Festive Overture, Op. 96
Dmitri Shostakovich
b. St. Petersburg, Russia / September 25, 1906
d. Moscow, Russia / August 9, 1975
One day in November 1954, conductor Vasili Nebol’sin showed up in Shostakovich’s apartment with an urgent request: he needed a razzle-dazzle piece to open an upcoming concert celebrating the 37th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. Shostakovich set to work immediately. “The speed with which he wrote was truly astounding,” said an eyewitness, his friend Lev Lebedinsky. “Moreover when he wrote light music he was able to talk, make jokes and compose simultaneously, like the legendary Mozart. He sat there scribbling away and the couriers came in turn to take away the pages while the ink was still wet. Two days later the dress rehearsal took place. I hurried down to the theatre and I heard this brilliant effervescent work, with its vivacious energy spilling over like uncorked champagne.”
Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat major, Op. 73 “Emperor”
Ludwig van Beethoven
b. Bonn, Germany / December 15, 1770
d. Vienna, Austria / March 26, 1827
There are longer concertos than Beethoven’s Fifth (the two by Brahms, for example), but none as grand. Other composers have tried to create a work of matching scope, power, and brilliance, but he alone has possessed the necessary combination of heart, head, and mind.
The “Emperor” Concerto (the source of the nickname is unknown) is his final work for solo instrument and orchestra, although for some time he did consider composing another one for piano. He wrote it in 1809, against the backdrop of French leader Napoleon Bonaparte’s rise to the zenith of his power. Beethoven had once admired the “Little Corporal” for his early devotion to the humanitarian ideals of the French Revolution. Once Bonaparte crowned himself Emperor of France in 1804, however, Beethoven’s attitude changed instantly to scorn. He angrily removed the dedication to Bonaparte that he had inscribed on his Third Symphony.
In May 1809, French troops besieged and captured Vienna. During the period when Beethoven was at work on this Concerto, their regular artillery bombardments were chipping away at the last shreds of his hearing. He fled to his brother’s house and covered his ears with pillows to reduce the noise. Rather than reflecting his deep distress, the Concerto is proud and defiant. Perhaps he intended it as a hopeful vision of Bonaparte’s ultimate defeat, or a manifesto praising the virtues of the common man over those of a dictator.
The premiere, delayed by war, took place in Leipzig on November 28, 1811. For the first time, Beethoven did not appear as soloist in the first performance of one of his piano concertos. His growing deafness made that impossible, so Friedrich Schneider did the honors instead. It won only modest success. The Vienna debut, with Beethoven’s pupil Carl Czerny at the keyboard, proved an even greater fiasco. Exasperated with the uniformly hostile press, Beethoven countered, “And now, criticize as long as you choose; even if sometimes it irritates me slightly, like a gnat-bite, it ends up turning into a great joke; cri-cri-ti-ti-ci-ci-ze-ze – but not to all eternity, for that you cannot do!” He had the last laugh, of course, the Concerto needing little further time to establish enormous and enduring favor.
It displays a major shift in character from the Fourth Concerto. The earlier work begins quietly, almost modestly. In the “Emperor,” Beethoven wheels out the big guns right off the top. After the commanding opening flourish, the first movement proper unfolds with unhurried majesty. There are no solo cadenzas in the Concerto, Beethoven having lost patience with the liberties soloists had taken with those he had provided for his previous concertos. In its own, serene way, the slow movement is every bit as assured as the first. A simple bridge passage, its magic undimmed no matter how many times you hear it, leads to the exultant, dance-like Finale.
Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, “From the New World”
Antonín Dvořák
b. Nelahozeves, Bohemia / September 8, 1841
d. Prague, Bohemia / May 1, 1904
Dvořák belonged to the second generation of Romantic nationalist composers. Bedřich Smetana (1824 1884), through his operas and symphonic poems, had founded the Czech branch of this folk flavored movement. Dvořák took up where Smetana left off, bringing the style to the height of its sophistication and worldwide popularity.
Such was Dvořák’s fame by the early 1890s that he was invited to become the first Director of the National Conservatory of Music in New York. His arrival in the autumn of 1892 marked the beginning of a three year period spent almost entirely in America. He found much here that fascinated him. He developed a particular interest in the music of African-Americans and aboriginals, one reflecting his love for his homeland’s native culture. “I am convinced that the future music of this country must be founded on what we call Negro melodies,” he told the New York Herald. “This can be the foundation of a serious and original school of composition. They are pathetic, tender, passionate, melancholy, solemn, religious, merry, gracious, or what you will. There is nothing in the whole range of composition that cannot find a thematic source here.”
Statements such as these led to confusion as to whether he used authentic African-American and aboriginal melodies in the works he composed in America, the first of which was the Symphony in E minor. Four days before the premiere, which took place in New York on December 16, 1893, he made his methods and goals perfectly clear: “It is this American folk spirit that I have tried to reproduce in my new Symphony. I have not actually used any of the melodies. I have simply written themes embodying the peculiarities of the Indian music and, using these themes as subjects, have developed them with all the resources of modern rhythm, harmony, counterpoint, and orchestral color.”
Following a short, expectant introduction, the opening movement proper presents two themes. The first is bold and commanding. It is the idea that binds the entire Symphony together, appearing at least briefly in all four movements. The second subject appears on solo flute. It is as sweet, restful, and haunting a theme as Dvořák ever penned. The development section focuses on the first subject, leading to a powerful, dramatic coda.
A solemn brass chorale ushers in the slow movement. The English horn then gives out the main theme, a tranquil melody that gives eloquent voice to the homesickness that Dvořák felt throughout his stay in America. Words were later added to it to create Goin’ Home, a song in the style of a spiritual. The middle section is increasingly agitated, climaxing in a grand combination of the Goin’ Home theme with the opening movement’s first subject.
The following Scherzo bustles with dynamic dance rhythms, be they old world or new. Two separate Trios provide graceful contrast. The Finale surges ahead urgently, its unfolding shot through with episodes of nostalgic expressiveness. Dvořák interleaves new themes with fleeting reminiscences of melodies from each previous movement, en route to a stirring yet eventually enigmatic conclusion.
© 2008 Don Anderson. All rights reserved.
