PROGRAM NOTES by Klay and Karen Woodworth

Máximo Flügelman
b. Buenos Aires, 1954

Dialogues for Orchestra

Máximo Flügelman is both an international financier and a renowned composer. He was born in Argentina and studied in Switzerland and the U.S. He earned a degree in economics from the University of Geneva and an M.B.A. from Harvard Business School. Flügelman received his formal training in music through the Manhattan School of Music and the Juilliard School, where he studied with David Diamond and John Corigliano. He earned a Master’s degree in composition from the Juilliard School. His compositions have been well-received in both North and South America. Critics have called him a “follower in the footsteps of Charles Ives” and praised his “craftsmanship and accessibility without abdication of contemporary sound and inventiveness.” His first orchestral composition, Symphonic Variants, won the Indiana State University/Indianapolis Symphony Annual Contemporary Orchestral Composition Prize.

Flügelman composed Dialogues in 2000 and sees it as a “good-humored response to the imaginary rallying cry: Cellists of the world, unite!” Dialogues divides the orchestral cello section into three teams. Each team has a turn to act as soloist while the other teams provide accompaniment with the rest of the orchestra. The three teams finally unite to introduce the closing section of the piece. Flügelman comments:

The work’s architecture has the underpinnings of Sonata-Allegro form: contrasting themes (1) and (2) are linked by a lyrical intermezzo and rounded by a spirited codetta (3). These materials are woven into a development section, a recapitulation, and a vigorous finale. Teams I, II, and III take turns as ‘lead characters’ in concertante dialogues with the orchestra.

Although this piece highlights the cello section, Dialogues also demonstrates Flügelman’s skill in working with the orchestra as a whole, with brass, woodwind, and percussion sections adding context and sparkle to the conversation. Conductor Gerard Schwarz and the Seattle Symphony presented the world premiere of Dialogues for Orchestra in May of 2003. A performance by the Argentine National Symphony followed in July, 2004.

Max Bruch
b. Cologne, January 6, 1838
d. Friedenau, October 20, 1920

Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Opus 26

Max Bruch’s musical career could not have begun on a more positive note. At the age of fourteen, Bruch’s early compositions were recognized by a scholarship from the Frankfurt-based Mozart Foundation. Over the course of his long career Bruch released ninety-seven works with opus designations. Most of his music was for voices, including three operas, but today he is known for three orchestral works: the Violin Concerto No. 1, the Scottish Fantasy (also for violin), and Kol Nidrei (for cello). In 1907, Arthur Abell interviewed Bruch and asked him how he felt he might be remembered, especially in relation to Johannes Brahms, to whom he was often compared. Somewhat embittered by the lot life had dealt him, Bruch nevertheless had a very keen sense of his place in the musical world and why he was there:

I predict that as time goes on, he [Brahms] will be more appreciated, while most of my works will be more and more neglected. Fifty years hence he will loom up as one of the supremely great composers of all time, while I will be remembered chiefly for having written my G-minor violin concerto. Brahms was a far greater composer than I am for several reasons. First of all he was much more original. He cared not at all about the public reaction or what the critics wrote. Another factor which militated against me was economic necessity. I had to write works that were pleasing and easily understood. I never wrote down to the public; my artistic conscience would never permit me to do that. I always composed good music, but it was music that sold readily. There was never anything to quarrel about in my music. I never outraged the critics. Neither did I venture to paint in such dark colours as he did.

[Excerpts from Max Bruch: His Life and Works, by Christopher Fifield, Victor Gollancz Ltd (London), 1988]

As implied above, Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor is the work that won him international fame and the work that kept his name before the public throughout his career (much to his chagrin). It is a concert piece that focuses on the beauty of the violin’s sound rather than the technical proficiency of the violinist. Bruch worked on the piece for four years. In trying to get things just right he consulted two of the greatest performers of his day, Ferdinand David and Joseph Joachim. Joachim provided copious notes on the concerto and was its leading proponent in the concert hall when it was completed. The most important addition to the violin’s repertory between the concertos of Mendelssohn and Brahms, the Bruch Concerto No. 1 is not based on the Classical concerto form. The weight of the piece lies in the stunning central Adagio movement instead of the first movement. The first movement serves as an introduction, opening with a drumroll, followed by the woodwinds, and then the soloist, unaccompanied. Two themes are presented, but there is no recapitulation in the movement; the development of the themes serves instead to modulate to the Adagio’s key of E-flat. The finale of the work is a Rondo that allows the soloist to demonstrate his or her virtuosity. This concerto retains its warmth and appeal for audiences and soloists, and is well worth repeated hearings.

Sergei Prokofiev
b. Sontsovka ( Russia), April 27, 1891
d. Moscow, March 5, 1953

Excerpts from Romeo and Juliet

Sergei Prokofiev applied for a visa to travel to the United States shortly after completing ten years of study at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. He spent several years in the U.S. before moving to Paris in 1921. The contacts he made in both countries were valuable for his career and led to commissions for the Chicago Opera Company, Serge Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes in Paris, and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. In 1927 Prokofiev made a trip back to the Soviet Union. He was drawn more and more to his native land, and after several years of dual residence in Paris and Moscow, Prokofiev returned to the Soviet Union in 1934 and made Moscow his home.

One of his first acts upon returning was writing an article for Izvestiya, which allowed him to discuss his thoughts on composing:

What is needed above all is great music, in other words music that would correspond both in form and content to the grandeur of the epoch. Such music would be a stimulus to our own musical development, and abroad too it would reveal our true selves. I believe the type of music needed is what one might call “light-serious” or “serious-light” music. It should be primarily melodious and the melody should be clear and simple without, however, becoming repetitive or trivial. The same applies to the technique, the form — it, too, must be clear and simple but not stereotyped. It is not the old simplicity that is needed, but a new kind of simplicity.

The score for the ballet Romeo and Juliet certainly meets these self-imposed standards. Prokofiev had been searching for a good idea for a major work for the stage, either an opera or a ballet, and had become convinced that contemporary themes simply would not be accepted by Soviet audiences. The critic Adrian Pyotrovsky suggested working with Shakespeare’s famous tragedy and the idea stuck with the composer. Prokofiev contacted director Sergey Radlov to work up a ballet scenario because he had been impressed with Radlov’s production of The Love for Three Oranges and an earlier production of Othello. Radlov seemed besotted with Shakespeare’s words and it took the pair five months to compromise on something that would meet both of their needs. In the meantime, Radlov resigned from his post as artistic director of the Kirov theater. The project moved to the Bolshoi and Prokofiev found himself on an extremely tight schedule. Luckily, the Bolshoi maintained an estate outside of Moscow for the recreation of Bolshoi artists and it was here that Prokofiev wrote the music, while also spending the summer with his young family.

In an interesting aside from his autobiography, Prokofiev noted that this first version had a “happy ending.” He said, “The reason for this barbarism being perpetrated was purely choreographic: living people can dance, the dying can’t do it so easily prone.” Someone also told him, however, “‘ essentially, in your music there’s no real happiness at the end’ — and this was true.”

While tragic, the score of Romeo and Juliet is certainly beautiful. Prokofiev’s characteristic dissonances and rhythms only drive home the poignancy of this most popular of tragedies. In tonight’s suite we will be introduced to the proud families, the Montagues and the Capulets, and their long-running feud. Next we meet the young Juliet, whose character includes both the sprightliness of the high strings and darker sonorities showing her as a girl approaching maturity. The dance segments Minuet, Masks, and Madrigal, are from the first act scene at the Capulets’ ball where the young lovers meet for the first time. The guests assemble during the Minuet. Romeo and his friends arrive uninvited and in disguise in Masks. Finally, in Madrigal, the couple meets — Romeo with soft strings and Juliet with the bright flute. The bliss of the happy couple is shattered by the reality of the violence with which they live and, ultimately, Tybalt’s death and funeral procession. Romeo and Juliet are married secretly late at night and part at dawn in some of the most evocative music of Prokofiev’s score.

Shakespeare wrote in his Prologue to the play:

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ rage
Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove.

To end the ballet, Prokofiev depicts Romeo at the Capulet tomb and, while the finale recalls the love between the main characters, it certainly holds no “happy ending.”

© 2007 Klayton Woodworth and Karen M. Woodworth

 

 

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