thursday 1 march 2012
Northern sinfonia
Hall one, The Sage Gateshead
Programme Notes
MENDELSSOHN
Hebrides overture ‘fingal’s cave’
bruchviolin concerto no.1 in g minor
INTERVAL
beethoven SYMPHONY NO.3 IN E FLAT ‘eroica’
MENDELSSOHN 1809-1847
HEBRIDES OVERTURE ‘FINGAL’S CAVE’
SIR WALTER SCOTT
This visit to the distinguished
author of the Waverley novels was a
disappointment. They caught up with
the great man just as he was leaving
Abbotsford. Felix noted glumly that
they “stared at him like fools, drove
eighty miles and lost a day for the sake
of, at best, one half-hour of superficial
conversation”.
Multi-talented Felix Mendelssohn came from an affluent and enlightened family, and
this young musician, artist and enthusiast of literature was encouraged to travel
Europe, gleaning inspiration from the countries and their peoples, as well as from the
landscapes that opened up before his eyes and inspired his watercolour sketches
almost as much as his music.
On a visit to London in 1829 he and a family friend, Karl Klingemann, who was then a
diplomat in the capital, decided on a summer expedition north of the border with the
hope of dropping in on Sir Walter Scott to pay their respects.
First impressions of Scotland did not impress Mendelssohn; the sound of the
bagpipes alarmed him and he noted gloomily that the Highlands “brew nothing but
whisky, fog and foul weather”.
That foul weather, however, was soon to play a major role in bringing a little musical
masterpiece into the world.
Whilst on Scotland’s west coast, Felix and Karl took a steamship trip to the Hebridean
island of Staffa with its spectacular natural formation opening onto the sea, Fingal’s
Cave. The journey was a rough one, with the little craft being rolled by the waves, and
most passengers – including Felix – were seasick.
But this ordeal proved an inspiration when, as the boat drew near the island,
Mendelssohn was confronted by the massive grandeur of the basalt pillars at the
cavern’s threshold and the awe-inspiring cathedral dimensions of its roof. He swiftly
jotted down the opening bars of a rhythmic theme inspired by the swelling of the
waves, and a version of a concert overture was put on paper in December of that
year.
Mendelssohn revised it in 1832 and, after toying with several titles, settled on a tie
between Die Hebridean and Fingals Höhle – ‘The Hebrides’ and ‘Fingal’s Cave’.
Mendelssohn was never one for composing music that readily translates into
storylines or pictorial imagery, but the orchestral expression of the motion and
changing moods of the waves ebbing and flowing into the great cave of Fingal, the
legendary Celtic warrior, is inescapable in this particular creation.
The overture even momentarily held in restraint the arrogance of Richard Wagner,
ever scornful of Mendelssohn the man and musician, when he enthused that it was
“one of the most beautiful pieces we possess”. Wagner, who was to pick up a few
tips from Mendelssohn’s music for some scene-painting in his own works, added:
“Wonderful imagination and delicate feeling are here presented with consummate
art. Note the extraordinary beauty of the passage where the oboes rise above the
other instruments in a plaintive wail, like winds over the sea”.
© Richard C. Yates
BRUCH 1838-1920
VIOLIN CONCERTO NO.1 IN G MINOR, OP.26
Vorspiel: Allegro moderato - Adagio - Finale: Allegro energico
JOACHIM
Violinist and composer Joseph Joachim
(1831-1907) was one of the greatest
musicians of his generation. He was a
pupil of Mendelssohn, became leader
of the Weimar court orchestra under
Liszt’s supervision, and was consulted
by Brahms, as well as Dvor̆ák, over their
violin concertos – both of which were
dedicated to him.
LISTEN
On a visit to Naples years later he was
even plagued by street musicians who,
on spotting him and being eager to
impress, would break into the famous
melody from the Adagio.
Max Bruch’s G minor composition is one of the most popular violin concertos with
audiences across the world, much loved for its lyrical romanticism and strong
melodies. Yet for Bruch, it was soon to become an albatross around his neck.
He began work on it in 1864 and a draft was ready by early 1866, but Bruch, fearing
he was out of his depth, sought detailed advice from fellow musicians, including the
virtuoso violinist Josef Joachim. In its revised form it was first performed in Bremen in
1868 with Joachim, its dedicatee, as soloist.
It was an immediate success and Bruch sold his concerto to a publisher – but for
a one-off payment with no entitlement to royalties. From then on, the enormous
popularity of the concerto – which put everything else he wrote into the shade –
began to grate with Bruch.
The G minor concerto was being played all over Europe – and poor Max, who wasn’t
getting an extra penny for it, said he could no longer listen to the piece. Bruch
valued his choral works far more – they are hardly ever performed these days – and
tried in vain to get star violinists interested in his two subsequent concertos for their
instrument.
Insult was added to such longstanding injury when, six months before his death,
the old poverty-stricken composer entrusted his original manuscript of the G minor
concerto to two American sisters, on the promise that they’d sell it on his behalf and
send the money back for his family. He was swindled; no money materialised, and
the manuscript was sold on to a mystery buyer. It only resurfaced in 1968 as part of
a bequest to a New York library.
Bruch was content to stand aside from the musical explorations of his German
contemporaries, knowing that his work, while not daringly experimental, was
pleasing and understandable to concertgoers.
The concerto opens with a short song-like Vorspiel, or prelude, then introduces
a passionate Gypsy-style melody which the soloist develops. A quiet orchestral
passage links this movement, without a break, to the sublime Adagio with its
extended and lyrical theme.
A bright and breezy march-like tune opens the Finale, which soon develops into
a wonderful partnership between the soloist, revelling in some sparkling virtuoso
playing, and the orchestra delivering colourful and dramatic support.
© Richard C. Yates
BEETHOVEN 1770-1827
SYMPHONY NO.3 IN E FLAT, OP.55, ‘EROICA’
Allegro con brio - Marcia funebre: Adagio assai - Scherzo & Trio: Allegro vivace Finale: Allegro molto
ALLEGRO CON BRIO
Briskly and spiritedly.
EXPOSITION
The first section of a composition, in
which the principal themes are stated
before being developed.
Beethoven surprised the musical world with his first symphony, and outraged
many with his inventive and expansive second. But no one was prepared for the
earthquake that was to be his third. Critics howled it down as ‘lawless’ and a ‘wild
fantasia’ – nevertheless, symphonies would never be the same again.
Apart from being almost double the length of the traditional symphony, here was
a truly heroic ‘Eroica’, embarking on an epic orchestral adventure, introducing
strange transitions, combinations of sounds and violent dissonances, and presenting
dramatic material which proclaimed the artist’s faith in mankind and its aspirations.
The ideals of democracy, equality and freedom were dear to Beethoven – and here,
at last, he had found the vehicle with which to express them.
The inspiration had been Napoleon, but when his republican hero crowned himself
emperor the disillusioned Beethoven furiously scratched ‘Bonaparte Symphony’ from
the title page, substituting ‘Eroica Symphony, composed in order to celebrate the
memory of a great man’.
After the opening hammer-like blows from the orchestra the Allegro con brio
exposition begins with a confident theme, but tensions soon arise and conflict
within the orchestra explodes in a series of strident discordant notes before the
DEVELOPMENT
The detailed treatment of previously
heard themes, which links them to new
ones.
SCHERZO
Literally, ‘a joke’. Beethoven introduced
the term in symphonic music to
describe a lively, rhythmic and usually
lighthearted movement.
TRIO
A gentle contrasting central section of
a minuet, scherzo or march, which was
originally written for three-part harmony.
PROMETHEUS
‘The Creatures of Prometheus’, music
by Beethoven for a ballet which was first
performed in Vienna in 1801.
CODA
Tail-piece. A musical display which
rounds off a movement and often
includes material heard earlier.
exposition continues. A development section of what we’ve heard follows – again,
not without a tussle within the orchestra – and here Beethoven brings in new
material, only to build new variations upon it. Eventually, the confident opening
theme returns and is resolved in a triumphant conclusion.
Violins, underlined by the basses, begin the slow funeral march, Marcia funebre. An
oboe takes up the theme and the strings reinforce the melancholic melody. There
is a short trio section that tries to inject some major-key cheer, but the march,
occasionally interrupted by dramatic chords, treads onwards and ends in sighs of
despair.
The sprightly Scherzo begins quietly on strings and woodwinds, then builds up an
energetic pace with the full orchestra, with pause only for a hunting theme for horns
in the Trio.
The Finale opens boisterously before the basses tiptoe in for a tuneful dance with
material Beethoven drew from his earlier ‘Prometheus’ music. From this point, using
music already expressed, Beethoven builds up an intricate but symmetrical sequence
of variations which interchanges moods of drama, passion and heroic endurance,
reaching its climax in a vigorous and triumphant coda.
© Richard C. Yates