philadelphia orchestra · jeffrey curnow, associate principal gary and ruthanne schlarbaum chair...

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PHILADELPHIA

YANNICK NÉZET-SÉGUINCONDUCTOR

STOKOWSKI CELEBRATION

JUNE 21-23, 2012ACADEMY OF MUSIC

PROGRAM

ORCHESTRA

THE

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STOKOWSKI CELEBRATIONJune 21-23, 2012

YANNICK NÉZET-SÉGUINConductor

JAMES ALEXANDERArtistic Director, Symphony V.0

YZ

Table of ContentsPg. 6 The Stokowski Era, by Joseph Horowitz

Pg. 10 Stokowski and Fantasia, by Joseph Horowitz and Richard Freed

Pg. 12 June 21 Program

Pg. 17 June 22 Program

Pg. 24 June 23 Family Program

Pg. 26 June 23 Audience Choice Program

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Charles Dutoit Chief ConductorWalter and Leonore Annenberg Chair

Yannick Nézet-SéguinMusic Director Designate

Wolfgang SawallischConductor LaureateCristian MacelaruAssistant Conductor

First ViolinsDavid Kim, ConcertmasterDr. Benjamin Rush ChairJuliette Kang, First Associate ConcertmasterJoseph and Marie Field ChairMarc Rovetti, Acting Associate ConcertmasterNoah Geller, Acting Assistant ConcertmasterHerbert Light Larry A. Grika ChairBarbara GovatosWilson H. and Barbara B. Taylor ChairJonathan BeilerHirono OkaRichard AmorosoRobert and Lynne Pollack ChairYayoi NumazawaJason De PueLisa-Beth LambertJennifer HaasMiyo CurnowElina KalendarevaDaniel Han

Second ViolinsKimberly Fisher, PrincipalPeter A. Benoliel ChairPaul Roby, Associate PrincipalSandra and David Marshall Chair

Dara Morales, Assistant PrincipalAnne M. Buxton ChairPhilip KatesMitchell and Hilarie Morgan Family Foundation ChairBooker RoweDavyd BoothPaul ArnoldLorraine and David Popowich ChairYumi Ninomiya ScottDmitri LevinBoris BalterWilliam PolkAmy Oshiro-Morales

ViolasChoong-Jin Chang, PrincipalRuth and A. Morris Williams ChairKirsten Johnson, Associate PrincipalKerri Ryan, Assistant PrincipalJudy Geist Renard EdwardsAnna Marie Ahn PetersenPiasecki Family ChairDavid NicastroBurchard TangChe-Hung Chen Rachel KuMarvin MoonJonathan Chu

CellosHai-Ye Ni, PrincipalAlbert and Mildred Switky ChairEfe Baltacıgil, Associate Principal*Yumi Kendall, Acting Associate PrincipalJohn Koen, Acting Assistant PrincipalWendy and Derek Pew Foundation Chair

Richard Harlow Gloria de PasqualeOrton P. and Noël S. Jackson ChairKathryn Picht ReadWinifred and Samuel Mayes ChairRobert CafaroVolunteer Committees ChairOhad Bar-DavidCatherine R. and Anthony A. Clifton ChairDerek BarnesMollie and Frank Slattery ChairAlex Veltman

BassesHarold Robinson, PrincipalCarole and Emilio Gravagno ChairMichael Shahan, Associate PrincipalJoseph Conyers, Assistant PrincipalJohn HoodHenry G. ScottDavid FayDuane RosengardRobert Kesselman

Some members of the string sections voluntarily rotate seating on a periodic basis.

FlutesJeffrey Khaner, PrincipalPaul and Barbara Henkels ChairDavid Cramer, Associate PrincipalRachelle and Ronald Kaiserman ChairLoren N. LindKazuo Tokito, Piccolo

OboesRichard Woodhams, PrincipalSamuel S. Fels ChairPeter Smith, Associate Principal

The Philadelphia Orchestra2011-2012 Season

Jonathan BlumenfeldEdwin Tuttle Chair Elizabeth Starr Masoudnia, English HornJoanne T. Greenspun Chair

ClarinetsRicardo Morales, PrincipalLeslie Miller and Richard Worley ChairSamuel Caviezel, Associate PrincipalSarah and Frank Coulson ChairRaoul QuerzePeter M. Joseph and Susan Rittenhouse Joseph ChairPaul R. Demers, Bass Clarinet

BassoonsDaniel Matsukawa, PrincipalRichard M. Klein ChairMark Gigliotti, Co-PrincipalAngela AndersonHolly Blake, Contrabassoon

HornsJennifer Montone, PrincipalGray Charitable Trust ChairJeffrey Lang, Associate PrincipalJeffry KirschenDaniel WilliamsDenise TryonShelley Showers

TrumpetsDavid Bilger, PrincipalMarguerite and Gerry Lenfest ChairJeffrey Curnow, Associate PrincipalGary and Ruthanne Schlarbaum ChairRobert W. Earley

TrombonesNitzan Haroz, PrincipalNeubauer Family Foundation ChairMatthew Vaughn, Associate PrincipalEric CarlsonBlair Bollinger, Bass TromboneDrs. Bong and Mi Wha Lee Chair

TubaCarol Jantsch, PrincipalLyn and George M. Ross Chair

TimpaniDon S. Liuzzi, PrincipalDwight V. Dowley ChairAngela Zator Nelson, Associate PrincipalPatrick and Evelyn Gage Chair

PercussionChristopher Deviney, PrincipalMrs. Francis W. De Serio Chair

Anthony Orlando, Associate PrincipalAnn R. and Harold A. Sorgenti ChairAngela Zator Nelson

Piano and CelestaKiyoko Takeuti

HarpsElizabeth Hainen, PrincipalPatricia and John Imbesi ChairMargarita Csonka Montanaro, Co-Principal

LibrariansRobert M. Grossman, PrincipalSteven K. Glanzmann

Stage PersonnelEdward Barnes, ManagerJames J. Sweeney, Jr.James P. Barnes

*On leave

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Named one of “Tomorrow’s Conducting Icons” by Gramophone magazine, Yannick Nézet-Séguin has become one of today’s most sought-after conduc-tors, widely praised for his musicianship, dedication, and charisma. A native of Montreal, he made his Philadelphia Orchestra debut in 2008 and in June 2010 was named the Orchestra’s next music director, beginning with the 2012-13 season. Artistic direc-tor and principal conductor of Montreal’s Orchestre Métropolitain since 2000, he became music director of the Rotterdam Philharmonic and principal guest conductor of the London Philharmonic in 2008.

In addition to concerts with The Philadelphia Orchestra, Mr. Nézet-Séguin’s 2011-12 season included his Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, debut; a tour of Ger-many with the Rotterdam Philharmonic; appearances at the Metropolitan Opera, La Scala, and Netherlands Opera; and return visits to the Vienna and Berlin philharmonics and the Dresden Staatskapelle. Recent engagements have included the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the Boston Symphony, and the Orchestre National de France; Vienna Philharmonic projects at the 2011 Salzburg, Montreux, and Lucerne festivals; and debut appearances at the Bavarian Radio Symphony and the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia. Mr. Nézet-Séguin’s Rotterdam Philharmonic recordings for EMI/Virgin comprise an Edison Award-winning disc of works by Ravel, the Beethoven and Korngold violin concertos with Renaud Capuçon, and Fantasy: A Night at the Opera with flutist Em-manuel Pahud. Recent releases with BIS Records include Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben and Four Last Songs and Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique and Death of Cleopatra. Mr. Nézet-Séguin has also recorded several award-winning albums with the Orchestre Mét-ropolitain for ATMA Classique. Mr. Nézet-Séguin studied piano, conducting, composition, and chamber music at Montreal’s Conservatory of Music and continued his studies with renowned conductors, most notably Carlo Maria Giulini. He also studied choral conducting with Joseph Flum-merfelt at Westminster Choir College. Mr. Nézet-Séguin’s honors include a Royal Phil-harmonic Society Award, an Echo Award, the Virginia-Parker Award from the Canada Council, and the National Arts Centre Award. He was awarded an honorary doctorate by the University of Quebec in Montreal in 2011.

Stage Director James Alexander has had an extensive career in the performing arts, where among other things he founded a music theater company in his native Scotland, managed the Boston Pops on international tours, and directed both plays and musicals in London’s West End. Mr. Alexander has also been on the A&R team at the Decca Record Company, managed classical soloists and conduc-tors, and produced television and staged operas on three continents with a large number of prestigious companies, orchestras, and conductors. In Europe his productions and engagements range from staging Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra to various productions with Scottish Opera, Opera North, the Gabrieli Consort & Play-ers, and to the Olivier Award-winning production of Carmen Jones at London’s Old Vic Theatre. In the U.S. Mr. Alexander has been a long-time collaborator with Seiji Ozawa and the Boston Symphony, where he helped create stagings of Strauss’s Elektra and Salome, Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades, Mozart’s Idomeneo, and the 50th Anniversary production of Britten’s Peter Grimes at Tanglewood. More recently he collaborated with conductor Roger Norrington on a highly-acclaimed production of Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro for Cincinnati Opera. Mr. Alexander recently staged a Theater of a Concert presentation of John Adams’s opera A Flowering Tree for the Atlanta Symphony. This summer he will create a produc-tion of Mozart’s The Magic Flute at the Aspen Music Festival, for which he has written new dialogue in English. In early 2012 Mr. Alexander became artistic director for Sym-phony V.0, a production company he founded that is dedicated to realizing revolutionary technological presentations with symphony orchestras and opera companies.

Symphony V.0 is a collective of creative professionals who design rich interactive experiences for orchestras and opera companies across the world. Symphony V.0 uses the latest technology in light and video to create a hybrid of symphonic music and oper-atic staging to inspire a new generation of audiences.

James Alexander, Artistic Director Brian Pirkle, Director of Production Ryan Richards, Technical Director Jeff Sandstrom, Director of Creative Services Dorian Usherwood, Director, Business Development Jon H. Weir, Lighting Designer Brad Sitton, Content Developer

Yannick Nézet-Séguin Symphony V.0

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that capacity at St. Bartholomew’s in New York, beginning in 1905. He became music director of the Cincinnati Symphony in 1909. He was conductor of The Philadelphia Orchestra from 1912 to 1936, and shared the podium with Eugene Ormandy for another five seasons. In later life, he conducted the All-American Youth Symphony, the Houston Symphony, and the American Symphony. He died in England in 1977. Stokowski’s glamour was both authentic and plotted. The pianist Olga Samaroff (born Lucy Hickenlooper in Texas) helped manufacture his pedigree. First she had to manufacture his debut. Two years prior to marrying Stokowski in 1911, Olga was already a successful virtuoso with shrewd instincts and powerful friends, which she used to interest Cincinnati in her future husband. The only obstacle to Stokowski’s Cincinnati appointment was his inexperience; he had never led a symphonic concert. This Olga arranged, with her mother’s help, in Paris, where she appeared on May 12, 1909, under Stokowski’s baton. Herman Thurman, music critic of the Cincinnati Enquirer, and Luc-ien Wulsin, of the Cincinnati Symphony advisory board, attended. Stokowski was named music director of the Cincinnati Symphony five days later. He claimed he was all of 22 (actually 27) years old. His Cincinnati tenure made Stokowski a name. That is to say, it served as a stepping stone to Philadelphia, where Olga was especially well connected. The city’s orchestra and its conductor, Carl Pohlig, were a disappointment to Main Liners who sought a cultural adornment to rival the orchestras of New York, Boston, and Chicago. When Stokowski resigned his Cincinnati position in 1912, he offered an unconvincing list of reasons to the Cincinnati Post. In fact, another post—an East Coast podium—was wait-ing for him. Olga had paved the way and tirelessly socialized on his behalf. And she successfully urged Stokowski to italicize the Slavic part of his background. His country of origin became Poland. And the accent and syntax of his speech became, if not exactly Polish, foreign to England or America. Other Stokowski attributes were natural. He was tall and slender. His eyes—in contrast to the roman-tic pallor of his complexion—were icy blue, his nose was aquiline, his mouth sensuously full. His blond hair, brushed straight back from the forehead, was artistically un-kempt. On the podium, he was tense and erect in his embodiment of authority, impetuously fluid in his sud-den interpretive inspirations. Once, in 1926, he experimented with a spot-light focused on his head and hands and the Orchestra swathed in darkness. He conduct-ed without a baton, his long fingers mobile and spread, beginning in 1929.

The 1916 U.S. premiere of Mahler’s Symphony No. 8 with Stokowski and The Philadelphia Orchestra

boasted 950 choristers, an orchestra of 110, and eight vocal soloists

The Stokowski Era Symphonic pioneer, Hollywood celebrity, musical mystic Leopold Stokowski counts as one of the most glamorous figures of the 20th cen-tury. His story is also Philadelphia’s, for it was under his baton that the city’s Orchestra grew into one of the world’s great ensembles. In an ex-cerpt from his chapter in The Philadelphia Orchestra: A Century of Mu-sic, published in 1999 as part of the Orchestra’s centennial celebration, Joseph horowitz ponders the life and times of Stokowski the Great.

The composer Marc Blitzstein once called the inter-war decades “the platinum Orchestra Age.” Three American orchestras and their conductors achieved unprecedented prestige and celebrity dur-ing those years. The orchestras were the New York Philharmonic, the Boston Symphony, and The Phila-delphia Orchestra; the conductors: Arturo Toscanini, Serge Koussevitzky, and Leopold Stokowski.

Toscanini was the presiding American musical icon, the first conductor to become the “world’s most famous musician”—a distinction previously accord-ed musicians (Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt) who both performed and composed. Toscanini was also the first “great conductor” to be divorced from the music of his own time. A performance specialist anchored in the past, he set the mold for the Soltis and Karajans to come.

If not Toscanini-scale culture gods, Koussevitzky and Stokowski were glamorous mega-personalities. But both rejected the Toscanini model. A lifelong devotee of new music, Koussevitzky raised a flag for contemporary American composers: “The next Beethoven vill from Colorado come,” he declared. Sto-kowski’s pronouncements were utopian: Music would unite Eastern and Western cul-tures; it would unify the world. Toscanini’s musical orientation was shaped by Italy and Verdi, Koussevitzky’s by Moscow and Paris; Stokowski was sui generis. Even his origins were elusive. He claimed to have been born in 1887. He said Cracow was his birthplace, or that his family was from a town called Stoki or Stokki, near Lublin. Denying reports he was once named Leopold Stokes, he declared his name at birth to have been Leopold Antoni Stanislaw Boleslawowicz Stokowski. The facts are these. He was born Leopold Anthony Stokowski in London in 1882. His father, also London-born, was of Polish extraction. His mother was originally named Anne Moore. He trained as an organist at the Royal College of Music and served in

Leopold Stokowski in 1912, the year he left the Cincinnati

Symphony for Philadelphia

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would be humorous or grave, ironic or sentimental.” Could such a person be a great musician? Many had their doubts. He lacked Tosca-nini’s ear. He was a showman. He was said not to have written his orchestrations. And yet his most tangible accomplishments were purely musical. The core of the Stokowski career—his longest tenure anywhere by far—was his music directorship in Philadel-phia. He made the Orchestra matter. In fact, as William Kincaid, his peerless principal flutist, put it, “It can be said that Stokowski invented The Philadelphia Orchestra.” Certainly The Philadelphia Orchestra as we know it did not exist when Stokowski arrived. “It was no orchestra at all,” Stokowski himself once recalled. “It had a stiff rhythm, hard tone, and no flexibility or imagination. Everyone played meaningless notes. Everything was terribly mechanical. There were only four first-class performers, An-ton Horner, the first horn; Otto Henneberg, third horn; a remarkable timpanist, Oscar Schwar; and the concertmaster, Thaddeus Rich.” Stokowski showed up for the first rehearsal wearing a light blue shirt open at the neck and grey flannel trousers. He said “Guten Tag. Brahms! First mooment”—and the baton descended, catching some of the players unprepared. Stokowski stopped and bent forward, his blue eyes blazing, his stick poised aloft. A second downbeat galvanized the Orchestra. “I could hardly recognize the men I had been playing with or the music that we thought we knew so well,” recalled Schwar. “It was as though we had been given some magic potion. Of course, in a way we had, for none of us had ever experienced such authority and vitality before. “This man went straight to the heart of the music. … With hardly a word of expla-nation, with no more than a twitch of a wrist or an eyebrow, he extracted the most from every player. Only his facial expressions became more intense and his shoulder muscles more contracted as his burning eyes and curled fingers coaxed us to ever greater expres-siveness and sonority. At the end of the movement, having played our hearts out in re-sponse to the man’s irresistible sweep, having been interrupted only a few times by some gentle suggestion or helpful comment, we were all filled with new hope and excitement.” If at all a charlatan or showman, Stokowski was nevertheless essentially a prin-cipled fantasist. He created his own personal history, his own orchestra, his own style of music-making. If he misjudged his post-Philadelphia opportunities, his impatience with the symphonic norm, its rites and repertoire, was irremediable. His belief in music as a “universal language” was not a belief in Bach and Beethoven merely: He embraced music of Latin America, Africa, and Asia, and that of the composers—Chávez, Cowell, Harrison, Messiaen, McPhee, Varèse, and Villa-Lobos—to whom it mattered. He may yet prove prophetic. ß

After a 20-year absence, Stokowski returned to The Philadelphia Orchestra in 1960

as a guest conductor

The Stokowski personality at full throt-tle was powerfully ineffable. His residence at 1716 Rittenhouse Square was a former coach house fronted by a garage door. The chartreuse living room included a Stokowski-designed fireplace. Its Navajo rugs and blankets notwith-standing, the two-story apartment was spartan. Residents of the Barclay Hotel could observe Stokowski sunbathing in the nude in a boarded enclosure in back. His frequent visitors, also keenly observed, included local music students whom he was accustomed to greet in red or yel-low lounging pajamas. (In later life, Stokowski kept a New York apartment with a pale blue study: pale blue ceiling, pale blue walls, pale blue carpet, pale blue chairs, and a pale blue Steinway. He would greet visitors in pale blue shoes, pale blue trousers, and a pale blue shirt.)

The oboist Ralph Gomberg, then a student at the Curtis Institute of Music, called the Stokowski home “a shrine for young musicians.” Some young musicians—with whom Stokowski slept, according to his biographer, pianist Abram Chasins—were called his “nurses.” “Nurses are lifesavers,” he once explained to Chasins. “They are angels of mercy who rejuvenate us.” To a friend who inquired if he had a “conscience,” he re-plied: “None. Conscience is that which hurts when everything else feels marvelous. The percentage is against it.” Evangeline Johnson, Stokowski’s second wife, was a woman who could appreciate such eccentricities. A tall, free-spirited New York debutant 16 years his junior, she flew her own airplane and maintained her own Park Avenue apartment. Shortly after meet-ing, she and Stokowski exchanged “inner ideals.” Stokowski’s read: “To reach up to ever higher planes of physical and inner life. To be frank, simple, clean (especially inside). To worship beauty, strength, love, nature, sun, moon, fire, water, air.” With Evangeline, Stokowski traveled to India (where they met with Gandhi and the theosophists Annie Besant and Krishnamurti) and Bali (where they obtained ceremonial gongs). In later life, Stokowski’s penchant for the exotic predisposed him to obscure foods and restaurants, as well as to a mixed drink combining heavy cream, pineapple juice, and honey. The record producer Charles O’Connell observed him slyly adding pure grain alcohol to the foregoing concoction. What kind of person was Stokowski? According to Chasins, “He was a loner and a romantic, a classicist and a modernist and none of these. The sure way to total frustration for Stokowski’s intimates was to attempt to clarify or reconcile his constant contradic-tions in statement or action. … In order to get along with him, one needed to adopt an utterly impersonal attitude. One never knew from one minute to the next whether he

The first page of Stokowski’s orchestration of the Bach

D-minor Chaconne

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Stokowski and Fantasia

(excerpt from The Philadelphia Orchestra: A Century of Music)

In 1940 Disney released Fantasia, a two-hour animated film with Stokowski con-ducting The Philadelphia Orchestra. Sto-kowski appeared in silhouette, summoning the Gothic splendors of his transcription of Bach’s D-minor Toccata and Fugue. Sealing his post-Philadelphia marriage with popular entertainment, he was seen shaking hands with Mickey Mouse. It was Stokowski who had inspired Walt Disney to commit to a full-length, classical-music showcase. Only Time could have offered the following interpretation, in its second cover story featuring Stokowski:

“Deciding to go the whole artistic hog, [Disney] picked the highest of high-brow classi-cal music. To do right by this music, the old mouse opera comedy was not enough. The Disney technicians racked their brains for stuff that would startle and awe rather than tickle the audience.” It worked. As the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Mickey startled and awed legions of susceptible lowbrows. Millions of youngsters and adults alike went to see Fantasia, expecting two hours of Mickey Mouse and Goofy. But they came away as converts to concert mu-sic after hearing the Philadelphians in two hours of Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, Musorgsky, Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Dukas, and Ponchielli.

—Joseph Horowitz/Richard Freed

Copyright © 2012 The Philadelphia Orchestra Association

Composer and radio commentator Deems Taylor, Stokowski, and Walt Disney review

story boards for Fantasia in 1940

Please visit the Stokowski exhibit in the lobby, which was produced by The Philadelphia Orchestra Association and

the University of Pennsylvania.

Images and artifacts for the exhibit and stage presentations were drawn from the Philadelphia Orchestra Archives and the University of Pennsylvania Rare Book and Manuscript Library.

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www.philorch.org 215.893.1955

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October 1912

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The moving Czech national anthem starts with a question: “Kde domov muj?” (Where is my Home?). Antonín Dvorák, the most famous of all Czech composers, might well have asked the same thing given the course of his career. Born in a provincial town in Bohemia, he was initially educated in Zlonice, a town not much bigger, before moving to Prague to complete his studies. He started his career there as violist at the Provisional Theater under the direction of Bedrich Smetana. Soon his own compositions began to pour forth and get noticed, and within two decades Dvorák’s fame and popular-ity extended far beyond his homeland. The English became particularly enamored of his music. Dvorák made eight trips there and was awarded an honorary doctorate from Cambridge University. His longest time abroad was the two and a half years he spent in America beginning in late September 1892. He came at the invitation of a visionary music patron, Jeannette Thurber, who made such a lucrative offer to become director of the National Conservatory of Music that Dvorák felt he could not turn it down. He spent the academic year in New York City, living with his wife and children in a brownstone at 327 East 17th Street. In the summer they all traveled to Spillville, Iowa, which boasted a large Czech community. Dvorák began writing a new symphony less than fourth months after his arrival and made rapid progress. By mid-April he reported in a letter: “I have not much work at school now, so that I have enough time for my own work and am now just finishing my E-minor Symphony. I take pleasure in it, and it will differ very considerably from my others. Indeed, the influence of America in it must be felt by everyone who has any ‘nose’ at all.” In another letter two days later he repeated how pleased he was with the work and how different this symphony was from his earlier ones, adding “It is perhaps turning out rather American!!!” Shortly before the premiere Dvorák gave the Symphony the subtitle “Z nového sveta” (“From the New World”), by which he explained he meant “Impressions and Greetings from the New World.” Anton Seidl conducted the premiere performances with the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall on December 15 and 16, 1893. One prominent critic declared it “the greatest symphony ever composed in this country.” Some of the reviewers raised the issue of writing a distinctively American symphony, commented on the mood of the work, and noted its use of indigenous sources. Dvorák had indeed been influenced by his surroundings and his exposure to a new culture and its music. It seems that among the materials Thurber had given him was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem The Song of Hiawatha, first published in 1855, which Dvorák had long known in a Czech translation. Although he never wrote a cantata or opera on this story, he acknowledged that at least two of the Symphony’s movements, the middle ones, are based on parts of the story.

Program Notes ØßØßSymphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 (“From the New World”)

Antonín Dvorák (Bohemian, 1841-1904)

The Philadelphia Orchestra(Founded 1900)

YANNICK NÉZET-SÉGUIN, Conductor

Thursday Evening at 8.00June 21, 2012

Program

There will be a 15-minute intermission after the Symphony.

Adagio—Allegro molto

Largo

Scherzo: Molto vivace

Allegro con fuoco—Meno mosso e maestoso—

Un poco meno mosso—Allegro con fuoco

I.

II.

III.

IV.

Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 (“From the New World”)

1. Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904)

Sheherazade, Op. 352. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)

I.

II.

III.

IV.

The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship

(Largo e maestoso—Allegro non troppo)

The Tale of the Kalander Prince

(Lento—Allegro molto)

The Young Prince and the Young Princess

(Andantino quasi allegretto)

Festival at Baghdad—The Sea—The Ship is Wrecked—

Conclusion (Allegro molto)

For a biography of Yannick Nézet-Séguin, please turn to page 4.

David Kim, solo violin

For the greater convenience of all concerned, it is earnestly hoped that the women patrons of the Orchestra WILL REMOVE THEIR HATS during the performance. In many cities local ordinances compel, by legal means, the removal of head coverings that obstruct the view in places of amusement. (October 1912)

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Dvorák also called upon American musical resources. He read an article that in-cluded musical examples of spirituals and heard some sung by an African-American student at the National Conservatory, Harry T. Burleigh (1866–1949). In an interview he gave to the New York Herald Dvorák discussed the influence of music by Native Americans: “I therefore carefully studied a certain number of Indian melodies which a friend gave me, and became thoroughly imbued with their characteristics—with their spirit, in fact. It is this spirit which I have tried to reproduce in my symphony. I have not actually used any of the melodies. I have simply written original themes embodying the peculiarities of Indian music, and, using these themes as subjects, have developed them with all the resources of modern rhythm, harmony, counterpoint, and orchestral color.” Listeners have long been fascinated by Dvorák’s references to these American sources, presented with a heavy Czech accent. That Czech musical accent is, of course, just as much a construction as the American idiom—Dvorák was crucial in its formation through his Slavonic Dances and other works. In its formal construction and ambition, the “New World” Symphony also calls on a Germanic heritage drawn both from the sym-phonies of Brahms and the symphonic poems of Liszt—there is even a brief allusion in the last movement to Wagner’s opera Tannhäuser. The four-movement Symphony begins with a mournful Adagio introduction that builds to an Allegro molto initiated by a prominent horn theme. One of the “Germanic” features of the Symphony is the recycling of themes between and among movements, leading to a parade of them in the fourth movement finale. The second theme is given by the flute and bears some resemblance to the spiritual “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” The famous Largo second movement relates to Hiawatha, although there is some debate about exactly which part of the story; a lamenting section in the middle seems to allude to the funeral of Minnehaha. The well-known English horn solo that opens the movement is not an actual spiritual, although through Dvorák’s invention it has in some ways become one—a student of his, William Arms Fisher, provided words for it in the 1920s as “Goin’ Home.” The Molto vivace scherzo opens with a passage that seems to refer to the scherzo of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Dvorák again acknowledged the influence of Longfel-low: “It was suggested by the scene at the feast in Hiawatha where the Indians dance, and is also an essay I made in the direction of imparting the local color of Indian char-acter to music.” The finale (Allegro con fuoco) provides a grand conclusion in its propulsive energy and review of themes from the previous movements.

—Christopher H. Gibbs

If Wagner is the father of our contemporary “music drama” and Brahms of the modern symphonic form, then their younger contemporary Rimsky-Korsakov is the father of 20th-century “orchestral sound”—the undisputed master of a strikingly intuitive idiom that spurred the instrumental innovations of Ravel, Stravinsky, and even Shostakovich. Nowhere is this style more remarkable than in his Sheherazade, the brilliant set of four musical sketches that depict loosely related episodes from The Arabian Nights (also known as A Thousand and One Nights), the series of folk tales that is the source of such characters as Ali Baba, Aladdin, and Sinbad. Rimsky-Korsakov’s instrumental color finds a perfect match in the perfumed exoticism of these stories from the Middle East. “The Sultan Shahriar, convinced of the perfidy and faithlessness of women, vowed to execute each of his wives after the first night.” So begins the preface to the composer’s first edition of his score to Sheherazade. “But the Sultana Sheherazade saved her own life by interesting the Sultan in tales she told him through 1001 nights. Impelled by curiosity, the Sultan continually put off her execution, and at last entirely abandoned his sanguinary resolve. Many marvels did Sheherazade relate to him, citing the verses of poets and the words of songs, weaving tale into tale and story into story.” The preface sets the tone for one of the most dazzlingly colorful and discursive works in the orchestral repertory. The descriptive titles were apparently suggested to the composer by his pupil Liadov; Rimsky-Korsakov later chose to suppress them for the work’s second edition. Composed in 1888, in the midst of his work on the great opera Prince Igor, Sheherazade is a product of Rimsky-Korsakov’s prime; it was first performed in St. Petersburg in November of the same year, to great acclaim. The titles that the composer so deplored continue to “stick,” partly because the music is so evocative that it invites such descriptions. “The program that guided me in the composition of Sheherazade,” he wrote, “consisted of separate, unconnected episodes and pictures from The Arabian Nights, scattered through all four movements of my suite: the Sea and Sinbad’s Ship (Movement I), the Story of Prince Kalander (II), the Young Prince and Princess (III), and the Festival in Baghdad, with the Ship Breaking Up Against a Cliff Surmounted by a Bronze Horseman (IV). The unifying thread consisted of the brief intermezzo in Movement III, written for violin solo and depicting Sheherazade herself, telling her wondrous tales to the stern Sultan.” The opening theme of the first movement might represent the Sultan’s booming voice, demanding that Sheherazade begin her stories; the willowy violin solo that follows, then, stands for her voice. The second movement represents the story of the Kalander who turns out to be a nobleman; the Kalanders were sort of itinerant magicians and showmen

Program Notes ØßØßProgram Notes ØßØßSheherazade, Op. 35 Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov

(Russian, 1844-1908)

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who appeared at Middle-Eastern courts from time to time. A romantic slow movement (III) relates a love story between the Prince Kamar al-Zanna and Princess Budur. The Finale relates a series of stories: “The Festival at Baghdad,” “The Sea,” “Shipwreck,” and a conclusion. Through the course of the piece one hears the theme representing the Sultan—who was so stern and threatening at the work’s opening—gradually yielding into something sensuous, cheerful, and even loving.

—Paul J. Horsley

Program notes © 2012. All rights reserved. Program notes may not be reprinted without written permission from

The Philadelphia Orchestra Association.



Friday Afternoon at 2.00June 22, 2012

Program

There will be a 15-minute intermission after the Symphony.

Un poco sostenuto—Allegro

Andante sostenuto

Un poco allegretto e grazioso

Adagio—Più andante—Allegro non troppo,

ma con brio—Più allegro

I.

II.

III.

IV.

Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 681. Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Caucasian Sketches, Suite No. 1, Op. 10

Overture to Tannhäuser


2. Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov (1859-1935)

3. Richard Wagner (1813-1883)

I.

II.

III.

IV.

In a Mountain Pass

In a Village

In a Mosque

Procession of the Sardar

Program Notes ØßØß

October 1912

Ticket Offices for all Philadelphia Orchestra Concerts in Philadelphia at Heppe’s, 1119 Chestnut Street. Reserved seats, $2.00, $1.50, $1.00, 75 cents, and 50 cents, according to location. Tickets to Amphitheatre, 25 cents, sold at the Academy only on the Afternoons and Evenings of Concerts. The Management reserves the right to increase prices of single tickets for special occasions. (October 1912)

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Clara Schumann informed Joachim that Brahms had sent it to her. Some dozen years fol-lowed before he picked up the thread, revising that movement and composing the others. Otto Dessoff conducted the premiere in provincial Karlsruhe. The early responses there and in larger cities were generally admiring, mixed with some puzzlement over the work’s austerity. The prominent conductor Hans von Bülow later hailed the Symphony as “The Tenth,” implying that Brahms had indeed fulfilled the prophesy Schumann had made so many years before. Eduard Hanslick, the formidable Viennese critic who was Brahms’s advocate and Wagner’s nemesis, commented on this legacy as well: “Seldom, if ever, has the entire musical world awaited a composer’s first symphony with such tense anticipation. … If I say that no composer has come so close to the style of late Beethoven as Brahms has in this finale, I don’t mean it as a paradoxical pronouncement, but rather as a simple statement of indisputable fact.” The imposing Un poco sostenuto introduction sets the tone for the seriousness of the Symphony, followed by an Allegro rich in thematic material and dense in its scoring and motivic unfolding. The second movement Andante sostenuto is in an A-B-A form, with an agitated middle section, framed by the outer parts that feature the oboe and in the reprise a lyrical solo for the violin. As with most of Brahms’s third movements, the Un poco allegretto e grazioso is a brief interlude. The finale, like the first movement, opens with a slow introduction, here in two sec-tions. An Adagio (the very beginning of which presents the main string theme of the move-ment in ultra slow motion and in a very high register) accelerates and grows increasingly turbulent—it is not quite clear where this all is heading until a dramatic timpani roll is sounded and the music shifts from minor to major. As if the sun were breaking through threatening clouds, a majestic horn call sounds forth (Più andante). A brass chorale fol-lows that will be transformed into a thrilling and triumphant apotheosis at the end of the movement. After all this introductory material the tempo changes to Allegro non troppo, ma con brio and we hear the hymn-like tune so much like Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” The similarity was immediately remarked upon by listeners and critics, to which Brahms alleg-edly replied “Any jackass can see that.” What posterity has been able to see even better is how brilliantly Brahms revitalized the genre of the symphony.


Despite eventually composing some of the greatest symphonies, overtures, and con-certos of his century, Brahms was slow to begin writing orchestral music. He faced a double burden in particular producing a first symphony. Brahms shared a dilemma with nearly all Romantic composers after Beethoven: how to write a symphony following the master’s Ninth. Schubert allegedly once remarked to a friend, “Secretly, in my heart of hearts, I still hope to be able to make something out of myself, but who can do anything after Beethoven?” In a similar vein, Brahms famously said to the conductor Hermann Levi: “You don’t know what it is like to walk in the footsteps of a giant.” But while Schubert, Schumann, Men-delssohn, and other early Romantics struggled with the legacy of Beethoven’s symphonies, Brahms, a generation younger, had to face in addition unusually weighty expectations for his development. This second burden was partially created by Robert Schumann, whom the 20-year-old Brahms first met through Joseph Joachim in 1853. Robert and his wife, Clara, took the young composer into their home and hearts. Robert, who had been a brilliant and powerful music critic years before, came out of journalistic retirement and submitted a brief review of Brahms’s first publications to the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, the prominent music peri-odical he had helped start nearly 20 years earlier. Schumann’s article, “Neue Bahnen” (New Paths), hailed Brahms as the musical mes-siah the artistic world had been awaiting since Beethoven’s death. It was a dream review, especially from the pen of one of the leading critics and composers of the era, but also one that created extraordinary expectations that put severe pressure on the young Brahms. Schumann in fact based his praise on relatively few works, mainly ones for piano. The piano sonatas already were “like disguised symphonies,” Schumann wrote, and gave hope for greater things to come. However, Brahms’s First Symphony took more than another 20 years to arrive. Brahms’s path to creating a symphony worthy of Beethoven’s heritage was littered with musical materials that he diverted to other projects, as well as to what might be considered other “symphonies in disguise.” The mighty orchestral opening of his First Piano Concerto was at one time intended for a symphony, as were parts of A German Requiem. The closest Brahms got in his 20s to composing an actual symphony were two orchestral serenades published in 1860. His triumph with the Variations on a Theme by Haydn in 1873 may have given him even more confidence in his orchestral prowess and also encouragement to stick with a classicizing aesthetic agenda very much in contrast to the programmatic works of Berlioz, Liszt, and other “progressive” figures. Although parts of the First Symphony may date back to the 1850s, the opening movement (without the slow introduction) was apparently written around 1862, when

Program Notes ØßØßSymphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68 Johannes Brahms

(German, 1833-1897)


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coaches in the mountain pass. Then the running string figures represent the flowing river, and rising brass choruses paint the mountain peaks. In the contrasting middle section, the reeds imitate the sound of the zurna, a popular folk instrument in the Caucasus. In the poetic second movement (In a Village), an old folk musician and his younger colleague are sitting on the roof of their hut improvising on exotic folk melodies. Here the composer imitates the sound of the tar (a Persian stringed instrument popular in the Caucasus) and the duduk (a reed instrument similar to the zurna). In the middle of their improvisation a girl appears, and they change their music to a dance before resuming the slower duet. The composer based the third movement (In a Mosque) on a folk melody he had notated in the Georgian coastal city of Batumi, adding in some other themes of what he termed a generally “Arab character.” Here the scene is the sunset prayer or Maghrib, with the call-to-prayer intoned by the muezzin from the minaret, and ending with the peaceful sunset itself. The drama and vivid exoticism of the final march (Procession of the Sardar) have led to its frequent programming in orchestral pops concerts, and it is by far Ippolitov-Ivanov’s best-known music. Based on a march tune from the Turkish town of Zeytun, it depicts a military parade led by the Sardar (the Turkish equivalent of a Commander or General) in which the noisy crowd eagerly presses in for a closer view before being pushed back by the guards. With its exotic melody and evocations of Turkish janissary music, it is the most vibrant and striking of the Caucasian Sketches.

—Luke Howard

Wagner began sketching Tannhäuser in 1839, while living in Paris. After writing his own libretto (as he did for all of his operas), he composed the music from the summer of 1843 to January 1845, and tackled the Overture last, completing the entire work on April 13, 1845. The opera was premiered in Dresden that year and underwent various revisions before its publication in 1860. The following year Wagner extensively altered the opening of the opera, as well as some other sections for an ill-fated production in Paris. He made some final changes for a production in Vienna in 1875, and shortly before his death eight years later he told his wife, Cosima, that he still owed the world a Tannhäuser. He was never entirely happy with it, and productions today must choose between the so-called Dresden and Paris versions. In the latter, the Overture is cut short and leads directly into the opera’s opening scene, a bacchanal. The Dresden version is heard today. The opera explores the legend of the medieval knight Tannhäuser and his struggles between the forces of sensuality, represented by Venus, the goddess of love, and of sacred

Toward the end of the 19th century, Russian composers found themselves in two distinct though somewhat overlapping factions. The cosmopolitan and urbane tradition of Tchaikovsky was grounded in Western European genres with a deliberate elegance and refinement that drew on Romantic principles of aesthetic expression. Then there was the raw, rough-hewn nationalism of the “Mighty Handful,” a group of five mostly amateur composers (led by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov) whose visceral music was suffused with the authentic folk melodies and dances of rural Russia. While this polarization served to energize some composers, there was also a small group who, caught in the crossfire as it were, never quite garnered the notoriety of their more zealous contemporaries. So with the fervent nationalism proclaimed by Borodin and Musorgsky on the one hand, and the academically-trained Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff on the other, a “moderate” composer like Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov struggled for the spotlight in the proliferation of fin-de-siècle Russian composers. After studying with Rimsky-Korsakov at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, Ippolitov-Ivanov moved to Tbilisi, Georgia, where he was exposed to some of the most vibrant non-Slavic folk traditions within Russia. This began a lifelong fascination with the music of Russian’s cultural minorities that, while inspiring his own compositions, may have also contributed to his reputation as a peripheral regionalist rather a true nationalist. But even though Ippolitov-Ivanov’s compositions never really inspired an enthusiastic following, he remained an unusually influential figure in Russian music, taking up a position as profes-sor of composition at the Moscow Conservatory in 1893, then serving as director of the Conservatory from 1905 to 1924. While drawing deeply from Rimsky-Korsakov’s vivid style of orchestration, Ippoli-tov-Ivanov treats traditional materials rather differently than the nationalistic “Mighty Handful.” He handles the folk dances and melodies as exotic musical artifacts—much as Brahms, for example, would work with a Hungarian melody—rather than as expressions of a deeply-felt native culture. He never sought novelty for its own sake, and his Romantic approach to composition remained consistent throughout his career, unmoved by the tur-moil of World War I, the Revolution, and avant-garde experiments of the inter-war period. The Georgian folk music from the Caucasus Mountains that Ippolitov-Ivanov heard during the 1880s inspired a number of early compositions, including the overture Yar-Khmel (Op. 1) from 1882, and his 1886 opera, Ruth. They find explicit expression in his most famous work, the orchestral suite titled Caucasian Sketches from 1894, written soon after his return to Moscow. (A second suite of Caucasian Sketches followed in 1896.) The expansive first movement (In a Mountain Pass) paints the mountain landscape on the Georgian-Russian border, the Darial Pass and the roar of the River Terek. The brass echoes that open the movement mimic the reverberation of signal trumpets from the mail-

Program Notes ØßØßCaucasian Sketches, Suite No. 1, Op. 10

Overture to Tannhäuser

Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov(Russian, 1859-1935)

Richard Wagner(German, 1813-1883)


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piety, embodied in the chaste Elizabeth. Venus inhabits the realm of the Venusberg, sur-rounded by graces, cupids, and nymphs. Elizabeth is niece to the Landgrave of Thuringia, and a dignified presence in his court. Wagner combined various sources to tell his own unique version of the story, a fact re-flected in the opera’s dual title, Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg (Tannhäuser and the Song Contest on the Wartburg). “I added the title of the legend that I combined with the Tannhäuser myth,” Wagner wrote, “although originally they had nothing to do with each other.” Tannhäuser, like Orpheus before him, is a supreme lyric musician whose ability to compose and sing songs is unsurpassed. The middle section of the Overture prominently features his paean to Venus. After leaving the Venusberg, Tannhäuser is told that he must seek forgiveness in Rome. But the Pope provides no easy grace and it is only through Elizabeth’s redeeming love and death that Tannhäuser is freed from his sensual bonds and can himself die in peace. An instrumental sextet consisting of pairs of clarinets, bassoons, and horns softly intone a devotional melody to open—the tune is the hymn sung by the pilgrims on their return from Rome, which conveys a mood of penitence. The words of the chorus, as heard in the final act, begin “The grace of God to the sinner is given, his soul shall live with the angels in heaven.” Warmly rich strings take up the melody, which eventually builds to a loud and full orchestral statement. While the woodwind and brass instruments play the chorale-like pilgrims’ hymn, the upper strings have a wonderful ornamental effect of cascading triplets. (Liszt captures this marvelously in his piano transcription of the Over-ture.) The first section concludes with the original sextet presenting the simple and pious pilgrims’ theme. The contrasting allegro that follows represents the secular world of venereal delights. The music is playful, wild, and fantastical, as well as extremely sensual in its repetitive statements of themes that mount in intensity and ardor. Eventually we hear the music associated with Tannhäuser’s song to Venus—one could say his hymn to her—which com-mences: “Praise be to Love for pleasure never ending; Love by whose power man’s heart is set ablaze!” The middle section of the Overture alternates between various musical ideas associated with the Venusberg (including a solo violin passage for the goddess herself) and an even more passionate restatement of the hero’s hymn to Venus. Wagner again uses strings to ornamental effect, but while it was the higher violins for the sacred world, the rambunctious lower strings accompany the secular realm. The sensual world reaches an orchestral climax with a battery of percussion (triangle, cymbals, tambourine), before re-turning to the pilgrims’ chorus, now in 4/4 rather than 3/4 meter, to conclude.



The Philadelphia Orchestra Association and/or Luke Howard.


October 1912

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Saturday Morning at 11.30June 23, 2012

Toccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV 565

(orch. Stokowski)

1. Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

from Suite from The Nutcracker, Op. 71a:

from Symphony No. 6 in F major, Op. 68 (“Pastoral”):

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


Presentation licensed by Disney Music Publishing © Disney

Philadelphia Orchestra Family Concerts arefunded in part by the Zisman Family Foundation.

2. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

3. Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

“Clair de lune,” from Suite bergamasque

(orch. Stokowski)

4. Claude Debussy (1862-1918)

5. Paul Dukas (1865-1935)

III.

IV.

V.

Allegro—Presto (Merry gathering of peasants)—

Allegro (Tempest, storm)—

Allegretto (Shepherds’ hymn—Happy and thankful

feelings after the storm)

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Dance of the Reed Flutes

Arabian Dance

Chinese Dance

Russian Dance

Waltz of the Flowers

III.

VII.

V.

VI.

IV.

VIII.

Family Program

October 1912 October 1912

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Saturday Evening at 8.00June 23, 2012

Audience Choice ProgramToccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV 565

(orch. Stokowski)

1. Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

from Suite from The Nutcracker, Op. 71a:(with Fantasia)

2. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Dance of the Reed Flutes

Arabian Dance

Chinese Dance

Russian Dance

Waltz of the Flowers

III.

VII.

V.

VI.

IV.

VIII.

Symphonic Dances from West Side Story

(orch. Ramin and Kostal)

Suite from The Firebird (1919 version)

“The Ride of the Valkyries,” from Die Walküre

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice(with Fantasia)

4. Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990)

5. Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971)

6. Richard Wagner (1813-1883)

3. Paul Dukas (1865-1935)

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

Introduction—The Firebird and its Dance

The Princesses’ Round Dance

Infernal Dance of King Kastcheï—

Berceuse—

Finale


Presentation licensed by Disney Music Publishing © Disney

There will be a 15-minute intermission after The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

IMPORTANT NOTICESubscribers who may not be able to use their tickets for the Symphony Concerts are requested to mail them to The Philadelphia Orchestra Association, 1314 Pennsylvania Building, so that they may be put at the disposal of the soldiers and sailors of the U.S. In case tickets cannot be mailed in time, subscribers holding afternoon tickets should notify the Management (Spruce 970) not later than noon on Friday, and those holding evening tickets, not later than noon on Saturday. (November 1917)

October 1912

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Tchaikovsky’s last years were marked by melancholy and joy—by growing emotional depression and by great artistic successes. With five of the numbered symphonies un-der his belt, and with splendid operas and ballets such as Eugene Onegin, The Queen of Spades, Swan Lake, and Sleeping Beauty bringing him growing public acceptance, he could only feel satisfaction at the progress of his life as an artist—despite the turmoil and frustrations of his inner life. Indeed, one can’t help hearing a certain exhilaration in the music of The Nutcracker, which Tchaikovsky composed between February 1891 and April 1892. The miracle of these last years, in fact, is that the same person who expressed such ebullient lebensfreude in this ballet score could compose, just a few months later, the tor-ridly tragic strains of the Sixth Symphony, full of the most painful premonitions of death. The composer would die in late 1893, less than a year after The Nutcracker first appeared on the stage, and just a few weeks after completing the Symphony. Reception of the two-act ballet was tepid at its St. Petersburg premiere in December 1892. But The Nutcracker would take on a life of its own, primarily through the 20-minute suite that the composer had cobbled together in February 1892; it would become his most familiar and frequently performed score. Subsequently conductors and others have created their own sets of excerpts. The Nutcracker is based on the story Nussknacker und Mausekönig by E.T.A. Hoff-mann, the great Romantic writer whose work inspired composers as diverse as Offenbach and Robert Schumann—and classics of the dance such as Coppélia. The scenario tells the tale of the young girl Clara and the nutcracker she receives for Christmas, which comes to life as a handsome prince and spirits her away to a snowy place she quickly realizes is every child’s dream—a Kingdom of Sweets. Most of the individual movements that are traditionally excerpted for concert use are drawn from the ballet’s second act, in which courtiers of the Kingdom of Sweets entertain young Clara with a variety of exotic delights.

—Paul J. Horsley

Excerpts from Suite from The Nutcracker, Op. 71a

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky(Russian, 1840-1893)


Born in London of a Polish father and an Irish mother, Leopold Anthony Stokowski (1882-1977) would become one of the most original musicians of his generation. While still in his 20s, he emigrated to the United States to take up the post of organist at St. Bartholomew’s Church in New York City, and in 1912 he accepted an offer from the rela-tively new Philadelphia Orchestra to become its conductor. For the next quarter century he brought the Orchestra to a level of unsurpassed excellence, establishing a tradition of virtuosity and brilliantine sonority that continues to this day. He was also a bit of a celebrity in his younger years, appearing in Hollywood movies, courting Greta Garbo and Gloria Vanderbilt, and presenting highly publicized world and U.S. premieres of works by Stravinsky, Berg, Sibelius, Rachmaninoff, Ives, and others. Among his favorite activities during his tenure with the Philadelphians was to transform music he loved into lush, vibrantly colored orchestrations of his own. The sources of these “recompositions” range widely, from cantatas and organ works of J.S. Bach to operatic arias, from ancient plainchant to piano music of Cho-pin and Debussy. The approaches to orchestration are wide-ranging, too. In De-bussy’s piano music, for example, he responds to that composer’s delicate coloris-tic palette to create richly transparent tone-pictures. For Bach’s organ music he was more inclined to create a thick, aggressive tone that at times sounds like a gigantic pipe organ. Completed in late 1925, Stokowski’s rendering of J.S. Bach’s well-known D-minor Toccata and Fugue was first performed by The Philadelphia Orchestra in February 1926. Since then it has become the stuff of legends—as well as an important part of Disney’s 1940 animated feature Fantasia, which opens with a striking image of Stokowski con-ducting the work with the help of a well-known mouse. It was a piece that Stokowski felt strongly about: “It is among the freest in form and expression of Bach’s works,” he wrote. “The Toccata probably began as an organ improvisation in the church of St. Thomas in Leipzig. In this lengthy, narrow, high church the thundering harmonies must have echoed long and tempestuously, for this music has a power and majesty that is cosmic. Of all the creations of Bach this is one of the most original. Its inspiration flows unendingly. Its spirit is universal … it will always be con-temporary and have a direct message for all men.” Stokowski’s chronology is a bit skewed (the piece apparently dates not from Bach’s Leipzig period, but from much earlier, probably before 1708), but he was correct in his analysis of the work’s power and drama. His transcription, which uses a gigantic orches-tra, brings the drama of this piece decisively into the present age.

—Paul J. Horsley

Program Notes ØßØßToccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV 565 (orch. Stokowski)

Johann Sebastian Bach(German, 1685-1750)

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“Street brawls, double death—it all fits.” Thus the 30-year-old Leonard Bernstein had first mused over the idea of making Shakespeare’s classic into a Broadway musical. During the mid-1950s, when he and his collaborator, Arthur Laurents, began sketching out the piece that would become one of the most successful musicals of all time, the is-sue of juvenile crime was reaching epidemic proportions in America. And it was in this setting that Bernstein found the ideal backdrop for his love story—a musical that suc-ceeded not just because of its wonderful songs, but because it dealt in a subject matter that yearned toward universality. “The chief problem,” wrote the composer, “is to tread the fine line between opera and Broadway, between realism and poetry, ballet and ‘just dancing,’ abstract and rep-resentational … [to tell] a tragic story in musical-comedy terms.” West Side Story, which received its premiere in August 1957 in Washington’s National Theater, tread that line as effectively as any musical has. It was an enormous hit then, and it has remained a model for composers of musical theater for the entire 40 years since. “I am now con-vinced,” wrote the composer later, “that what we dreamed all these years is possible; be-cause there stands that tragic love story, with a theme as profound as love versus hate.” A sense of impending doom is palpable throughout West Side Story, as it is in Shake-speare’s Romeo and Juliet—but it doesn’t prevent the principals from singing and danc-ing as if their lives depended on it. A great many arrangements of this music, for a variety of instrumental combinations, have been produced over the years; the best of these is the 20-minute collection of Symphonic Dances arranged by the composer with his friends Sid Ramin and Irwin Kostal, who had worked with Bernstein in orchestrating the original West Side Story. The Prologue, depicting the rivalry between the two gangs, the “Jets” and the “Sharks,” contains the famous “finger-snapping”—to be executed by “as many members of the orchestra as possible,” as Bernstein writes in the score. Its climax segues directly into Somewhere, the visionary scene in which the gangs momentarily unite in friend-ship, breaking out of the city’s grimy confines (in the Scherzo) to find themselves in a dreamlike world where there is no hatred. The Mambo returns the listener to the gangs and their grudges. In the Cha-Cha and the Meeting Scene the doomed lovers meet for the first time, dance together (amidst general disapproval), and speak for the first time (the “Maria” tune is heard here). The “Cool” Fugue finds the Jets in a conciliatory mood, “stylizing” their aggression with a strutting dance-complex. Rumble depicts the final gang war, in which the two leaders die. The “Somewhere” melody returns for the Finale, as if to say, there is a place for our “forbidden” love, somewhere—but not here, not now.

—Paul J. Horsley

Program Notes ØßØßSymphonic Dances from West Side Story (orch. Ramin and Kostal)

Leonard Bernstein(American, 1918-1990)

When hearing The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Philadelphia Orchestra audiences may think first of Disney’s Fantasia, for which their Orchestra provided the soundtrack (for every number except Dukas’s famous work). But the story of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice came to life long before the music and in fact has high-flown literary origins. The legend on which this musical piece is based crops up as early as the second cen-tury. The Classical writer Lucian relates the story of a lazy apprentice who tries to charm a broom into doing his work for him. (In the original myth the magic stick is actually a “pestle” or large club; it was Disney’s cartoonists who devised the piquantly whimsical image of broomsticks with arms and legs.) When the boy orders the rapidly multiplying brooms to carry water for him, he finds that his knowledge of wizardry does not extend far enough to permit him to “turn off” the spell. As most of us know, the Sorcerer returns to find that the enchanted broomsticks have flooded the house. Many serious readers will know this story through Goethe’s telling of it, in his 1797 poem Der Zauberlehrling. But American audiences are probably most familiar with the version in Disney’s 1940 film. The Parisian composer Paul Dukas doubtless knew Lu-cian’s tale, but he based his 1897 programmatic tone poem on Goethe’s telling. Although he was a prolific composer of cantatas, symphonies, ballet scores, and several operas, Dukas was forced to come to terms with the fact that—even during his lifetime—the latter part of his career was shaped largely by the popularity of one 10-min-ute piece. And for over a century now The Sorcerer’s Apprentice has maintained its position as one of the most popular works in the orchestral repertory. Dukas called the piece The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Symphonic Scherzo after a Ballad of Goethe. And it is indeed a classical scherzo, complete with the humor and rhythmic spice typical of the genre, combined with spiky, racing excitement and bright orchestral colors. Completed only days before its premiere in Paris in May 1897, The Sorcerer’s Ap-prentice was an immediate success. Half a century later, the inspired retelling by Disney’s artists would soon become a part of America’s national “pop” mythology.

—Paul J. Horsley

Program Notes ØßØßThe Sorcerer’s Apprentice Paul Dukas

(French, 1865-1935)

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What is a valkyrie, anyway? It all starts with Wotan, the egotistical yet somehow lov-able Zeus figure of Norse mythology. In the version of this myth that Wagner plotted out for his 16-hour Ring of the Nibelungen during the 1850s, Wotan is a partial instrument to the theft of an accursed ring (the same magic ring that would later pique J.R.R. Tolkien’s imagination). Wotan’s crime will bring evil to the gods until the ring is returned to the waters of the Rhine; but in order to achieve this, he has been compelled to spawn a race of half-mortals, who might become the agents of the action barred of the gods (who are not supposed to meddle in earthly affairs, though of course they do). Since Wotan’s relationship with his wife, Fricka, is pretty rocky anyway, he has ac-tually rather enjoyed fathering a large number of illegitimate children, including nine daughters conceived by the “earth-goddess” Erda. These nine are the valkyries, amazon-like women (not really mortals, but not quite goddesses either) who swoop about on steeds and perform heroic deeds. The single valkyrie of the opera’s title is Wotan’s favorite of the nine, Brünnhilde—she of the much-maligned horned helmet. Perhaps that’s already more than you need to know in order to hear the “Ride of the Valkyries.” Act III of Die Walküre (composed in 1856), which is the second of the four Ring operas, takes place on the summit of a rocky mountain. The thrilling music of the “Ride” serves as accompaniment to the appearance on horseback of eight of the nine of Wotan’s valkyrie-daughters, whose function in life is to rescue dead heroes from the bat-tlefields and then spirit them away to a sort of hero’s eternal life at Valhalla. Brünnhilde finally appears, but instead of bearing a dead hero she has Sieglinde, who is pregnant with Siegfried, the boy who becomes the agent for the ring to be returned … but it’s a long story. The point is that the “Ride” comes at a pivotal moment in the action of Walküre, when Wotan realizes Brünnhilde has disobeyed him by trying to save Siegmund (Sieg-fried’s father)—whom he had already preordained to die. Brünnhilde’s punishment for disobedience is crucial, because it is Siegfried who later rescues her from Wotan’s ring of flame, at which point they fall in love and he reforges the sword … Oh, never mind. In any case, the “Ride” makes a breathless, gripping concert-piece.

—Paul J. Horsley


The Philadelphia Orchestra Association.

Program Notes ØßØß“The Ride of the Valkyries,” from Die Walküre Richard Wagner

(German, 1813-1883)

Stravinsky left Russia as a very young man, settling first in Paris and then the United States and finally becoming for all practical purposes a citizen of the world. Yet something of the spirit and character of his native Russia remained with him throughout his long and fruitful life. This spirit, consisting partly of a deep knowledge of Russian folklore, and partly of a large repertoire of folk tunes of which he made liberal use in his scores, grew from his own adventurous nature. Young Stravinsky’s veneration of Russian folklore was manifested early on, in the loving care with which he set to music the fairy-tale of the Firebird in 1909. Written on commission from the great dance impresario Sergei Diaghilev, the ballet Firebird was composed for the first Parisian season of the exiled Ballets Russes. Its enormous success at the Paris Opéra premiere in June 1910 not only established Diaghilev as the leader of Paris’ avant-garde, it proclaimed Stravinsky as the most promising of Europe’s young gen-eration of composers. Petrushka and The Rite of Spring, both also composed for Diaghilev, followed in rapid succession. Igor Stravinsky, aged 27, had “arrived.” The tale of the Firebird is simple, even elemental. An enchanted bird guides Crown Prince Ivan, who is lost in the woods, to the castle of Kastcheï the Deathless. The evil Kastcheï, who holds 13 princesses captive, would ordinarily turn Ivan to stone, as he has all the other knights who have attempted to free the princesses. But Ivan is more valiant; and he has a magic bird on his side, too, which helps a great deal. Aided by the Firebird, the prince slays Kastcheï and his band; the magic castle vanishes with a “poof,” all the knights come back to life to comfort the freed princesses, and Ivan makes away with the most beautiful princess, of course, who becomes his bride as the dark woods fill with light and all dance to the familiar finale-music. After the ballet’s premiere, Stravinsky prepared a five-movement concert suite from Firebird; in 1919 he revised this suite, omitting two movements and adding the “Ber-ceuse” and Finale. The concise form and lavish orchestration of the 1919 suite have made it the favorite of concert performances.

—Paul J. Horsley

Program Notes ØßØßSuite from The Firebird (1919 version) Igor Stravinsky

(Russian, 1882-1971)

Photos: Jessica Griffin, Philadelphia Orchestra Association Archives, University of Pennsylvania: Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Leopold Stokowski Collection, © Disney Enterprises, Inc.

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