ANTONN DVOK (1841-1904)

Symphony No. 8 in G major, Opus 88

Dvok remained little played outside his native country until practically the
middle of the twentieth century. In the Czech lands, however, Dvok finally
enjoyed the respect he deserved by the time he got around to his Eighth
Symphony. Compared to Dvoks somber Seventh Symphony, composed
four years earlier, this G major Symphony is decidedly genial and upbeat;
and yet, if we listen carefully, we may be surprised by how much minor-key
music actually inhabits this major-key symphony, beginning with the solemn
introduction, richly scored to spotlight mid-range instruments. But joyful
premonitions intrude, thanks to the birdcall of the solo flute. This develops
into the ebullient principal theme of the movement, which, when it has run
its course, we are likely to recall as overwhelmingly pastoral and optimistic.
And yet the mournful music of the introduction returns as the movement
progresses, and the development section is full of forbidding passages. This
tempering of the bucolic spirit was deliberate. When Dvok sketched the
movement it was unerringly cheerful. The minor-key introduction arrived as
an afterthought, as did the considerably more difficult trick of working
reminiscences of it into the existing flow of the piece. In the end, this
opening movement provides a splendid example of how the sun seems to
shine more brightly after it has been darkened by passing shadows.

Similar contrasts mark the Adagio, which even in its opening measures
displays considerable ambiguity of mood: lusciously warm-hearted string
sequences leading to intimations of a somber march (still in the strings). A
third of the way through the movement this reflective disposition is
interrupted by what sounds like a village band playing an arrangement from
Wagner. The gentle music returns and seems to be ushering this movement
to an end when the Wagnerian passion erupts yet again, now even more
forcefully, after which this subtly scored movement wends to a peaceful
conclusion.

The folk-flavored third movementa waltz, perhaps--is a bit melancholy, too,

its wistfulness underscored by the minor mode. This serves as the traditional
scherzo section, though its spirit is more in line with a Brahmsian intermezzo.
The central trio section presents some of the most agreeably countrified
material Dvok ever wrote.

Following an opening fanfare, the dance-like finale unrolls as a delightful set

of variations (though interrupted by a minor-mode episode) on a theme of
inherent breadth and dignity. In his 1984 biography Dvok, Hans-Hubert
Schnzeler offers some insights to the finale in his discussion of the
Symphony No. 8, which he considers overall the most intimate and original
within the whole canon of Dvoks nine: [Dvok] himself has said that he
wanted to write a work different from the other symphonies, with individual
force worked out in a new way, and in this he certainly succeeded, even
though perhaps in the Finale his Bohemian temperament got the better of
him. . . . The whole work breathes the spirit of Vysok, and when one walks
in those forests surrounding Dvoks country home on a sunny summers
day, with the birds singing and the leaves of trees rustling in a gentle breeze,
one can virtually hear the music. . . . [The] last movement just blossoms out,
and I shall never forget [the Czech conductor] Rafael Kubelk in a rehearsal
when it came to the opening trumpet fanfare, say to the orchestra:
Gentlemen, in Bohemia the trumpets never call to battlethey always call
to the dance!

James M. Keller

PYOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893)

Variations on a Rococo Theme Op. 33 for Cello and Orchestra (1876)

Tchaikovsky was admitted to the first class of the newly opened St

Petersburg Conservatory aged 21, shortly after commencing his formal
musical studies. After graduating, Tchaikovsky was recruited by Nikolai
Rubinstein, brother of Tchaikovskys teacher Anton, to join the new Moscow
Conservatory. Here he met fellow teacher, the German cellist Wilhelm
Fitzenhagen, who inspired Tchaikovsky to write the Variations on a Rococo
Theme.

This period in Tchaikovskys life was mired by financial troubles (prior to the
later patronage of Nadeja von Meck that allowed Tchaikovsky the freedom to
compose), and he fell into one of his periodic bouts of depression. During
1876 he composed his popular and showy Marche Slave, the dark and
brooding Francesca da Rimini and these cheerful and elegant variations.
More starkly contrasting works are difficult to imagine.

Tchaikovsky sought help from his friend for advice on the technicalities of
writing for the cello, but got rather more than he bargained for! Fitzenhagen
ended up writing much of the virtuosic cello part himself, rearranged the
order of the variations (possibly to draw more applause), and deleted one in
the process. This is the most common version performed today, although a
reconstruction of Tchaik-ovskys original was made in 1941.

Rococo here refers to old-fashioned rather than florid and the tuneful
theme that Tchaikovsky composed is simple and elegant. However, the seven
variations that follow make this one of the most challenging works in the
cello repertoire, and span the entire range of the instrument. Most of the
variations include a brief codetta played by the woodwind, providing an
overall unity to the structure of the work.
 - Maroonda Symphony Orchestra

FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)

A Midsummer Nights Dream: Overture, Op. 21 and Incidental Music,
Op. 61

For almost two centuries, much has been made of Mozarts precocity, both
as a juvenile composer and as an executant, but Mendelssohns really
startling youthful powers have been rather glossed over, partially because of
his carefully sheltered upbringing. In an age when composers generally
sprang from the lower classes, Mendelssohn was almost an anomaly. The
scion of the great Mendelssohn banking family and grandson of the
philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, Felix was brought up in an environment
that, compared to any other composer of the day, would have been ideally
cultured. He was, in fact, nurtured as one would nurture a hothouse plant.

Mendelssohn began to write music of great power and brilliance while he was
still in his middle teens; the First Symphony and the celebrated Octet are
testaments to his genius. When he was seventeen, however, he wrote one
work that could well be described as being perfect: the Overture to A
Midsummer Nights Dream.

Mendelssohn first got the idea of writing an overture in the spring of 1826,
when he heard Webers Oberon Overture in Berlin. Writing to his sister Fanny
in July of that year, Mendelssohn discussed working in the peaceful seclusion
of the family garden: Today or tomorrow, I am going to dream there the
Midsummer Nights Dream. It is, however, an enormous audacity.

Audacity or not, Mendelssohn soon became entangled. The opening worked,

but what followed seemed to be both dead and alive. A musical friend, A.B.
Marx, was called in to advise. In suggesting the inclusion of characteristic
references to the action of the plot, Marx assisted at the birth of a
masterpiece. The Overture went on to become Mendelssohns first and
possibly greatest success.

As the years passed, Mendelssohn went on to acquire a pre-eminence in the

world of music that at times was almost of mythical proportions. Triumph
followed triumph, composition followed composition, but he never forgot the
perfection that he had achieved in his first Overture. In 1842, King Friedrich
Wilhelm of Prussia commissioned Mendelssohn to write the complete
incidental music for A Midsummer Nights Dream to match the Overture
written so many years before, and Mendelssohn leapt at the chance.
Mendelssohn worked furiously in his spare time for a year (being the Music
Director of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig, the Principal of the
Conservatory, and the General Music Director of Prussia, he couldnt have
had a great deal of free time), and he conducted the premiere in Potsdam on
October 14th, 1843. The new work was an immediate success. Somehow
Mendelssohn had not only managed to recapture the style of the Overture in
a series of brilliant movements, but he had also managed to expand on his
original emotional conception as well.

The work as a whole deserves a greater analysis than can be given in this
space, but here at least are a few signposts to mark the way. After the
Overture, an extended Scherzo develops the fairyland theme through all of
its melodies, as does the delicate Fairies March that follows it. The song with
chorus Ye spotted snakes is my personal favorite. There was a time when I
was sure that it was the single most beautiful thing that I had ever heard;
now I merely expect that it is. The Intermezzo that comes next reflects both
the anguish of Hermia and Helena and the humors of Bottom and his friends.
The lovely Nocturne that follows is justly renowned. The Wedding March, so
familiar to all, is one of the best movements in the Midsummer Nights
Dream. The Funeral March, depicting the working mens attempts at high
tragedy, is brilliantly in the style of an Alla Turca of the previous century, and
is both mournful and somewhat grotesque. The Bergamasque Dance makes
clever use of a secondary theme from the Overture, and the choral Finale
Through this house give glimmring light brings the work to a fitting
conclusion.

- Ronald Comber