Overture on Hebrew Themes, Op. 34bis
Sergei Prokofiev
Sergei Prokofiev, one of the 20th century’s leading composers, was born in Sontsovka (Ukraine) on April 27, 1891, a date that fell near the end of the era of Tsarist rule. It is one of history’s greatest ironies that Prokofiev died on March 5, 1953, the same day as Communist dictator Joseph Stalin. His Overture on Hebrew Themes began its life in 1919 as a sextet for clarinet, piano, and string quartet. The instrumentation was that of the Zimro Ensemble, a group sponsored by the Russian Zionist Organization for a world tour, arriving in America after performing in East Asia. Prokofiev had arrived in New York City in September 1918, where he met the ensemble. Moscow-born Jewish clarinetist Simeon Bellison, the group’s leader, offered the composer a notebook of Hebraic-sounding tunes. Bellison later was to occupy the chair of principal clarinetist of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. The version for sextet had its first performance at New York City’s Bohemian Club on Feb. 2, 1920, with the composer as guest pianist. Prokofiev created the version for chamber orchestra in 1934. Its orchestration calls for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, percussion, piano and strings.
Wit and sarcasm are traits that mark much of the music of the two Russian (later Soviet) compositional giants of the 20th century — Prokofiev and Shostakovich. Of the two, Prokofiev became the true enfant terrible, a modernist who showed his true colors while still a student at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, where the years leading up to the Russian Revolution were marked by turmoil and change. The “old guard” faculty were being replaced and the young composer and pianist saw an opportunity to stretch his legs.
The Overture on Hebrew Themes was the result of the simultaneous presence in New York City of Prokofiev and the Jewish/Zionist touring group, the Zimro Ensemble. Musicians in this ensemble had been fellow students with Prokofiev at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, and as a courtesy to clarinetist Simeon Bellison, the composer agreed to create a short work that used tunes of Jewish character. The principal theme of Overture on Hebrew Themes is an example of a “fraylich” (a Yiddish term meaning “joyful”) that carries in its modality a whimsical sense of melancholy mixed with sly humor. Such melodies, often placing the clarinet in the foreground, were typically played at weddings and other celebrations by a rag-tag group of itinerant musicians known as klezmorim. Thanks to musicians such as the legendary clarinetist Giora Feidman, klezmer music has enjoyed a revival that has given rise to numerous ensembles.
Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra
Billy Childs
American composer, pianist, arranger and conductor William (Billy) Edward Childs was born in Los Angeles on March 8, 1957. He began his formal musical studies at the University of Southern California’s Community School of the Performing Arts when he was 16 years old and continued with a degree in composition at USC, conferred in 1979. His teachers were Robert Linn and Morten Lauridsen. Equally at home in the world of concert music and jazz, Childs landed his first professional job when trumpeter Freddie Hubbard discovered him. He has since moved on to work with some of the finest jazz and popular musicians, including Wynton Marsalis, Chris Botti, Joe Henderson and J.J. Johnson, and has recorded several jazz albums. He is the recipient of many awards, including a Guggenheim Fellowship and 16 Grammys. His work in the classical field has led to commissions and performances by notable orchestras, soloists and chamber ensembles. Childs’ Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra was written for Steven Banks and is receiving one of its first performances at the Chautauqua Institution, a co-commissioner of the piece along with other organizations, including the Kansas City Symphony, the Aspen Music Festival, the Cincinnati Symphony, the Detroit Symphony and the Minnesota Orchestra. The concerto was performed by Banks and the Kansas City Symphony in February 2023 under the baton of Ruth Reinhardt. The work is scored for solo saxophone (soprano and alto performed by one player), two flutes, piccolo, alto flute, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, bassoon, contrabassoon, three horns, two trumpets, two trombones, timpani, percussion, harp, piano, celeste and strings. Childs describes his saxophone concerto as a “symphonic poem which strives to chronicle the paradigm of the forced Black American diaspora, as sifted through the prism of my own experience as a Black man in America.” In determining the structure, Childs and Banks came up with a plan that would base its three major sections or movements on three important poems by three significant Black authors. The first part, “Motherland,” is inspired by Nayyirah Waheed’s “African Lament.” The second is based on Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die,” and the third, “And Still I Rise,” by Maya Angelou’s poem of the same name. Childs goes on to state that he “wanted to tie the piece together thematically with various melodies and motifs treated in different ways ... like a loosely structured theme and variations — except there are several themes used.”
What follows are notes provided by the composer:
Part I: Motherland
The program of the composition starts out on a positive note; the first theme played solo by the soprano saxophone, and later joined by an uplifting scherzo accompaniment from the orchestra, is meant to evoke a sense of well-being and security as Africans are living in the motherland (“Motherland” being the name of the first section). Of course, it is understood that within the confines of Africa itself, there were tribal wars, treachery and misery — even slavery; it’s not a utopia I’m trying to illustrate here. Rather, I want to depict a sense of purity — a purity arising from having been thus far unobstructed by the outside destructive forces that would later determine our fate. So, the movement starts with a soprano sax melody that begins as a diatonic motif (accompanied by marimba and pizzicato cello), but then quickly becomes chromatic, modulating to several remote tonalities. After this, a sixteenth-note pattern in the strings transitions the listener into a sense of foreboding, signaling trouble on the horizon. As the harmonies of the string patterns continue to shift toward a more ominous shade, the soprano saxophone takes on a more urgent tone, playing short bursts of melodic fragments. Then a battle ensues, a battle between the slave traders and the future slaves, as signaled by the triplet figures in the soprano sax accompanied by triplet patterns in the orchestra, and climaxing in an orchestral tutti section bolstered by a brass fanfare. After a dissonant orchestral hit, the soprano sax utters a melancholy theme as the slaves are being led to the slave ship. This takes us to the first saxophone cadenza, which to my mind, represents a moment of painful reflection about being captured like a wild animal and led to a ship, the destination of which is a future hell.
Part II: If We Must Die
Part two of the journey (inspired by the powerful Claude McKay poem of the same name) begins with the first vision of the slave ship. This is illustrated by a loud tutti blast in the orchestra, following a slow six-measure buildup. The alto saxophone is now the voice of the piece, introducing a rapid 12-tone theme which turns out to be a constant phrase weaving in and out of the entire piece at various moments (it actually made its first appearance back in the first part, during the battle between the African natives and the slave traders). The slaves are boarded onto the ships and the Middle Passage journey to America begins; sweeping rapid scales in the lower strings, woodwinds and harp describe the back-and-forth movement of the waves. This section develops and reaches a high point with a jarring saxophone multiphonic pair of notes followed by a forearm piano cluster; we now see America for the first time, from the point of view of the slaves. A percussion section and saxophone exchange — followed by an antiphonal, almost pointillist push and pull between the alto saxophone and the orchestra — aims to represent the confusion, rage and terror of the slave trade, where families are ripped apart as humans are bought and sold like cattle. The subsequent section is a mournful lament of despair, meant to outline the psychological depression caused by the sheer brutality of this new slavery paradigm. The melodic theme here, played by the alto sax, is in its original version, whereas the melancholy soprano sax theme near the end of the first movement is the inversion of this melody. While this is happening, there is a background pattern played by vibraphone and celesta which depicts a slow and steady growing anger; this figure gets faster and faster until it overtakes the foreground and brings us into the next scherzo-like section. This section is marked by an interplay between the alto sax and the orchestra and is describing a resistance, anger and rebellion against being subjected to subhuman treatment over the course of centuries. After the apex of this segment occurs — characterized by five orchestral stabs — the alto saxophone plays a short and tender cadenza which signifies the resilience of Black Americans and the introduction of the idea of self-love, self-worth and self-determination.
Part III: And Still I Rise
This final section of the concerto/tone poem is about Black empowerment. The church has always been a cultural focal point in the Black community, a sanctuary providing psychological and emotional relief from the particular hardships of Black life in America. It is also a place to worship, pray and wrestle with the larger spiritual and existential questions which concern all of humankind. And beyond that (or perhaps because of that), the church is historically the central hub of Black political and cultural activism in America. This is the ethos that the last section of the concerto is reflecting. So this final chapter of the piece starts out with a hymn-like passage, which is actually a variation of the opening folk-like melody at the very beginning of the concerto. It is a plaintive reading orchestrated for just alto saxophone and piano, as though the solo saxophonist were a singer accompanied by a piano during a Sunday church service. Soon the melodic theme in the alto sax is treated with a lush accompaniment reminiscent of the Romantic era, as a healing self-awareness and love becomes more palpable. This is followed by march-like ostinato, which symbolizes steely determination in the midst of great and formidable obstacles as the alto sax plays rapidly above the orchestral momentum, until we finally reach the victorious fanfare at the conclusion of the piece. Maya Angelou’s shining poem reminds us (and America) that Black people cannot and will not be held to a position of second-class citizenship – we will still rise.
Symphony No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 13
Serge Rachmaninoff
The great Russian pianist, conductor and composer Serge Rachmaninoff was born in Oneg on April 1 (March 20 on the Julian calendar), 1873, and died in Beverly Hills, California, on March 28, 1943. He was, in many ways, the last great representative of Russian Romantic style brought to fruition by Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and other Russian composers. This has in no way prevented Rachmaninoff from developing a thoroughly personal idiom, whose lyricism is enhanced by a sure grasp of form and brilliance of orchestration. His Symphony No. 1 was a failure upon its first performance under Aleksandr Glazunov on March 27, 1897, but went on to enjoy critical acclaim since its posthumous performance in Moscow on Oct. 17, 1945, under the direction of Aleksandr Gauk. The work is dedicated to Pyotr Lodyzhensky, the recipient of the dedication of his 1892 to 1894 symphonic poem, Caprice Bohèmien (Capriccio on Gypsy Themes). The Symphony No. 1 is scored for three flutes (piccolo), two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion and strings.
Rachmaninoff, one of the great pianists and composers of the late-Romantic Russian tradition, had a disastrous first experience as a symphonist. His Symphony No. 1, composed in 1895, received its first performance on March 27, 1897, with Alexander Glazunov conducting and the event was an unmitigated failure. According to Rachmaninoff’s wife, Glazunov was drunk, although it may have been that he simply did not care for the piece. Cesar Cui called it “a program symphony on the Ten Plagues of Egypt,” a work that relied on “the meaningless repetition of the same short tricks.” Other critics more charitably acknowledged that the piece was badly performed. The conductor Aleksandr Khessin recalled that the “symphony was insufficiently rehearsed,” resulting in a “bland performance, with no flashes of animation, enthusiasm or brilliance of orchestral sound.” Rachmaninoff subsequently went into a deep depression that lasted for three years, and it seemed for a time that the world would be deprived of any further compositions from his pen. Fortunately, with the help of a physician, Dr. Dahl, and through continued work as a performer, Rachmaninoff persevered, emerging with his popular Second Piano Concerto, written between 1900 and 1901.
In point of fact, Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1 was his second attempt at composing in this genre. While a student at the Moscow Conservatory, his teacher Anton Arensky suggested he try his hand at composing such a work. Only one movement from this stylistically eclectic “Youth Symphony” has survived, but it is rarely performed. Despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding its premiere and subsequent reviews, time has been far kinder to Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1, even as it remains one of his least frequently performed major orchestral compositions, overshadowed as it has been by the popular Symphony No. 2 and Symphonic Dances. Indeed, each new hearing of the work reveals just how original and striking it truly is.
The first movement, Grave-Allegro ma non troppo, begins with an ominous triplet that surrounds the tonic pitch of D. This figure is a motto that recurs throughout the symphony’s four movements. The rugged theme presented by the strings in the short introduction becomes the basis for the principal theme heard throughout the remainder of the movement, variants of which can be heard in the three movements that follow. Many writers have suggested that this theme has a kinship to the Gregorian chant from the sequence of the Roman Catholic requiem Mass, “Dies irae.” The composer did use this chant in some of his later works, thus lending credence to the claim. In this movement filled with tremendous drama, the sweeping Romantic lyricism for which Rachmaninoff is treasured, is not lacking. The second movement, Allegro animato, is a mercurial and mysterious scherzo brimming with nervous energy. It begins with a modified version of the first movement’s motto that leads into a plaintive short-long figure that will serve as a foil to the more tarantella-like speedier figuration.
A more benign version of the motto opens the lovely larghetto third movement, followed by a lyrical theme presented by the clarinet. Beautiful scoring for the woodwinds and the lush lyricism of the strings are hallmarks of this movement, as well as harbingers of the Rachmaninoff of the future. The influence of Tchaikovsky can also be discerned in the movement’s moody and more turbulent middle episode. The finale, Allegro con fuoco, is cast in a more cheerful D Major, but its opening brings back to more ominous recollection of the opening of the first movement. Brass fanfares and snare drum, however, sweep this mood aside as the main theme – a triumphal march – makes its appearance. Against a backdrop of plaintive horns, the dark mood seeks to spoil the party. New themes of a more tuneful type ensue, as well as reminiscences of the earlier movements. The struggle between darkness and light, violence and lyricism, continues until reaching a dramatic climax punctuated by the interruption of the tam-tam. As the tempo slows, the listener rightfully comes to expect a triumph of the major mode over the minor, but – for better or for worse – the sinister motto gets the final “word.” Rachmaninoff placed a fascinating inscription from Romans 12:19 at the end of the score: “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.” This quotation also appears at the end of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, leaving open the question as to whether or not Symphony No. 1 contains a hidden programmatic meaning.