Diana. The "March" is replete with fanfares, while the "Procession" offers a more lyrical approach. Orion disrupts the reunion by brawling with Aminta, and it takes some convincing for Diana to release Sylvia from her chastity vow. But in the end Love wins out, happily ever after.

William WALTON Viola Concerto (1929). I. Andante comodo

(1902-1983)

In many "Music History 101" courses British music from the Renaissance into the 20th Century might be summarized: Some madrigals, fa la la -- Purcell -- Elgar (maybe) -- Vaughan Williams and Holst -- Britten. William Walton might get only a footnote glimmering faintly through Britten's shadow, but this doesn't diminish the luminous quality of Sir William's best music, including Belshazzar's Feast (1931), lately performed by the J-Sym Orchestra and Chorus. Between the World Wars and before being eclipsed by the younger upstart (whom, by the way, Walton greatly admired and befriended), Walton was the shining star of "Modern" British music. His first major work was Façade (1922). The piece scandalized the audience during its public premiere in 1923, but one suspects less for the music and more for the seemingly nonsensical poetry it accompanied. The shocking verse was recited (from behind a screen and through a megaphone) by its author, Edith Sitwell, whose literary family had all but adopted Walton after he flunked out of Oxford (for his disdain of algebra, not his music). It didn't take too long for Walton's witty score to become better appreciated, but at first even the musicians hated it--one of the original sextet asked the composer if perhaps a clarinetist had inflicted some injury upon him.

For his Viola Concerto (1929), Walton looked to Elgar and Prokofiev as models, as well as to German composer Paul Hindemith. The latter was really instrumental in the initial success of the concerto: Hindemith appeared as soloist for the premiere after violist Lionel Tertis rejected the work Walton had written for him. The concerto was a big success with the audience and critics, Walton and Hindemith became great friends, and a regretful Tertis soon added the masterful piece to his repertoire. In 1937 Walton conducted the first recording of the concerto with violist Frederick Riddle, and Riddle provided some changes to his part that the composer gratefully included in the score published the following year. In 1961, Walton revised his orchestration, paring some of the winds and adding a harp. Without withdrawing the original version, Walton published the new edition in 1964, and the concerto is now usually performed with the revised orchestration.

With his Viola Concerto the 27-year-old composer more fully revealed his innate lyricism, previously "hidden under a mask of irony" (The Record Guide, 1956). As Walton matured and focused more on the lyrical and less on the ironic, the fickle critics began to dismiss him as old-fashioned. A decade after his triumph with the Viola Concerto Walton observed in a newspaper interview: "These days it is very sad for a composer to grow old ... I seriously advise all sensitive composers to die at the age of 37. I know: I've gone through the first halcyon period and am just about ripe for my critical damnation."

Richard STRAUSS Horn Concerto No. 1

Richard Strauss (1864-1949) was the most famous German composer of the late Romantic and early modern eras, and was also one of the period's most famous conductors. Among his best-known works are his operas, including Der Rosenkavalier, Elektra and Salome; and his tone poems, including Death and Transfiguration, Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks, and Also sprach Zarathustra, the opening of which is immediately identified with Stanley Kubrick's revolutionary film, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

George ENESCU: Roumanian Rhapsody No. 1 in A major, Op. 11 (1881-1955)

If you ask musicians to name a Romanian composer, unless they draw a complete blank they almost certainly will answer "George Enescu," or, as say the French--who have a different word for everything (i.e., tout)--"Georges Enesco." As fate would have it, Enescu and the Kingdom of Roumania (the "u" was dropped later) were both born in 1881. Young George's musical gifts were recognized and cultivated early. He composed his first piece at age 5; by seven he was accepted into the Vienna Conservatory, from which he graduated at 12, earning the silver medal for his violin virtuosity. He entered the Paris Conservatory in 1895, studying composition with Massenet and Faure. His compatriots even have named an international airport after him, and changed the name of the village where he was born to "George Enescu."

Doubtfully, some might name the Greek composer Xenakis who was born in Romania, or technically might name the Hungarians Bartok or Ligeti since they were born in what became parts of Romania, but Enesco is far and away the composer most identified with Romania.

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Gustav HOLST The Planets, Op. 32

Mars, the Bringer of War

Venus, the Bringer of Peace

Uranus, the Magician

Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity

Gustav Holst (1874-1934)

Given that his father, grandfather and great grandfather were all professional musicians, it's neither surprising that English composer, conductor, trombonist, organist and teacher Gustav Holst likewise entered "the family business," nor that he passed it on to his only child (and chief biographer), Imogen. But it might be surprising to realize that the composer of The Planets also wrote over 200 other works. If you're Episcopalian -- or have watched a PBS holiday special -- you no doubt are familiar with Holst's Christmas hymn, In the Bleak Midwinter. If by smaller chance you've found yourself in the midst of a symphonic band you might have heard his Suites for Military Band, Op. 28 (1909-11), which, without hyperbole, elevated and revolutionized band music as a genre. Otherwise, The Planets is pretty much Holst's only work that gets serious exposure.

Holst's original title for his suite was Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra, the pieces being: 1. Mars, the Bringer of War; 2. Venus, the Bringer of Peace; 3. Mercury, the Winged Messenger; 4. Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity; 5. Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age; 6. Uranus, the Magician; and, 7. Neptune, the Mystic. Just before the first performance Holst renamed the suite The Planets, making it clearer that his music relates to the zodiac, not to Roman mythology. (FYI: "Earth" was omitted because it has no astrological significance. "Pluto" wasn't omitted--it wasn't discovered until 1930, although its presence as "Planet X" had been theorized; ironically, and to the relief of Holst fans, in 2006 Pluto was down-graded to "ex-planet.")

Thanks to the generosity of composer and impresario Balfour Gardiner, the first performance of The Planets was a private concert on September 29, 1918. World War I had been raging for four painful years, so when Holst's Mars, the Bringer of War came barreling over the listeners they must have felt that the composer was responding to the horror consuming them. That would make perfect sense, but: the composer had mapped out the suite by Easter 1914 (except for Mercury, which was added in 1916); Mars was already finished before war was declared in August 1914; and, the real genesis of the piece can be traced back a year earlier. As the story goes, in the spring of 1913 Balfour took Gustav on a summer trip to Majorca along with the Bax boys, composer Arnold and writer Clifford; Clifford introduced Gustav to astrology, which became Holst's "pet vice," as well as the inspiration for the work that brought him international recognition.

Of the featured movements, Mars, the Bringer of War is dominated by a relentless rhythmic pattern in 5/4 time, and illustrates the brutality and, as Holst put it, the "stupidity" of war. In complete contrast, Venus, the Bringer of Peace paints a picture of serene tranquility, foregoing blaring brass and beating drums for delicate woodwinds and solo strings interlaced with harp and celesta. Uranus, the Magician is a boisterous scherzo reminiscent of the sometimes menacing magic of Dukas' The Sorcerer's Apprentice. Moving like solemn clockwork, in Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age we find ourselves dragged along by the inevitable passage time, passing through anxious confusion into resignation and acceptance; among all the movements, it was Holst's personal favorite. The favorite of nearly everyone else is Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity, which enters like a generous Santa Claus bearing gifts of folk-like tunes, with a big hymn in the middle.

When The Planets became a worldwide sensation Holst became an international celebrity, something the shy composer was ill-equipped to handle. Like Enescu, Holst came to resent the work that eclipsed the rest of his output. But boo-hoo--most composers would give their tutti for a work still popular a hundred years after it's written, and that gets them mentioned in Music History 101. Rather than complaining, Holst really should have thanked his Lucky Stars.