Please note that due to health-related reasons, harpsichordist Kristian Bezuidenhout has withdrawn from these concerts. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra welcomes Mahan Esfahani, who has graciously agreed to perform. The program remains the same. PROGRAM ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOURTH SEASON Chicago Symphony Orchestra Riccardo Muti Zell Music Director Pierre Boulez Helen Regenstein Conductor Emeritus Yo-Yo Ma Judson and Joyce Green Creative Consultant Global Sponsor of the CSO Thursday, April 30, 2015, at 8:00 Friday, May 1, 2015, at 8:00 Saturday, May 2, 2015, at 8:00 Harry Bicket Conductor Mahan Esfahani Harpsichord Rameau Dance Suite from Platée Orage (Storm) Air, pour des fous gais—Air, pour des fous tristes First Menuet—Second Menuet Air Pantomime (Fièrement)—First Rigaudon—Second Rigaudon First Chicago Symphony Orchestra performances Poulenc Concert champêtre for Harpsichord and Orchestra Adagio—Allegro molto Andante Finale: Presto MAHAN ESFAHANI INTERMISSION Bach, arr. Stravinsky Four Preludes and Fugues from The Well-Tempered Clavier Prelude and Fugue No. 10 in E Minor from Book 1 Prelude and Fugue No. 4 in C-sharp Minor from Book 1 Prelude and Fugue No. 11 in F Major from Book 2 Prelude and Fugue No. 24 in B Minor from Book 1 First Chicago Symphony Orchestra performances Bach Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major, BWV 1068 Overture Air Gavottes 1 and 2 Bourrée Gigue The appearance of Mahan Esfahani is made possible in part by the John Ward Seabury Distinguished Soloist Fund. This program is partially supported by grants from the Illinois Arts Council, a state agency, and the National Endowment for the Arts. COMMENTS by Phillip Huscher Jean-Philippe Rameau Born before September 25, 1683, Dijon, France. Died September 12, 1764, Paris, France. Dance Suite from Platée Jean-Philippe Rameau is one of the orchestral world’s neglected masters. Although he is regularly acknowledged as one of the most important and influential composers of the French baroque, modern symphony orchestras today rarely play his music. When the Chicago Symphony performed Rameau’s music for the first time in 1900, the program book painted him as a worthy companion to Bach, pointing out that when he died “all France mourned for him; Paris gave him a magnificent funeral, and in many other towns funeral services were held in his honor.” The Orchestra played selections from his opera Castor et Pollux the next season, but Rameau’s music was rarely performed again after that. (From 1963 to 2006, his name did not appear on Chicago Symphony subscription programs once.) A contemporary of Bach, Handel, and Vivaldi, Rameau was the greatest French composer of the eighteenth century and one of the giants of the Enlightenment. Like Bach, he was trained as a church organist and choirmaster. After working in the cathedrals in Avignon, Clermont-Ferrand, Dijon (he succeeded his father in the post there), and Lyons, he settled in Paris in 1722. That year, his treatise on music theory, the Traité de l’harmonie, was published, and it proved to be one of the COMPOSED 1745, revised 1748–49 FIRST PERFORMANCE March 31, 1745; Versailles, France 2 most widely studied textbooks in the history of music. Like Bruckner, another composer whose career began in the church, Rameau was a late bloomer. His success as a composer dates from 1733, when Hippolyte et Aricie, his first major stage work, was given a triumphant reception at its Paris Opéra premiere only six days after the composer’s fiftieth birthday. (It was not without its critics, who found his style an affront to the tradition established by Lully in the late seventeenth century, and the score became the first musical work to be called “baroque” in the critical sense of the word.) Hippolyte et Aricie changed the direction of Rameau’s career, and, over the next thirty years, he turned out another two dozen works for the stage, representing the many kinds of French dramatic music of the day—a number of hybrid forms that combine elements of opera and ballet. T he late 1740s were the most productive time of Rameau’s career, and between 1745 and 1749 alone he composed nine stage works. Platée was written, largely in 1745, for the dauphin’s wedding festivities, which took place at Versailles that March. The theme, regarding a mock marriage between Jupiter and an ugly nymph, Platée (played by a male singer), seems oddly ill-suited to the occasion, particularly since the bride, the Spanish princess Maria Teresa, was herself famously unattractive. But apparently Rameau’s delightful music and the riotously comic nature of the plot—highly unexpected in French opera at the time—charmed PREVIOUS CSO PERFORMANCES January 16 & 17, 1931, Orchestra Hall. Eric DeLamarter conducting Felix Mottl’s arrangement of the Menuet There are the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s first performances of Nicholas McGegan’s arrangement of the Dance Suite from Platée. INSTRUMENTATION two oboes, two bassoons, harpsichord, strings APPROXIMATE PERFORMANCE TIME 15 minutes both the assembled crowd and the happy couple. Following that single performance, Platée was not performed again until it was given at the Paris Opéra four years later, with a revised libretto. It quickly became one of Rameau’s greatest successes. Dance music lies at the heart of all Rameau’s stage works and is effortlessly integrated into the action, not isolated as a special attraction, as in later opera. The selection of dances from Platée that Harry Bicket conducts this week includes numbers drawn from the prologue as well as the first two of three acts. Rameau’s knack for writing lively, rhythmical music that naturally invites dance is readily apparent, as is his gift for generous melody. The suite opens with an orchestral storm (Orage), already raging in the very first measure and driving forward in a steady stream of sixteenth notes to its conclusion. (Rameau’s mastery of special effects, particularly in the weather department, is comparable to that of his one-time colleague Vivaldi.) The storm gives way to two genteel dances, the airs for the happy and sad lunatics. (According to the libretto, the happy characters were costumed as babies and the sad ones as Greek philosophers.) A pair of minuets (one in the major mode, the other in minor), and an animated pantomime number follow. Two lively rigaudons (based on a folk dance for couples, said to have been created by the Marseille dance master Rigaud in 1485) conclude the suite on a note of good cheer. 3 Francis Poulenc Born January 7, 1899, Paris, France. Died January 30, 1963, Paris, France. Concert champêtre for Harpsichord and Orchestra Wanda Landowska, who introduced the harpsichord to the concert stage at the beginning of the twentieth century, appeared with the Chicago Symphony on March 14, 1924. In a program designed to show off the still-unfamiliar instrument, she played a concerto by Handel and solo works by Bach, Scarlatti, and Handel on the harpsichord (and, to demonstrate her versatility, Mozart’s E-flat major piano concerto on the piano). Just the previous year, Landowska had been introduced to Francis Poulenc in Paris at the home of Winnaretta Singer, heir to the sewing machine fortune. Better known by her fancy married name, the Princess Edmond de Polignac hosted one of Paris’s most celebrated salons, where many of the early twentieth century’s artistic giants regularly gathered. P oulenc was no stranger to Parisian high society. He was born into a wealthy family and grew up in the city center, near the Élysée Palace. His father ran the huge Rhône-Poulenc pharmaceutical firm (his family name was as well known as Singer’s in business circles), and his mother came from a long line of native Parisians. He started studying the piano with his mother at the age of five, and later took lessons from Ricardo Viñes, the great pianist and friend of Debussy and Ravel. He soon began to meet the artistic celebrities of the day, including Satie, Cocteau, and Stravinsky. He missed the COMPOSED 1927–September 1928 FIRST PERFORMANCE May 3, 1929; Paris, France 4 scandalous premiere of The Rite of Spring in 1913 (he was just fourteen at the time), but he caught up with it the following year and was intoxicated by Stravinsky’s music. In 1917, he attended the historic opening of Satie’s Parade, with sets and costumes by Picasso, and quickly fell under Satie’s spell—Poulenc’s op. 1, a Rapsodie nègre, unveiled that same year, is dedicated to Satie. In 1920, Poulenc and five of his composer friends were dubbed Les Six, earning him a handy label in all the music history books, but also unfairly branding him forever as a frivolous, cheeky sophisticate inspired by the antics of Jean Cocteau. I n June of 1923, Poulenc sat in the music room of the Princess de Polignac’s Paris estate, along with Picasso, Stravinsky, and the poet Paul Valery, for the first staged performance of Falla’s Master Peter’s Puppet Show, a puppet opera with a prominent harpsichord part—introducing him both to the exotic sounds of the antiquated instrument and to the magnetic performing style of Landowska. (This was such a star-studded event that no less an artist than Viñes was enlisted as a stagehand.) T hroughout her career, Landowska was largely known as an early music specialist—in 1959, her New York Times obituary concluded that “In a world where everyone was looking to the future, Wanda Landowska found her element three centuries backward in time.” But she was in fact very much attuned to the latest developments in the music world, and following the Falla premiere FIRST CSO PERFORMANCES June 5 & 6, 1975, Orchestra Hall. Igor Kipnis as soloist, Henry Mazer conducting INSTRUMENTATION solo harpsichord, two flutes and two piccolos, two oboes and english horn, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, trombone, tuba, timpani, percussion, strings APPROXIMATE PERFORMANCE TIME 25 minutes in the princess’s home, she asked both Falla and Poulenc to write concertos for her to play. (In time, she also commissioned works from Stravinsky, Fauré, Ravel, and Debussy, who called her Madame Machine à courdre [Madame Sewing Machine].) Poulenc did not begin composition at once, perhaps uncertain how to incorporate a sound he associated with the music of earlier centuries into his own sparkling modernist language. He first studied the recordings Landowska made in 1923 and 1926 of music by Bach, Rameau, Handel, and Mozart. But it was not until he visited Landowska at her country home in Saint-Leu-la-Forêt later in 1926 that he began to imagine how to write a concerto for this novel instrument, of which his hostess was the greatest champion. Throughout his stay, Landowska played music for Poulenc—to stir his imagination, acquaint him with the harpsichord’s technical possibilities, and introduce him to the pre-Revolutionary French rage for music designed for elaborate outdoor entertainments— the so-called fête champêtre. (Jean-Antoine Watteau’s Fête champêtre, in the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago, is one of the most famous paintings on the subject.) In Landowska’s lovely rural setting, the idea of writing rustic, pastoral music was apparently intoxicating even to such a devoted urbanite as Poulenc (he had barely ventured beyond the Paris suburbs before the age of eighteen), and so he began his own Concert champêtre at once—a country concerto from the point of view of a true Parisian. After returning to Paris, Poulenc often consulted with Landowska as he worked—this was not only Poulenc’s first concerto, but his first major orchestral score as well—and she insisted that he visit her regularly to go through the score, sometimes nearly note by note, talking through details or adjusting the instrumentation in order preserve the delicate balance between a modern orchestra and the eighteenth-century harpsichord. In the final score, the harpsichord rarely plays with the full ensemble, but with varying chamber-music combinations. (Poulenc eventually made a piano version of the concerto, perhaps fearing that the harpsichord would never catch on as a concert instrument. He performed the piano version regularly for many years, but today it has all but disappeared from concert programs.) Landowska also nagged him, in her persistent yet charming way, to finish the piece. In the process, they became the best of friends. (Years later, Poulenc would delight party guests with his Landowska imitations, sometimes complete with wig and somber attire, right down to the sensible shoes.) P oulenc writes three movements, in the conventional fast-slow-fast pattern. He begins with a stately, baroque introduction to raise the curtain on his view of a concerto that is at once a modern concoction and a homage to the French harpsichord tradition of Rameau and friends. Despite his early enthusiasm for the radical, rebellious composers of Paris—and even though he went to Vienna in 1921 to meet Schoenberg—Poulenc himself was essentially a traditionalist, although one with wit and a healthy streak of irreverence. “I am not the kind of musician who makes harmonic innovations, like Igor, Ravel, or Debussy,” he later said, insisting that “there is a place for new music that is content with using other people’s chords.” That is the essence of Poulenc’s own brand of neoclassicism. (Stravinsky’s Pulcinella, the defining neoclassical score of the era, premiered in Paris in 1920.) Each movement proceeds, in fits and starts, with a profusion of musical ideas, sometimes stumbling over each other to be heard. The architecture is quirky, disjointed, and modern, but the material itself evokes an age long gone. The spirit of the baroque sicilienne, a slow dance in 6/8, hovers over the middle movement; the finale is a kind of gigue. Poulenc’s signature style is, in fact, a captivating kind of pastiche, full of genial harmonies, impertinent gestures, and big tunes. “I’ve often been reproached about my ‘street music’ side,” he once admitted. “It’s genuineness has been suspected, and yet there’s nothing more genuine in me.” In fact, the way Poulenc marries serious musical ideals with the wit and style of Parisian café society is the essence of his unique language. The trumpet calls in the finale—the concerto’s most obvious gesture to a pastoral tradition—are nothing more than memories of the bugle calls he heard as a boy in the woods surrounding the Fort Neuf de Vincennes, a quick taxi ride from the center of Paris. 5 Johann Sebastian Bach, arr. Stravinsky Born March 21, 1685, Eisenach, Thuringia, Germany. Died July 28, 1750, Leipzig, Germany. Four Preludes and Fugues from The Well-Tempered Clavier In 1955, J.M. Coetzee, who would later win the Nobel Prize for literature, was a bored fifteen-yearold living in the suburbs of Cape Town, South Africa. One Sunday afternoon, he heard music that he had never heard before coming from the house next door, where transient students lived. “As long as the music lasted, I was frozen,” he later wrote. “I dared not breathe. I was being spoken to by the music as music had never spoken to me before.” Much later, Coetzee learned that it was Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier that he heard—at the time he knew it only “in a somewhat suspicious and even hostile teenage manner—as ‘classical music’.” But he realized that afternoon—the afternoon when “everything changed”—that he had discovered something he would one day identify not as “classical music,” but as a “classic”—one of our civilization’s defining works of art. B ach was the first great composer to be forgotten by the general public and then to reemerge to take his place as one of the masters. Even so, The Well-Tempered Clavier, his encyclopedic two-volume keyboard collection, never went unplayed. Within thirty years of Bach’s death, Mozart was busy studying The Well-Tempered Clavier and Beethoven was learning to play the piano by practicing its twenty-four preludes and fugues. Both Mozart COMPOSED 1722 (publication of volume 1), ca. 1740 (volume 2) April–June, 1969, Stravinsky arrangement and Beethoven eventually arranged several of the fugues for string ensemble as a way of giving this extraordinary music wider exposure. The entire generation of composers born around 1810—Schumann, Chopin, Mendelssohn, and Liszt, just to mention the headliners—came to think of Bach as essential to their art, if not as the foundation of music itself, and they considered The Well-Tempered Clavier as both the first of music’s “great books” and the bedrock of their keyboard technique. Bach’s collection remained a touchstone for the most adventurous composers of the twentieth century as well. Charles Ives played one of the fugues every morning before breakfast, to start the day fresh. Arnold Schoenberg, who made a full orchestral transcription of Bach’s E-flat major prelude and fugue (Saint Anne), liked to call Bach “the first composer with twelve tones,” thinking of the B minor fugue from book 1 of The Well-Tempered Clavier, in which all twelve steps of the chromatic scale appear in the opening subject. T he Well-Tempered Clavier was Igor Stravinsky’s daily fare at the end of his life—he loved to begin the day by playing a page or two as a way of exercising his fingers and jump-starting his thoughts. Robert Craft, Stravinsky’s long-time colleague and amanuensis, said that after the composer died, he found the music of Bach’s E-flat minor prelude still open on the piano. It was the last piece Stravinsky had played, just days earlier. Stravinsky’s final project—in a career that stretched over seventy years—was an PREVIOUS CSO PERFORMANCES April 14 & 15, 1938, Orchestra Hall. Frederick Stock conducting his own arrangement of Prelude no. 4 in C-sharp minor These are the first Chicago Symphony Orchestra performances of Stravinsky’s arrangement of Bach’s preludes and fugues. 6 INSTRUMENTATION three clarinets and bass clarinet, two bassoons, strings APPROXIMATE PERFORMANCE TIME 25 minutes orchestration of four of Bach’s preludes and fugues. He began work in April 1969, a year largely given over to serious illness and to treatments in New York and Los Angeles. His wife Vera’s diary suggests how difficult it must have been for Stravinsky to compose—her entries for April and May alternate progress reports on the Bach project (April 27: “Prelude XXIV completed”; May 27: “Fugue XXIV completed”) with medical updates (April 22: “very disagreeable night nurse $60 a night!”; May 15: “Igor so weak, so thin”). There is only the occasional reference to something outside the worlds of music and medicine (April 29: “Dinner: caviar tequila”). Photographs taken by Dominique Nabokov in the Pierre Hotel on May 1 show Stravinsky looking all-business, with the draft of the B minor fugue orchestration on his desk. Stravinsky completed the Bach project that June. “My transcriptions from The Well-Tempered Clavier were finished in the hospital,” he later told Craft, “and the next day, my birthday, as it happened, I was paroled back to the hotel.” Stravinsky’s objective, like that of Mozart and Beethoven before him, was “to make the music available in an instrumental form other than the keyboard.” Stravinsky originally signed a contract with his publisher, Boosey & Hawkes, to orchestrate two preludes and fugues, and then later decided to add two more. (The pencil manuscripts were never delivered; they now reside in the Paul Sacher Collection in Basel, Switzerland.) Stravinsky picked three prelude-and-fugue pairs from Bach’s first set of twenty-four (including Schoenberg’s “twelve-tone” favorite, in B minor), and one from volume 2. His original plan was to set the preludes for strings and the fugues for solo winds, but he broke the pattern when he realized that the B minor fugue was better suited to strings. The composer who once made history completely redecorating Pergolesi’s music in Pulcinella is remarkably faithful to the Bach scores he loved. T hese final pages from the great twentiethcentury master were unknown for many years after Stravinsky’s death. They were not discussed in the Stravinsky literature, and remained unpublished until 2012. More than just the last thoughts of a dying man, they are a testament to the enduring quality of music and the nourishing spirit of the creative act. 7 J. S. Bach Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major, BWV 1068 When the young Mendelssohn played the first movement of Bach’s Third Orchestral Suite on the piano for Goethe, the poet said he could see “a procession of elegantly dressed people proceeding down a great staircase.” Bach’s music was nearly forgotten in 1830, and Goethe, never having heard this suite before, can be forgiven for wanting to attach a visual image to such stately and sweeping music. Today it’s hard to imagine a time when Bach’s name meant little to music lovers and when these four orchestral suites weren’t considered landmarks. But in the years immediately following Bach’s death in 1750, public knowledge of his music was nil, even though other, more cosmopolitan composers, such as Handel, who died only nine years later, remained popular. It’s Mendelssohn who gets the credit for the rediscovery of Bach’s music, launched in 1829 by his revival of the Saint Matthew Passion in Berlin. A very large portion of Bach’s orchestral music is lost; the existing twenty-some solo concertos, six Brandenburg Concertos, and four orchestral suites no doubt represent just the tip of the iceberg. We’re probably lucky to have these four suites at all, in fact, since they aren’t mentioned—even in passing—either in the extensive obituary prepared by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, the composer’s son, or in J. N. Forkel’s pioneering biography published in COMPOSED ca. 1731 FIRST PERFORMANCE date unknown FIRST CSO PERFORMANCES October 23 & 24, 1891, Auditorium Theatre. Theodore Thomas conducting 1802. And so when Mendelssohn tried to interest Goethe in the magnificent unfolding of the opening of Bach’s third suite, this was recently discovered music, unknown to all but the most serious musicians. The numbering of Bach’s four suites, like that of Dvořák’s symphonies, is a convention that has little to do with their order of composition. The first suite is, apparently, the earliest, dating from before 1725, but the second is the last and the fourth suite was probably written around the time of the first. The third suite can be dated, with some certainty, from 1731. None of Bach’s original manuscripts for the suites has survived, which makes dating them unusually difficult. But for the third suite we have a set of parts written in three hands: by Bach himself (the last two movements of the first violin and continuo parts); by his son Carl Philipp Emanuel, who served as his father’s copyist beginning in 1729; and by Johann Ludwig Krebs, who often worked for the composer around 1730. (The collaborative nature of the writing out of the parts suggests that Bach was unusually pressed for time.) And we know that this suite was written for performance by the Collegium Musicum in Leipzig, which Bach took over in 1729, for concerts given at Gottfried Zimmermann’s coffeehouse every Friday night from 8 to 10. Bach didn’t call these works suites—he used the conventional term of the day, overture, after their grand opening movements. But they are unmistakably suites—that is to say, sets of varied popular dances. For the idea of starting each one off with a large-scale overture, Bach June 29, 1941, Ravinia Festival. Frederick Stock conducting (Air and Gavotte only) August 5, 1948, Ravinia Festival. Pierre Monteux conducting MOST RECENT CSO PERFORMANCES August 28, 2000, Ravinia Festival. Vladimir Feltsman conducting April 3, 4 & 5, 2009, Orchestra Hall. Pinchas Zukerman conducting 8 INSTRUMENTATION two oboes, three trumpets, timpani, strings, continuo APPROXIMATE PERFORMANCE TIME 21 minutes was indebted to Jean-Baptiste Lully, the seventeenth-century French composer who perfected what we now call the French overture: a solemn, striding introduction kept in motion by the brittle snap of dotted Bach’s son Carl rhythms, followed by Philipp Emanuel a quick, lively, imitative main section. Bach borrows Lully’s boilerplate but makes his overtures into magnificent, expansive pieces that tower over the dances that follow. (In fact, Bach’s overtures are nearly as long as the remainder of the suites they introduce.) Mendelssohn picked wisely when he played one of these overtures for Goethe, for they are among the most impressive and exciting of Bach’s instrumental pieces—and he knew from previous experience that Goethe didn’t easily fall under music’s spell. (Mendelssohn finally admitted, to his surprise and frustration, that the great poet wasn’t particularly sophisticated in his musical tastes.) For the remaining movements, Bach used many of the most popular forms of his day. (Each © 2015 Chicago Symphony Orchestra of the suites includes a different, hand-picked selection.) The third suite includes the gavotte, a gracious dance in duple meter that, despite its origins as a French peasant dance, was regularly performed in court circles in the sixteenth century; the bourrée, a lively French folk dance in duple meter that was often danced at the court of Louis XIV, who reigned from 1643 to 1715; and the gigue, a fast dance that originated in Ireland and England, where it was known as the jig (Shakespeare calls it “hot and hasty”). No single movement is as famous as the Italianate aria of the third suite. This is one of Bach’s most magnificent creations, the limpid beauty of its melody overshadowing an accompaniment of unusual contrapuntal richness. (The familiar title, Air on the G String, refers not to Bach’s original, but to an arrangement for solo violin made by August Wilhelmj in 1871 that transposed the melody more than an octave lower so that it could be played on the violin’s lowest string, the one tuned to G.) Perhaps Mendelssohn miscalculated in not picking this movement to play for Goethe, for it has rarely failed to move listeners since. Phillip Huscher is the program annotator for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. 9
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