In this section...

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Irina Muresanu

Program Notes

Entr’acte for orchestra (2003) by James Grant (b 1954)

Entr’acte is spirited and theatrical in nature and serves as a musical rendering of “the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd!”

By definition, an “entr’acte” is the performance of a short piece of music (sometimes dance) placed between two acts of a theatrical production. Indeed, an entr’acte is not considered to be “a main course,” but—to continue with the culinary analogy—is something of a musical amuse-bouche, a bite-sized palette-cleansing hors d’oeuvre created at the whim of a chef and frequently served at the beginning of a meal. It is in this context that the five-minute Entr’acte for orchestra is presented as an appetizer, a stimulating overture to the following works on the program. The music is dramatic and energetic, also humorous and fun-loving, and not without significant technical challenge as the instruments dodge, weave and swirl among themselves.

Originally commissioned as a chamber quartet for clarinet, violin, ‘cello, and piano by the Hoff-Barthelson Music School in Scarsdale, NY, this frolicsome orchestral version of Entr’acte was commissioned by the Bay-Atlantic Symphony, Jed Gaylin, Music Director.

Note by James Grant.

Samuel Barber (Born in West Chester, PA in 1910; died in New York in 1981)

Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 14

  1. Allegro
  2. Andante
  3. Presto in moto

Perhaps more than any other American composer, Samuel Barber represented the American expression of music worldwide in his lifetime; winning two Pulitzer Prizes, representing the United States in the first post-war international music festival, serving as vice-president of the International Music Council, attending the biennial Congress of Soviet Composers in Moscow 1962, and being one of an elite group of composers commissioned to write the inaugural music for the opening of the Lincoln Center in New York.

Barber’s reputation for writing exquisitely tuneful works with a distinctively modernistic twist was achieved early. At only 29, Barber was commissioned in 1939 to write a violin concerto by the wealthy Philadelphia industrialist Samuel Fels, with whose adopted son Barber attended the Curtis Institute of Music. The resulting Concerto soon impressed the likes of Fritz Reiner and Eugene Ormandy, and their premieres of it launched it firmly and lastingly as one of the best loved concertos in the repertoire.

Barber’s uncanny gifts for lyricism are supremely evident in this Concerto. As the first measures begin, Barber’s love of writing music for the voice is obvious as the violin sings rhapsodically. Barber’s sense of balance soon presents, however, as the sweetness turns to a jarring, Irish Sea shanty-like tune, followed by some trenchant dissonance – where a very clever use of the piano adds a layer of anxiety. The movement then develops these three seemingly incompatible elements at length, yet keeps them woven into the piece’s overall lyrical tone. The movement draws serenely to a calm and pulsing close.

The Andante begins with a haunted hush, setting a backdrop of discontent against which a poignant oboe melody will rise. This simple oboe theme, exceptionally beautiful and melancholic, is the kind of theme that only Barber seemed to be able to write, like his Adagio for Strings (and so many other gems). After nearly three minutes of this gripping music, the violin finally enters and the music then turns increasingly inward, melodically twisting from its former gracefulness to restless apprehension. When at last the original oboe theme returns it appears unobtrusively, as if it had been humming all along while waiting for the angst to subside. A final round of it with full orchestra brings the movement to a magnificent climax, and then, softly, the music ebbs away into silence.

All previous somberness and lyricism are thrown to the winds with the finale. Its tempo marking, Presto in moto (very fast perpetual motion) is indeed what we get. Beginning with the timpani’s racing triplets, the violin quickly then takes up the challenge at breakneck speed with triplet patterns almost until the end. As the violin’s pyrotechnics rush by, virtually all the instruments in the orchestra whirligig along with matching virtuosity. From a maddening driven-ness to a hopped-up Irish jig, and all things in between at high speed, Barber’s finale is utterly manic, like a rock tumbling at full speed down the side of a mountain. The Concerto culminates with syncopated punctuations in the brass, punching their way to a breathless end.

Ludwig van Beethoven (Born in Bonn, December 16, 1770; died in Vienna, March 26, 1827)

Symphony No. 8 in F Major, Opus 93

  1. Allegro vivace e con brio
  2. Allegretto scherzando
  3. Tempo di Menuetto
  4. Allegro vivace

Despite its dogged categorization as a musical “throwback” since its premiere in 1814, Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony is a testament to a composer who was always expanding and exploring his musical world. It’s a magical work, where Beethoven explores the terrain of gemütlichkeit – a German term meaning an overall feeling of cheerfulness and of a feeling of social acceptance. Perhaps most remarkable, however, is its exploration of musical humor – surprises, mischief and inside jokes abound.

Beethoven starts right in on the gemütlichkeit in the first movement – no expansive introduction is bothered with. The theme is a comfortable, regal thing – the sort of tune to accompany a jocular dinner party. Before long, however, the theme begins to throw itself into excesses. Beethoven marks passages at fff (basically as loud as possible) for the first time in his career. And then, suddenly, the rug is pulled out from under us. Dead quiet. And into that thundering silence dances a happy-go-lucky bassoon, a comical stroke of genius. There are moments, however, that are not all cheer, such as during several sinister scalar passages in the strings, until Beethoven resumes his fff passages, and it becomes clear that it was all a sneaky lead-up to prankish mischief. After a robust coda that is almost incessantly loud, the movement ends with a quiet toss-off of the opening bar – much like how a cat, after an episode of going playfully berserk, acts as if nothing had ever happened.

The delightful second movement Allegretto is Beethoven’s nod to his friend Johann Maelzel who revolutionized musical performance by inventing the chronometer, a predecessor to the metronome. The homage captures the effect of an ever-ticking metronome by the constant staccato (dry, short notes) in the winds. It’s a movement full of wit, with passages seemingly wandering off, displaced in their octaves, like a music student’s drifting concentration, ever to come back to the tick-tick of the incessant metronome – that metronome motive, too, later seems to malfunction.

After this scherzo-like second movement, one might expect a slow, meditative third movement. Instead Beethoven fondly recalls the minuets of Haydn and Mozart, and gives his minuet a hunting motive, no less – something that had been very much in fashion in Mozart’s Vienna, with horn and trumpet calls and timpani replies – but here it’s crafted almost as clownishly clumsy – it’s all a little too obvious. One of its most brilliant moments occurs in the Trio section, where the horn and clarinet dance over arpeggiated cellos and basses. Its elegance is geared to sound as if those waiting their turn to dance (the cellos) don’t know their steps, breaking in and backing off. It’s a friendly jab in the ribs to the minuets of “old” (and probably some buffoons Beethoven knew personally in Vienna) and is completely satisfying.

Starting quietly, with a brimming energy, the Finale soon breaks loose with an ebullient outburst. The themes generally play out in this manner: a calm moment is followed by a burst of uncontrolled enthusiasm. The energy is so intense and yet so off-kilter, we have a sense that the orchestral train may be about to derail. Here also, similar to moments in the first movement, the outbursts are often followed by the quiet octave pecks of the bassoon, joined here by the timpani. The good cheer is in full force in this movement, especially as Beethoven sets the stage for the remarkable coda. Bit by bit, an obnoxious enharmonic note, sounding lost and out of place, begins to interrupt the musical fabric – a C# in this movement’s key of F.  The beauty of Beethoven’s wit here, as well as another jab to the old Sonata form, is to deal with that C# promptly with a gross structural imbalance. The movement proper therefore gets cut terribly short and the coda blazes in, dealing with the wayward note by simply smothering it. Outweighing the rest of the movement entirely, and with plenty of fff’s, the coda hammers out the tonic F Major chord a staggering 45 times. No more pesky notes, to be sure, but a rollicking and boisterous ride to the finish, in what may be Beethoven’s most cheerful masterpiece.

Barber and Beethoven notes by Max Derrickson