VALLEJO SYMPHONY 2007-2008
Celebrating 25 Years with Maestro Ramadanoff

Program Notes
© 2007-08 Mary Eichbauer

October 21, 2007 - Wes Kenney, Guest Conductor
Schnittke:  Moz-Art à la Haydn: A Game with Music
Mozart:  Sinfonia Concertante
Haydn: Symphony No. 88 in G major

September 22, 2007 - From Russia with Love
Rimsky-Korsakov:  Capriccio espagnol
Rachmaninoff:  Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
Tchaikovsky:  Symphony No. 2, "Little Russian"

October 21, 2007 - Wes Kenney, Guest Conductor

Alfred Garyevich Schnittke (1934-1998).  Moz-Art à la Haydn: A Game with Music.
Composed 1977.  Scored for two small string orchestras (each with three violins, one viola, one cello), double bass, and two solo violins.

The menuetto: allegretto movement begins as a stately dance put forward and echoed between sections of the orchestra.  The allegretto interlude is played more legato, or smoothly, than the rest of the movement, and includes a held background note, called a drone.  The drone, reminiscent of a bagpipe, and displaced accents, give the movement an almost folk-song texture and character.  The menuetto returns to end the movement,

The finale, which is played allegro con spirito, again sets out a simple theme that is inventively developed and echoed among winds, brass, and strings.  A furious passage that almost seems ready to become a fugue suddenly softens.  Mincing strings alternate soft and loud passages to introduce the exciting rondo that concludes the work. top

September 22, 2007 - From Russia with Love

Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908).  Capriccio espagnol, Op. 34. 
Composed 1887; first performed 31 October 1887 in St. Petersburg, with Rimsky-Korsakov conducting.  Scored for: 2 flutes, piccolo, 2 oboes (one doubling English horn), 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, bass drum, cymbals, snare drum, triangle, tambourine, castanets, harp, and strings.

Born in St. Petersburg, Rimsky-Korsakov started his career in the Russian Navy, but soon joined a group of amateur composers called “The Five,” known for their opposition to the prevailing musical taste of the time, under Peter the Great.  Only Western music was considered worth listening to, and Russian folk themes were not respected as raw material for classical music.  (Ironically, at this same time, composers in Western Europe were using their own countries’ folk themes for inspiration.)  Things changed for the composer when he was appointed to teach at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, and found that he needed to learn the principles of harmony and counterpoint so that he could teach them to his students.  Today, this self-taught man is known as one of the most brilliant orchestrators of modern times.  When praised for his magnificent orchestration of Capriccio espagnol, however, Rimsky-Korsakov emphatically distinguished between orchestration as the mechanical assignment of themes and harmonies to certain instruments, and a superior talent he felt that he possessed: knowing exactly which instrument produced a timbre, or voice, suitable for each effect he was trying to produce.  Each solo instrument, each section, sings out with a unique articulation of sound, almost as if the instruments were trying to speak.  This is one of the most expressive works ever written for orchestra.

Capriccio espagnol is a joy both to hear and to play, as evidenced by the orchestra’s reaction at the work’s first rehearsals, conducted by Rimsky-Korsakov himself.  Unable to suppress their enthusiasm, the musicians continually interrupted the work to applaud its composer.  Delighted by this response, Rimsky-Korsakov decided to dedicate the work to the orchestra—not just as a group, but as individuals.  On the title page of the published work, he named every one of them.

Consisting of five short movements played without pause, Capriccio espagnol begins with a brief, happy Alborada (“Morning Dance”).  Led by the deep beat of the timpani and the festive sound of the full orchestra, the solo clarinet joins the sprightly dance.  The solo violin comes to dance in its turn.  The action slows and stops with a roll of the timpani.

The Variazioni (“Variations”) begins with a lovely, slow harmony by French horns that will be passed around through the orchestra in slightly different versions.  Strings repeat the delicate melody, imbuing it with their own distinctive character.  Tremolo in the strings underlies a sadder melody passed between the lonely voices of the English and French horns.  Strings return to repeat their earlier variation, with reminders of the lonely horn melody.  The harp accompanies the winds, which repeat the melody once again, followed by strings.  A flute plays ascending and descending scales as strings repeat a section of the haunting melody.  The movement ends with a simple plucked string.

The Alborada returns, only now the solos are displaced, with the clarinet taking over for the violin, and vice versa, as they engage in a lively dialogue.  The clarinet plays quick, flowing scales that are almost glissandi, and the brief movement ends with a fanfare.

A drumroll introduces the brass playing a majestic Spanish melody as a fanfare in Scena e canto gitano (“Scene and Gypsy Song”).  A dramatic violin cadenza repeats the theme with ringing chords and arpeggios, ending with harmonics.  Timpani, snare drum, and crisp, ricochet bowing and pizzicato in the strings form a background for the exotic melody, played by flute.  The flute plays a cadenza, then the clarinet.  The harp is heard, and the full orchestra jumps in, with the upper strings playing the theme emphatically against accompaniment by winds and percussion.  The violin and clarinet play a complex, intertwined melody.  Gradually, the full orchestra returns, as the music alternates quiet passages with stormy ones.

In a surprising move, Rimsky-Korsakov forbears to resolve his fourth movement when we expect it.  Instead, he interjects the Fandango asturiano (“Asturian fandango”), which begins without pause.  Its completely different character indicates a radical change from what went before. The violins—together, and then solo—play a rocking melody that sounds like a country dance played by a fiddler.  Solo instruments take turns playing this cheerful tune.  Excitement builds as the themes from the Alborada and the Scena return to be played against the fandango.  Galloping strings race through the past themes, rushing to a brilliant ending.

Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943).  Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43.
Composed July-August 1934; first performed 7 November 1934 in Baltimore, Maryland, with Rachmaninoff as piano soloist.  Scored for: 2 flutes, piccolo, 2 oboes (one doubling English horn), 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, glockenspiel, bass drum, suspended cymbal, snare drum, cymbals, triangle, harp, strings, and solo piano.

Niccolo Paganini (1782-1840) was the greatest violinist of his time, perhaps of all time.  Many of the virtuoso techniques common among violinists today were either invented or popularized by him.  His 24 Caprices for Solo Violin, Op. 1, especially the incredibly difficult Caprice No. 24 in A minor, have influenced composers such as Liszt, Chopin, Schumann, Brahms, and many violinists, such as Fritz Kreisler, who sought to emulate his virtuosity.  These were not the only musicians who took up Paganini’s implicit challenge by writing variations of their own to match the master’s.

As a piano virtuoso well known for his thirteen-note reach, Sergei Rachmaninoff might have wanted to wrestle with Paganini’s ghost—Paganini was said to have sold his soul to the devil for his talent—by writing a work that would be as fiendishly difficult for piano as Paganini’s Caprices were for violin.  Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody is divided into 26 sections: a brief introduction, a statement of the theme, and 24 variations, each lasting from 20 seconds to nearly three minutes.

The Rhapsody is played without pause, but it does divide up into three “movements” by tempo and mood.  Movement I surprises us by beginning with a variation before stating the theme.  The first movement lasts until section 10; the second from 11 to 18, and the finale from 19 to 24.  In the seventh variation, and several times afterwards, something strange happens: the pianist plays the theme from the Dies Irae, an apocalyptic plainchant about the Day of Judgment that was part of the Medieval Latin Mass.  By using this as a counter-theme, Rachmaninoff makes an ironic comment about the whiff of sulfur surrounding Paganini, and, by extension, himself and all virtuosi.  Music is in the moment, dying the very second it is played, no matter how talented the mortal who performs it.  This ominous theme becomes an idée fixe in Rachmaninoff’s work, a reminder of mortality in the midst of musical splendor.

Strings begin abruptly, and the piano jumps in with supporting chords.  At first, the piece feels dry, like an etude.  This is actually the first variation, played before the statement of the theme, which comes next.  Again, the piano stays in the background as the strings play Paganini’s theme.  The piano comes to the fore in Variation II and restates the theme with some embellishment.  In the third variation, the orchestra plays the embellishment just played by the piano, while the piano takes a supporting role.  In Variation IV the piano plays both parts, and excitement begins to build.  In Variation V, the first really complicated rhythm for the piano appears, but in VI, things slow down.  The piano restates the theme differently with each hand (in smooth legato and crisp staccato), while the English horn plays a plaintive version of the theme.  Variation VII places slow chords by the piano against a recurring, four-note bassoon solo, and muted, pizzicato strings.  Rachmaninoff cleverly hides this first statement of the Dies Irae theme by slowing it down so much that we have to listen for it.  Variation VIII bursts upon us with emphatic chords, while IX adds a diabolically difficult off-the-beat rhythm.  In X, the last variation of the first movement, there is no mistaking the Dies Irae theme and its sinister accompaniment that suddenly gives was to a jazz-like interlude.  Falling scales by the piano against the Dies Irae theme in the orchestra conclude the movement.

Variation XI brings us a haunting tremolo accompaniment and a series of mysterious cadenzas, while XII is an exquisite, slow minuet.  Variation XIII reminds us of other Rachmaninoff piano works; the orchestra states the theme broadly while the piano plays chords that jump over a wide span of the keyboard.  Variation XIV is similar in technique, but turns the theme around, for a noticeably different, and much more modern, sound.  In Variation XV, the orchestra remains mostly silent while the piano puts on a display of difficult pyrotechnics.  The tempo slows down again in XVI, and the mysterious character returns.  Various instruments—violin, English horn, French horn—play lovely solos.  Variation XVII continues the melancholy mood of the previous variation with its slow three-quarter-time arpeggios.  Variation XVIII is the longest variation and the melodic center of the work, an expressive melody that has found a place in many movie scores.

In Variation XIX, the soloist plays a series of fast arpeggios with both hands, while making the music sound perfectly uniform in timing and dynamics.  The strings are busy in Variation XX.  Variation XXI interjects descending chromatic scales whose diabolical sound prepares us for a restatement of the Dies Irae theme.  In the military-sounding Variation XXII, the piano and strings build a wave of sound that carries through Variation XXIII.  The final variation brings back the descending chromatic scales, as well as elements from earlier variations.  The Dies Irae theme is given one final statement before we race forward—then halt, for a restrained, ironic ending.

Peter Illyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893).  Symphony No. 2 in C minor, “Little Russian,” Op. 17. 
Composed 1872; first performed 7 February 1873 in Moscow (revised version performed 1881 in St. Petersburg).  Scored for: 2 flutes, piccolo, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, bass drum, cymbals, tam-tam, and strings.

Tchaikovsky and Russian music developed side by side.  Before his time, there existed little Russian musical tradition aside from folk songs.  Western music—and art and literature—were preferred by the czar and his court, some of whom never even learned to speak Russian, but conversed politely in French, finding their native tongue crude and unsuitable for refined discussions.

With the Romantic Movement in Western Europe came an interest in all sorts of indigenous art forms, from folk tales to music.  Expression of emotion, not perfect adherence to form, became not only acceptable, but desirable.  Artists and writers began to explore their roots, searching for “authentic” stories that expressed their own idealized national character.

Tchaikovsky had his differences with the Russian Nationalist group of composers dubbed by their disparagers as “the Mighty Handful,” or “the Five,” which included Rimsky-Korsakov.  Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony won their praises, however, and Tchaikovsky even played a piano version of the Finale at Rimsky-Korsakov’s home.  The Five’s stated goal was to found a school of music based on Russian, not traditional European, motifs.  Tchaikovsky's Second Symphony owes its nickname “Little Russian” to its inclusion of Russian, and specifically Ukrainian, folk themes.  (The Ukraine was known as “Little Russia” in Tchaikovsky’s time, but the term does not find favor there today.)  Tchaikovsky said that he owed the inspiration of the Finale to the butler at his summer home, who went about his duties singing The Crane, a Russian folk song.

Much of Tchaikovsky’s music is dark and emotionally wrenching—a fitting expression of his difficult life.  He has often been compared to his contemporary, the writer Dostoyevsky, whose overwrought prose suffers a similar catharsis.  In contrast, the Second Symphony stands out for being almost uniformly cheerful.

A forceful chord opens the long Andante sostenuto section of the first movement, followed by a plaintive song played by solo French horn.  The tune is from a traditional Ukrainian song called Down by Mother Volga.  The oboe echoes the theme, and other winds echo and extend it until a climax is reached, adding brass and strings.  The horn repeats the plaintive tune, tapering off to silence.  The oboe introduces a new theme, ushering in the Allegro vivo portion of the first movement, which is picked up by the strings.  This theme is developed extensively by the full orchestra to an emotional peak.  A sort of trio in the winds interrupts the intensity with a lyrical passage.  From this comes a dramatic moment from which strings emerge to repeat the theme.  Excitement builds as the brass joins the strings.  The winds enter to calm things down for another quiet moment, and the horn repeats the original andante theme against plucked strings, until the bassoon takes over and ends the movement.

The Andantino marziale second movement begins, as its name suggests, with a martial theme, led by the timpani at a walking pace.  Soon the military atmosphere dissolves into a sweeter, lighter mood. (Tchaikovsky salvaged much of this movement from a bridal march in Undine, an opera he composed in 1869, but whose manuscript he later destroyed.)  The movement ends calmly, fading out, as we imagine the procession growing further and further away.

The lively Scherzo: allegro vivace third movement brings back some excitement with a substantial theme that builds by steps up a scale and then descends precipitously.  The central trio, with its call-and-response structure, has a folk-song character, but is not actually derived from a folk tune.  Pizzicato strings lead to an abrupt chord that resolves this movement and leads us from the C-minor home key of the symphony to the cheerful key of C major, and the Allegro vivo finale.

Dramatic opening chords command our attention.  Combined with the following chords, they seem to recall Alexis Luvov’s God Save the Czar, later used by Tchaikovsky in his 1812 Overture.  But, after this grandiose introduction, scurrying violins, imitating plucked folk instruments like the balalaika, replay the complete theme in a way that reminds us what it is: a simple Ukrainian folk tune, The Crane.  As the basis for a multitude of variations by the full orchestra, this folk theme becomes as majestic as any “original” music.  Another, more lyrical theme, played by violins, recalls other folk motifs in the piece, and forms a contrast with the forceful “Crane” theme.  By turns, the themes work together and struggle apart through a series of variations that evoke changing moods.  Just in the middle of a passage of intense seriousness, a rollicking piccolo provides one of the lightest, most self-referential moments in all of Tchaikovsky’s oeuvre.  A dark descent in the brass leads to a pause punctuated by tam-tam, followed by a rousing conclusion. top