Legacy Program Notes

Concert info: https://philharmonianw.org/concert-5-legacy/

Legacy often refers to that which is passed from one generation to another. In music, we may think of legacy in relationship to a style of composition that is given from teacher to teacher, or as a generational gift from past composers within a certain geographic area, developing a “regional” style. Today’s concert is a study in what Music Director finalist Bobby Collins has called “a tableau of German compositional style.” The three composers represented today share manifold legacies, including their forefathers, one another, and us as inheritors of this great musical tradition. A fun, perhaps unexpected, legacy of today’s concert is also that of the instrument called simply “the horn” (often inaccurately referred to as French), which makes many appearances across all three pieces we will hear. From the obvious solo concerto, to bold melodic passages and subtle harmonic underpinnings in the other pieces, the tapestry of colors—known as timbre in the musical lexicon—produced by the horns are a conduit for our ears, enriching the legacy of these German classics.

Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel: Overture in C major

The Overture in C major is the only true orchestral work composed by Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel. As the older sister of Felix and owing to the accepted gender roles of her time, much of Fanny’s music was not played outside of the small circle of her family and friends. Not until the last 35 years have we begun to properly acknowledge the magnitude of her compositions and see them performed on a regular basis. Composed most likely between 1830-1832 (good documentation of her composition dates is scarce), the overture offers a prime example of her style with strong themes and imaginative orchestration. It is the latter characteristic that is particularly interesting as the work has many delightful solo moments in the winds, surprising brass outbursts including several for the aforementioned horns, and rigorous string writing that is both standard for her day and innovative.

One might ask what this work is an overture to, given that this form is typically an introduction to a more substantial work such as a symphony, opera, or oratorio. The answer lies within an accepted practice in Mendelssohn Hensel’s day, which was to create a stand-alone orchestral work that would function at the opening of a concert, priming the audience for larger works to come; an aperitif if you will. With the closing, triumphant major chord of Mendelssohn Hensel’s overture, we are ready for the next course.

Richard Strauss: Horn Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 11

Richard Strauss grew up with a father who was one of the most prominent horn players of his day. Thus it is not surprising Strauss would compose one of the most frequently performed and beloved horn concertos of any era. Further, his writing for the horn comes from a deep knowledge of the instrument’s capabilities and potential. Composed when he was just 18 years old in 1882, Strauss’ concerto would have first been played informally by his father, who later complained in a letter to a fellow horn player that the work was too difficult and contained too many high notes that would be “daring” for the concert hall. It is interesting to note that Strauss would go on to compose even more daring music for the horn in his tone poem Don Juan, written three years later.

Focusing on only the fantastic writing for the horn, however, would limit our understanding of this beautifully crafted concerto. Structured in three contiguous movements, the work is fairly typical for a mid-Romantic era, German-style concerto with standard choices in orchestration, forms, and key centers. An area of wonder exists, however, in the interplay between the soloist and other instrumental sections or soloists of the orchestra. There are moments of what we might label “call and response” in the same sense we find in jazz or blues. Listen to the way the strings bounce off the solo horn passages, often taking the last part of a theme and using it as a launching place for further variations. Or note the beautiful moment in the middle Andante movement where the solo horn enters into dialogue with clarinet, offering a moment of conversation between soloist and orchestra member, as if two friends found one another in the midst of a large party. Hearing a soloist display this level of virtuosity, which we will in abundance today with Seattle Symphony member John Turman, is exciting, but what makes this concerto a masterpiece is the instrumental flare married with such a high degree of compositional control within the orchestra. The work is indeed daring for the concert hall, and we are the better for it as listeners.

Johannes Brahms:  Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 73

Brahms took nearly 21 years to write his first symphony but only one summer to write his second. Premiered in 1877, the work is considered one of the great masterpieces of orchestral music, on par with Beethoven symphonies and other high watermarks of the Romantic era. Yet Brahms’ second symphony has always been associated with the serene, perhaps brought on by the composer himself, who wrote to his publisher that the music was “so melancholy that you will not be able to bear it.” If we think of melancholy as an adjunct of serenity, let us explore a few possibilities of why Brahms and others have considered this music in these ways:

Like much of Brahms’ music, things take a while in his Second Symphony. If we compare the writing in this symphony to the other music on this afternoon’s program, there is a much slower expansion of ideas, like the opening of a flower over time. This allows Brahms to lull us into his tonal landscape. Consider the opening theme, first expressed in low strings then handed over quickly to mournful brass and then high winds before settling back into the strings. This takes several measures to unfold with multiple phrases concluding in a minor chord. By the time we’re two minutes into the work, we’ve heard a preponderance of minor tonality, and though the symphony is technically in a major key, we are left with an overall sense that things are serious, contemplative, lending toward the melancholic and serene. A very similar experience occurs in the second movement where long, sinewy melodic lines linger, often carried for a spell in our focused instrument of the day, the horns, which prove an apt vessel for melancholy given their rounded and dark timbre.

Tempo also plays a major role in our perception of this music as serene. Each of the movements marked “Allegro” have “non troppo” added, meaning “not overly so.” The final movement, marked “Allegro” again but this time “with spirit,” is the closest thing we have to a quickened pace, yet even here nothing ever gets rolling for very long. Each time Brahms finds a groove, he interrupts himself with a series of sonic questions, disrupting the sense of flow and casting a shadow upon the proceedings. Even the final moments of the symphony, which grow slowly in intensity before reaching a fierce climax, do so in a sort of “two steps forward, one step back” manner, often interjecting slower and quieter moments into the momentum. And don’t miss the horns in the final punctuations, bringing us back to the power of this instrument and a Germanic legacy that made great use of them.

James Falzone
Dean and Professor of Music
Cornish College of the Arts