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Violin Pyrotechnics Concert Notes

Second Essay, Op. 17

Samuel Barber

b. West Chester, Pennsylvania, USA / March 9, 1910 d. New York, New York, USA / January 23, 1981

After a period of relative neglect following his death, Barber’s reputation has ridden the recent Neo-romantic wave and returned to the high level it enjoyed during the peak of his career. His music combines the emotional warmth and spirit of communication found in nineteenth-century Romanticism, with those techniques of contemporary practice that suited him.

He composed the three Essays for orchestra in 1937, 1942 and 1978. He preferred not to discuss his music, so when he was asked why he chose the title ‘essay,’ with its literary origins, he referred listeners to the Oxford English Dictionary. It defines ‘essay’ as “a composition of moderate length on a particular subject…more or less elaborate in style though limited in range.” Barber provided no further details on the three pieces’ contents, save for a passing reminder that he had composed the Second Essay in wartime. Bruno Walter, who had commissioned it, conducted the New York Philharmonic in the premiere on April 16, 1942.

Barber scored the Second Essay for a larger orchestra than the First, and much of the later piece’s increased forcefulness and drama flowed from that choice. It opens with a quiet, thoughtful passage featuring solo wind instruments, then works its way to a powerful climax for full orchestra. Solo clarinet begins a dynamic section in the style of a fugue, a texturally intricate form that was a great favourite of such composers of the Baroque era as Johann Sebastian Bach. Once Barber’s fugue has run its course, he concluded the Essay with a majestic coda. In it, hope appears to gain a victory over the dark forces that have hovered over the music from the beginning.

Violin Concerto No. 1 in D Major, Op. 6

Niccolò Paganini

b. Genoa, Italy / October 27, 1782; d. Nice, France / May 27, 1840

Paganini revolutionized the art of playing the violin. Such was his incredible virtuosity, and so unique the new sounds he produced from his instrument, that audiences were literally struck dumb by what they heard. Together with his tall, gaunt appearance, those abilities gave birth to the rumor that Paganini had sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for his incredible performing skill. Another tale suggested that he had developed his talents in prison while serving a sentence for murder. Canny showman that he was, he never lifted a finger to suppress these stories. He realized they would only increase his popularity.

He composed virtually all his performing repertoire himself. Possessive of the technical innovations he had developed, Paganini allowed very few of his pieces to be published during his lifetime. One important exception was the set of 24 Caprices for solo violin, Op. 1. The final Caprice has also inspired a great number of other composers, including Liszt, Schumann, Brahms, Lutoslawski, Rachmaninoff – even Andrew Lloyd Webber – to create their own brilliant, Paganini style virtuoso variations and fantasias based upon it.

The work known as Concerto No. 1 probably wasn’t the first of the six he composed, but it is certainly the most popular. Naturally, it serves as a showcase for the violin soloist. The orchestra plays the secondary role of accompanist. The expansive opening movement alternates commanding, military style ideas with more tender elements. The second section is almost vocal in character, suggesting an expressive operatic aria. The Concerto concludes with a spectacular, tuneful and witty Rondo.

Symphony No. 2 in C Major, Op. 61

Robert Schumann

b. Zwickau, Germany / June 8, 1810; d. Endenich, Germany / July 29, 1856

Often there is no connection whatever between composers’ state of mind and the music they write. Many of Mozart’s final works, for example, are bright and carefree, in stark contrast to the ill health and financial deprivation from which he was suffering at the time. In other cases, a connection may be strongly suspected: Tchaikovsky’s lugubrious, despairing Sixth Symphony premiered just nine days before his death, which may have been a suicide.

Occasionally the composer’s own words reveal the emotional contents of the music, as Schumann’s Second Symphony demonstrates. In 1849 he wrote to a friend, “I wrote my Symphony in December 1845, and I sometimes fear my semi-invalid state can be divined from the music. I began to feel myself again when I wrote the last movement, and was certainly better when I finished the whole work. All the same it reminds me of dark days.”

In 1844, the symptoms of the nervous disorder that had been bedeviling him since the late 1820s took on a new severity. He began to experience profound depression, ringing in the ears, memory loss, trembling and irrational fears of heights and sharp metal objects. Worst of all, he could not even bear to hear music. By year’s end he suffered a complete nervous breakdown, forcing him to retire from all activity. On the advice of his doctor, the Schumanns moved from Leipzig to the quieter atmosphere of Dresden.

Sleepless nights plagued the ensuing year-long recovery period. After a period spent studying the music of Bach, he was at last able to resume composing. In September 1845, he wrote to his good friend Felix Mendelssohn: “Much drumming and trumpeting has been going on inside me for a few days; I do not know what will come of it.” It proved to be a new symphony, sketched quickly in December but orchestrated over a difficult nine-month period. Completed on October 19, 1846, it was premiered in Leipzig under Mendelssohn’s direction on November 5.

Like Beethoven’s Fifth, it charts an emotional arc from conflict to victory. The movements are inter-related by recurrence of themes, including a motto that appears in the brass during the brooding slow introduction to the first movement. It returns later, amidst the turbulence of that same section, and is heard again briefly in the second and fourth movements. The second section is a dynamic Scherzo. It envelopes not one contrasting Trio section but two, an innovation carried over from Schumann’s Symphony No. 1. A hearty statement of the motto theme closes this section on a positive note.

The third movement is a lyrical Adagio combining deep personal feeling with exceptionally rich orchestration. The influence of Schumann’s recent study of Bach is audible in a quote from the earlier composer’s piece, The Musical Offering. The joyful Finale sweeps away all the clouds that have been hanging over the Symphony.

The gentle theme which appears mid-way through is actually by Beethoven, from his song-cycle To the Distant Beloved. It sets the words “take then these songs I have sung to you, beloved.” Schumann had previously quoted it, in praise of Clara, in his Fantasy for piano solo of 1838. Its appearance here may represent a further tribute to her. She and Schumann had married in 1840 after much opposition from her father. Their joyous union unleashed a torrent of songs from Robert, over 120 in their first year of marriage alone. She had also encouraged him to write for orchestra, and stood by him steadfastly through all his trials, past, present and future.

Program Notes by Don Anderson (c) 2008

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