Schelomo, Hebraic Rhapsody for Cello and Orchestra

Ernest Bloch

Ernest Bloch was born in Geneva, Switzerland on July 24, 1880, and died in Portland, Oregon on July 15, 1959. He composed works in a wide range of genres including opera, choral works, orchestral, and chamber pieces. He also became an influential teacher in the United States. Although classified by some as a neo-classicist, Bloch’s best and most characteristic music are works such as Schelomo (1915-16) that exhibit a deep spirituality stemming from his Jewish roots. Schelomo is the Hebrew name for the biblical King Solomon. The premiere of Schelomo took place in Carnegie Hall on May 3, 1917 with Bloch conducting. The soloist was Hans Kindler, the then principal cellist of the Philadelphia Orchestra. The work is scored for cello solo, piccolo, 3 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, 2 harps, and strings.

An interesting series of correspondence between Bloch and Serge Koussevitzky, the famed conductor of the Boston Symphony and champion of newer music, dates from 1930. Koussevitzky planned to have four cellists play the solo part of Schelomo, a scheme to which the composer at first strenuously objected. Koussevitzky persisted, however, and Bloch was forced to give his blessing to the experiment. Ironically, when Koussevitzky began rehearsing the piece with full orchestra, he was the one to relent, and admitted that he had not calculated how appropriate the voice of the single cello was to the texture and meaning of the piece. His letter to Bloch of March 15 goes on to say that “no other contemporary composer makes my soul vibrate, stir to its greatest depth all of my being, as you have the power to do through your compositions.”

Schelomo is Bloch’s musical response to the words from the Book of Ecclesiastes: “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit . . . Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Such gloomy sentiments would have struck the composer deeply at this stage of his career. Frustrated in his career aspirations, living in his native Geneva, and with a world at war, Bloch indeed had cause for pessimism. What was lacking was an appropriate voice through which he could give vent to his feelings. As fate would have it, the Russian cellist Alexander Barjansky and his wife, Catherine, entered into Bloch’s life in the Fall of 1915. Barjansky’s tone and expressive power revealed to Bloch the voice that he had been seeking, and Schelomo came into being over the course of six weeks of feverish toil. Even Catherine joined into the spirit of Schelomo by fashioning a wax sculpture of the pessimistic Biblical king. Bloch dedicated the work to both Barjanskys.

The premiere of Schelomo took place in Carnegie Hall on May 3, 1917 with Bloch conducting. The soloist was Hans Kindler, the principal cellist of the Philadelphia Orchestra who later founded the National Symphony in Washington, D.C. The work is scored for a large orchestra and it is permeated with a rich tapestry of timbres. The Hebraic, or oriental, quality of the music derives from the use of the characteristic melodic intervals of augmented seconds and perfect fourths. The latter is used in imitation of the ancient Shofar, or ram’s horn, an instrument that is still heard in synagogues on the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The cello represents the voice of King Solomon throughout the work, giving Bloch’s interpretation of the Biblical text a deeper poignancy than words alone could ever express.

Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 73

Johannes Brahms

Johannes Brahms was born on May 7, 1833 in Hamburg and died in Vienna on April 3, 1897. One of the dominant composers of the late nineteenth century, Brahms greatly enriched the repertory for piano, organ, chamber music, chorus, and orchestra. His Symphony no. 2 was composed in 1877 and was first performed in Vienna on December 30 of that year under the direction of Hans Richter. The work is scored for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, and strings.

Brahms, after considerable trepidation, completed his Symphony no. 1 in 1876. Ever conscious of Beethoven’s long shadow, Brahms delayed writing a symphony until he felt that his craft was equal to the challenge. His Symphony no. 1 stands, so to speak, toe to toe with his great predecessor. One needn’t search far for Beethovenian influences, especially those stemming from the titan’s imposing minor-key masterpieces, the Fifth and Ninth.

Once Brahms had overcome his anxiety of Beethovenian influence, he did not wait long to write another symphony. He penned his Symphony no. 2 during the summer of 1877, with most of the work on it taking place in the idyllic Carinthian resort town of Pörtschach, near the Wörthersee. Its first performance took place in Vienna on December 30 with the Vienna Philharmonic under the direction of Hans Richter. The composer, in one of his whimsies of self-deprecation, apologized for the small scale of work. Such protestations, of course, were totally unnecessary, as the work’s proportions certainly have been found to be large enough for most serious music lovers. Its good humor and geniality, however, do set the Symphony no. 2 apart from its three sisters, making it the most easily approachable of the four. The Vienna critics certainly found it to be so, with the audience demanding a repeat of the third movement. Everyone who knew Brahms recognized that the work could only have been conceived amidst the beauties of nature, as opposed to the relative squalor of the city. It is a work filled with sunshine, but one that is often tinged with typically Brahmsian melancholic nostalgia.

The opening Allegro non troppo is one of the most tightly structured movements in the symphonic repertory. Most of its material is derived from a three-note motive—D, C-sharp, D—first heard in the cellos and basses in the opening measure. Much of the other thematic material used throughout the movement is derived from the arpeggiated figure sounded in following two measures. In point of fact, these two primary ideas permeate not only the first movement, but, in subtle ways, the entirety of the work. The lyrical theme that dominates the second key area (F# Minor/A Major) surely reflects Brahms’s indebtedness to Franz Schubert. This tune, sung by the violas and cellos, comes straight from the world of Schubert’s two-cello String Quintet, D. 956. The point of highest drama in this first movement occurs in the development section, when the three-note motive is subjected to strenuous overlapping counterpoint, resulting in some momentary glancing dissonances in the trombones. The recapitulation is crowned with a nostalgic coda, toward the end of which Brahms makes clear reference to one of his own songs: Es liebt sich so lieblich im Lenze! (“Love is so Lovely in Spring “), op. 71, no. 1. All drama subsides as the movement comes to a wistful conclusion.

Rich harmonies, dark sonorities, and a cantabile cello line set an expansive mood for the second movement, Adagio non troppo. Its structure is a three-part design, the contrasting middle section changing from 4/4 meter to 12/8 (L’istesso tempo, ma grazioso). This shift adumbrates the seventh variation (also grazioso) from Brahms’s Variations on a Theme of Haydn, Op. 56a (1873). The third movement is in five brief parts, which on the surface would qualify it as a rondo (ABACA), but the second and fourth sections are variants of the first part, implying that a theme and variation form also is at work here. It begins Allegretto grazioso (Quasi Andantino) with a gentle 3/4 oboe tune which is punctuated with gentle grace notes and a shift from major to minor modality. Soon a Presto ma non assai, 2/4 begins lightly in the strings—a reminder that this movement is, after all, a scherzo and not a minuet. The original tempo and oboe tune return, but with new touches in its orchestration. The fourth section, Presto ma non assai, 3/8, is the most explosive part of the movement, but it eventually yields to the original tempo. Brahms offers some harmonic surprises toward the end, but nothing in this gentle movement could possibly offend even the most sensitive ear. Fun is not a word that one usually associates with Brahms, but how else could one characterize the joyous finale? Donald Francis Tovey (Essays in Musical Analysis, vol. 1) calls this movement the “great-grandson” of Haydn’s Symphony No.104 (also in D Major). He may well have considered it to be the “grandson” of Beethoven’s Symphony no. 2, Op. 36, as it is cast in the same key). Even the movement’s most lyrical episodes fail to escape the infectious good spirits of its opening theme, played at first sotto voce by the strings alone. The explosive good humor will not be suppressed for long, however, and the full orchestra soon bursts forth with great vigor.

A clue to the success of this symphony is the fact that it never draws attention to its highly complex design. Performers and listeners alike should be grateful that Brahms, commonly known for his serious mien, could for once at least, enjoy a broad smile. And so should we.