"Nuages" and "Fêtes" from Nocturnes
Claude Debussy
b. St. Germaine-en-Laye, France / August 22, 1862
d. Paris, France / March 25, 1918
As far back as 1892, Debussy sketched but did not complete a work called Three Twilight Scenes, which may have been the basis for the Nocturnes. Four years later, he contemplated a set of three nocturnes for violin and orchestra, but he and the intended soloist, Eugène Ysaÿe, disagreed on the contents. Debussy went ahead and completed it, but without the part for solo violin. The first two sections, the purely instrumental ones, were premiered in Paris during December 1900. The first full performance, including Sirènes, with its added, wordless female chorus, was given the following October.
In musical terms, as featured in the piano pieces by Chopin, Field, Fauré, and others, nocturne usually refers to a quiet, dreamy work suggesting the night. This was not what Debussy had in mind. “The title Nocturnes,” he wrote, “is to be taken here in a more general and above all in a more decorative sense. Therefore we are not concerned here with the usual form of the nocturne, but with everything that this word contains in the way of impressions and special effects of light.
“Nuages (Clouds) – this is the unchangeable aspect of the sky with the slow and melancholy procession of the clouds, ending in an anguish of grey softly tinted with white. Fêtes (Festivals) – here we have the movement, the dancing rhythm of the atmosphere, with flashes of sudden light; there is also the episode of a procession, a dazzling and purely imaginary vision, passing through the festivity and mingling with it; but the background remains and persists – always the festival with its blending of music and luminous specks of dust participating in a universal rhythm.”
Concerto for Timpani and Orchestra (World Premiere)
Jeff Tyzik
b. Hyde Park, New York, USA / August 1, 1951
Jeff Tyzik has supplied the following note on his new composition.
“When Charles Ross asked me to compose a concerto for timpani and orchestra, I was very excited to explore the musical possibilities that this unique instrument affords both the player and the listener.
“Timpani can be powerful and robust, yet sensitive and melodic. It can drive the orchestra with energy and excitement, but the instrument is also capable of a very large dynamic range. It is beautiful when played softly. There are limitations in writing melodies for timpani. Each drum can only be set to one note. The more drums, the more notes. The player can change notes by using the pedals, but this becomes increasingly difficult to manage when multiple notes (or pitches) have to be continually changed. Also, there is the choreography of playing the timpani. Each drum, and therefore each note, is set up in a specific configuration and the player has to move his body and arms in different ways in order to play the notes and the rhythms. This takes a lot of thought and practice on the part of the timpanist in order to not just strike the drums, but to coordinate their body movements in a way that allows them to be musically sensitive.
“Next to the human voice, drums are probably the most ancient of all instruments. They provide the rhythm that is linked to the human need to express the self through dance. Humans have used drums to communicate for thousands of years. In fact, ‘call and response’—where drummers could send messages by playing their instruments and other drummers could respond by answering with rhythmic messages—became a technique used by almost every jazz performer. We often hear this when jazz musicians ‘trade’ musical ideas through improvisation with other musicians in their group. The ‘beat,’ the ‘groove,’ the ‘feel,’ the ‘funkiness’ are all terms that describe what grabs the listener or dancer when they hear popular or folk music of many cultures throughout the world.
“All of this philosophical, technical, and historical information was on my mind as I began to work on this composition. I wanted to use the instrument in traditional and non-traditional ways.
“I decided to write a three-movement piece in the tradition of most concertos. Charles Ross and I talked about what we were both looking for in a piece that would not only showcase the instrument, but also Charles. He decided on using seven drums. We also both have a strong jazz background and we agreed to include that idiom into the concerto. In fact, Charles suggested that he would like to use the timpani as a ‘jazz bass’ in the slow movement. This idea led me to write a contemporary blues for orchestra. In a ‘stop time’ section in the middle of this movement, I composed a solo for timpani as I imagined a jazz bass soloist might improvise. In this movement, the timpani is both rhythmic and melodic, just as the bass is in a jazz group.
“The first movement begins with a prelude and fanfare section, followed by a fast allegro section. This movement is the most ‘traditional’ of the concerto. In the very opening, the timpani plays a slow melody, which reappears as a big theme in the final movement. The piece then transitions into a contemporary fanfare. During the allegro section, I used a lot of short or staccato figures in the orchestra and pizzicato (where the strings pluck their instrument), in order to leave space for the timpani’s sounds and colors to be heard.
“The last movement has African and Cuban rhythmic elements and Asian-influenced melodies. There is a cadenza that begins slowly and melodically and then transitions into a ‘call and response’ section with the percussion section. If fact, every movement uses the ‘call and response’ technique at some point, with Charles reacting both rhythmically and melodically to the orchestra.
“Hopefully the listener will have a greater appreciation for both the timpani and the artistry of Charles Ross after hearing this performance of Concerto for Timpani and Orchestra.”
Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Op. 90
Johannes Brahms
b. Hamburg, Germany / May 7, 1833
d. Vienna, Austria / April 3, 1897
Brahms completed Symphony No. 3 during the summer of 1883, during a working holiday in the town of Wiesbaden. It is a more individual and characteristic symphony than its two predecessors. In its striking mixture of passion and pessimism, of restlessness and serenity, he presents a compelling, highly revealing musical self portrait. One of its most striking features is that all four movements end quietly. Such an unusually reserved practice indicates the degree of confidence that Brahms had attained by this point in his career.
The opening movement is rich with incident and feeling. Surges of emotion—positive and doubting alike—roll across its richly textured surface. The following two movements are peaceful interludes. Only at the climax of the second section does its overall atmosphere of almost rustic gentleness give way to a more heated style of utterance. The third movement is a dance: slow, melancholy, hauntingly beautiful. The symphony’s emotional conflicts are resumed in the finale, only to dissipate, unresolved, as the music winds down to a resigned, almost exhausted coda.
© 2009 Don Anderson. All rights reserved.
