10 More Dazzling and Awe-Inspiring Piano Quartets

by Hermione Lai, Interlude

A couple of years ago, Interlude published a blog on the 10 most beautiful piano quartets. Once again, featuring just 10 works in that particular genre is simply not enough. So, we decided to present a follow-up, highlighting 10 more dazzling and awe-inspiring piano quartets.

As a quick recap, you get a piano quartet when you add a piano to a string trio. The standard instrument lineup for this type of chamber music pairs the violin, viola, and cello with the piano. In its development, the piano quartet had to wait for technical advances of the piano, as it had to match the strings in power and expression.

© serenademagazine.com

Piano quartets are always special because the scoring allows for a wealth of tone colour, occasionally even a symphonic richness. The combined resources of all four instruments are not easy to handle, and the number of works in the genre is not especially large. However, a good many of the extant piano quartets are very personal and passionate statements. 

When talking about chamber music, and specifically chamber music with piano, it is difficult to avoid Johannes Brahms (1833-1897). Lucky for us, Brahms wrote three piano quartets, and his Op. 60 took its inspiration from his intense relationship with Clara Schumann. However, it took Brahms almost twenty years to complete the work. The origins date back to around 1855 when Brahms was wrestling with his first piano concerto.

Brahms put this particular piano quartet aside and only showed it to his first biographer in the 1860s with the words, “Imagine a man who is just going to shoot himself, for there is nothing else to do.” Thirteen years later, Brahms took up the work and radically revised it. He probably wrote a new “Andante” and also a new “Finale.” In the end, the work finally premiered on 18 November 1875 with Brahms at the piano and the famous David Popper on cello.

Brahms and the Schumanns

The emotional distress of his relationship with Clara is presented in a mood of darkness and melancholy. A solitary chord in the piano initiates the opening movement, with the string presenting a theme built from a striking two-note phrase. Some commentators have suggested that Brahms is musically speaking the name “Clara” in this two-note phrase. The second theme is highly lyrical but quickly develops towards the dark mood of the opening. The “Scherzo” is also in the minor key, and the deeply felt slow movement is a declaration of love for Clara. The dark opening returns in the final movement, and while the development presents some relief, the work still ends on a note of resignation, albeit in the major key.

Heinrich von Herzogenberg: Piano Quartet in B-flat Major, Op. 95

Heinrich von Herzogenberg

The intensely emotional and meticulously crafted compositions by Brahms served as models for a number of composers, among them Heinrich von Herzogenberg (1843-1900). As he writes, “Brahms helped me, by the mere fact of his existence, to my development, my inward looking up to him, and with his artistic and human energy.” While Brahms respected Herzogenberg’s technical craftsmanship and musical knowledge, he never really had anything to say.

Herzogenberg was undeterred and never stopped composing. In 1897, he wrote to Brahms, “There are two things that I cannot get used not to doing: That I always compose, and that when I am composing I ask myself, the same as thirty-four years ago, ‘What will He say about it?’ To be sure, for many years, you have not said anything about it, which is something that I can interpret as I wish.”

A few days before Brahms’ death, Herzogenberg presented him with his probably best and most mature work, the Piano Quartet in B-flat Major, Op. 95. The gripping “Allegro” is full of unmistakably Brahmsian character, constructed with compositional economy. An introductory chord develops into the motific core of the entire movement. The “Adagio is full of dreamy intimacy, while the capricious “Scherzo” eventually transports us into a pastoral idyll. Three themes, including a folkloric principle theme, combine in a spirited and temperamental “Finale.” 

When Richard Strauss (1864-1949) left college and moved to Berlin to study music at the age of 19, he suddenly discovered a new model in Johannes Brahms. Strauss would meet his current idol personally at the premiere of Brahms’ 4th Symphony in 1885. Under the influence of Brahms, the teenaged Strauss completed his Piano Quartet in C minor in 1884, and a good many commentators believe it to be Strauss’ “greatest chamber work.”

Richard Strauss

Op. 13 is a large work fusing “the sobriety and grandeur of Brahms with the fire and impetuous virtuosity of the young Strauss.” The work opens quietly, and the deceptively simple motif returns in various disguises. However, the music quickly explodes with superheated energy, and its dark sonorities and dramatic scope drive it to a virtually symphonic close.

Finally, the “Andante” introduces a measure of calm, with the piano sounding a florid melodic strain that gives way to a lyrical second subject in the viola. Both themes are gracefully extended while bathing in a delicate and charmed atmosphere. The concluding “Vivace” returns to the mood of the opening movement, and the rondo design also features a serious refrain and a spiky fugato. The work won a prize from the Berlin Tonkünstler, Strauss, however, would say goodbye to chamber music and explore orchestral virtuosity in his great tone poems. 

Gustav Mahler (1860-1911) seems another surprising entry into a blog on the piano quartet. However, a single movement from his student days at the Vienna Conservatory does survive. Mahler took piano lessons from Julius Epstein and studied composition and harmony under Robert Fuchs and Franz Krenn. Mahler left the Conservatory in 1878 with a diploma but without the coveted and prestigious silver medal given for outstanding achievement.

Gustav Mahler’s Piano Quartet

Although he claimed to have written hundreds of songs, several theatrical works, and various chamber music compositions, only a single movement for a Piano Quartet in A minor survived the ravages of time. Composed in 1876 and awarded the Conservatory Prize, it is strongly influenced by the musical styles of Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms.

Conveying a sense of passion and longing, Mahler presents three contrasting themes within a strict formal design. The opening theme possesses an ominous and foreboding character, while the contrasting second—still in the tonic key—is passionately rhapsodic. To compensate for this tonal stagnation, the third theme undergoes a series of modulations. Thickly textured and relying on excessive motivic manipulation, this movement nevertheless provides insight into the creative processes of the 16-year-old Mahler. 

Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904) is another composer who, for a time, took his bearings from Johannes Brahms’s music. Dvorák had always been strongly drawn to chamber music, as his first published works are a string quartet Op. 1 and a string quintet Op. 2.

Dvořák in New York, 1893

Apparently, he composed his D-Major piano quartet in a mere eighteen days in 1875. It premiered five years later, on 16 December 1880. Surprisingly, this piano quartet has only three movements, as the composer combines a scherzo and Allegro agitato in alternation in the Finale. The opening “Allegro” sounds like a rather characteristic Czech melody, initiated by the cello and continued by the violin. By the time the piano takes up the theme, the tonality has shifted to B Major.

The melody of the slow movement, a theme followed by five variations, is introduced by the violin. Dvorák skillfully presents fragments of the theme in various meters and textures. The cello, accompanied by the piano, takes the lead in the final “Allegretto.” After the violin has taken up the theme, the piano takes us into the finale proper.

Béla Bartók: Piano Quartet in C minor, Op. 20

Béla Bartók

To his contemporaries and critics, Johannes Brahms looked like a bastion of musical conservatism. Surprisingly, it was Arnold Schoenberg, in his celebrated Radio address entitled “Brahms the Progressive”, who suggested that Brahms was “a great innovator in the realm of musical language and that his chamber music prepared the way for the radical changes in musical conception at the turn of the 20th century.”

Just one year after Brahms’ death, the teenage Béla Bartók (1881-1945) embarked on the composition of a four-movement piano quartet. For years, this score was believed to have been lost, but it was rediscovered by a member of the “Notos Quartet,” who also prepared the edition following the composer’s autograph score. What is more, they also presented a world premiere recording in 2007.

The opening “Allegro” immediately evokes the harmonic and sensuous soundscape of Johannes Brahms. And like his model, Bartók’s musical prose does not follow a predictable pattern as the boundaries and distinctions of theme and development are blurred. Brahms’ rhythmic shapes are the topic of a blazing “Scherzo,” with the “Trio” sounding a sombre lyrical contrast. The “Adagio” sounds like a declaration of love for Brahms, while the “Finale” brims with spicy Hungarian flavours. 

Camille Saint-Säens introduced Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) to Pauline Viardot in 1872. Her youngest daughter, Marianne, immediately stole his heart, and Fauré courted her for four painful years. In July 1877, she finally agreed, and the engagement was announced. However, the relationship only lasted until the late autumn of 1877, when Marianne suddenly broke off the engagement.

Pauline Viardot

The exact reasons remain unclear, and Fauré was deeply distressed, with friends reporting that his “sunny disposition took a dark turn.” He started to suffer from bouts of depression, and the Clerc family helped him to recover. At this point, Fauré composed the masterpieces of his youth, among them the piano quartet in C minor.

It might well be considered an early work, however, the composer was already over forty. The opening “Allegro” is pervaded by a sense of optimism, urged on by a strong rhythmical gesture. The E-flat Major “Scherzo” opens with plucked strings and the piano making a light-hearted contribution. The sombre character of the “Adagio” provides an unexpected contrast, and that mood is taken over in the “Finale.” The asymmetrical piano accompaniment continues throughout and brings the work to an emphatic conclusion in the major key.

Théodore Dubois: Piano Quartet in A minor

Théodore Dubois in 1905

Théodore Dubois (1837-1924) was highly influential on the French musical scene. Early on, he was known as a composer-organist with a large oeuvre of sacred music to his name. As a pedagogue, he is still famous as the author of the most common music theory textbooks, and as an administrator, he gained notoriety by denying the famed Rome prize to Maurice Ravel on multiple occasions.

Once Dubois retired from the directorship of the Conservatoire, he worked on a chamber music project. A scholar writes, “If they are not progressive works of genius, we can still enjoy their faultless design and beauty of sonority as documents to help us understand the world and spirit in Paris before, around and after 1900.”

Dubois’ piano quartet in A minor appeared in 1907 and features a conventional four-movement design. The opening “Allegro” begins with a cautious drama but quickly transitions to a lyrical melody. The sense of melodic dominance is taken over in the “Andante,” followed by an “Allegro” replacing a scherzo. Essentially a character piece in the style of Mendelssohn, it is followed by a “Finale” of sophistication and balance.

Mélanie Bonis: Piano Quartet No. 1 in B-flat Major, Op. 69

Mélanie Bonis, 1908

Mélanie Bonis (1858-1937) was born into a Parisian lower-middle-class family and initially discouraged from pursuing music. Undeterred, she taught herself how to play the piano, and only at the urging of a family friend and with help from César Franck was she admitted to the Paris Conservatoire.

To conceal her gender during a time when compositions by women were not taken seriously, she shortened her first name to “Mel.” A good many of her late compositions have still not been published, and as she wrote to her daughter, “My great sorrow is that I never get to hear my music.”

Her first piano quartet was written between 1900 and 1905, and stylistically, it is cast in a post-Romantic tradition. Bonis explores the various possibilities of harmony and rhythm, infused with a dash of Impressionism. A good many passages show the influence of César Franck with long developments and rigorous counterpoint. At the work’s first performance, a surprised Camille Sain-Saëns declared, “I would never have believed a woman capable of writing that. She knows all the tricks of the trade.” 

Joaquín Turina (1882-1949), together with his friend Manuel de Falla, helped to promote the national character of 20th-century Spanish music. At first, influenced and inspired by Debussy, Turina soon developed a distinctly Spanish style, “incorporating Iberian lyricism and rhythms with impressionistic timbres and harmonies.”

Jacinto Higueras Cátedra: Bust of the composer Joaquín Turina, 1971 (Madrid: Escuela Superior de Canto)

While his Op. 1 Piano Quintet in G minor emerged from his study with Vincent d’Indy, the Op. 67 piano quartet in A minor is “music without the slightest need of any explanations.” The three-movement work is carefully constructed in cyclical form, and “the juxtaposition of contrasting themes give the overall shape a rhapsodic structure.”

The fundamental musical idea is introduced in the opening movement and transformed and modified throughout the work. Of particular lively interest is the central “Lento,” where Turina transformed Andalusian elements without abandoning the gestures, temperament and uniqueness of his native lands. I hope you have enjoyed this further excursion into the realm of the piano quartet, and I can already promise one more article on the subject with music by Mozart, Taneyev, Hahn, Brahms, Copland and others.

Classical Music About Mothers

by Emily E. Hogstadt, Interlude

For generations, mothers have been a source of inspiration for classical composers.

© friendsofchambermusic.ca

Today we’re looking at twenty pieces of classical music that pay tribute to motherhood, from song cycles written from a mother’s point of view to references to the Virgin Mary and Mother Goose, to the laments of mothers who have lost their children, to bittersweet musical tributes of children who have lost their mothers.

Frauen-Liebe und Leben by Robert Schumann (1840) 

In 1840 Robert Schumann was preoccupied by domestic thoughts. In September he was able to marry his longtime love, Clara Wieck Schumann. Her father had done everything he could to discourage their union but was ultimately unsuccessful in preventing the marriage. 

The Schumann children

It was against this backdrop that he wrote Frauen-Liebe und Leben (“A Woman’s Life and Love”). It’s a cycle of eight songs that follows a narrator’s journey of falling in love, getting married, and having a baby.

The seventh song includes the following lines:

Only a mother knows
What it means to love and be happy.

These lyrics are more than a touch ironic, given that Clara Schumann was one of the best pianists of her generation, and would become deeply unhappy when motherhood got in the way of her career.

Songs My Mother Taught Me by Antonín Dvořák (1880) 

This song is the fourth in a set of seven called Gypsy Songs, which contains lyrics both in German and Czech.

The narrator sings of songs that have been passed down through generations, and the bittersweet joys that come from passing them to young children.

The song has arguably become more famous in its instrumental transcriptions, such as this one for violin.

Mother Goose March by John Philip Sousa (1883) 

Mother Hubbard March by John Philip Sousa (1885)

John Philip Sousa wrote two nursery rhyme-themed marches. Both are charming, albeit not particularly famous.

Once when he was on tour, Sousa was unimpressed by an audience’s lukewarm response. He told his musicians, “If they’re going to act like children, we’ll give them children’s music!” and ordered them to take out the Mother Goose March.

That incident became an in-joke in the band.

“Mamma quel vino e generoso” from Cavalleria Rusticana by Pietro Mascagni

In this opera, a villager named Turiddu sleeps with his former fiancée Lola. Unfortunately, Lola is now married to a carter named Alfio.

When he finds out, Alfio challenges Turiddu to a duel. As he accepts the challenge, Turiddu bites Alfio’s ear until it bleeds, which signals that it will be a fight to the death.

Cavalleria rusticana at the opera’s world premiere,
17 May 1890, Teatro Costanzi, Rome

Turiddu speaks with his mother and begs her that if he does not return, she treats his secondary love interest – a woman named Santuzza – kindly.

The final words to this aria are famous: “One kiss, mother! One more kiss! – Farewell!” Turiddu leaves to meet his fate, and his mother and Santuzza embrace. As you can imagine, Turiddu does not survive the duel.

Empress of Night by Amy Beach (1891) 

This work by American composer Amy Beach was a family affair. The text was written by her husband two years after their marriage, and it was dedicated to her mother.

O Mother of God Vigilantly Praying by Sergei Rachmaninoff (1893) 

In this work, Rachmaninoff was inspired by one of the most famous mothers of all time: Mary the mother of Jesus.

This stunning work for a capella chorus is an homage to the musical traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church, which always loomed large in Rachmaninoff’s creative consciousness.

Songs My Mother Taught Me by Charles Ives (1895) 

In 1895, American composer Charles Ives set an English translation of the same poem that Dvořák had set fifteen years earlier.

This setting features a quiet piano accompaniment with a slowly rocking rhythm.

Muttertändelei by Richard Strauss (1899) 

Translated into English, the title of this song is “Mother Chatter.”

The narrator is an excited new mother chattering to everyone in earshot about her perfect brand-new baby.

She sings:

Just look at my beautiful child,
With long, golden locks,
Blue eyes and rosy cheeks
People, do you also have one like it?
People, no you have not!

The work could be inspired by Strauss’s muse and soprano wife Pauline, who gave birth to their first and only child in 1897.

Sinfonia Domestica by Richard Strauss (1903) 

The Sinfonia Domestica is an over-the-top celebration of domesticity.

Instead of composing a symphonic poem about a character from literature or mythology, here Richard Strauss writes one based solely on the various daily goings-on in his own household.

All sorts of homey activities are portrayed: a walk outdoors with their son, a cozy family dinner, spousal arguments…and, after he and his wife put their baby to sleep for the night, an eye-widingly graphic love scene!

Wenn dein Mütterlein from Kindertotenlieder by Gustav Mahler (1904) 

Kindertodtenlieder translated into English means “Songs on the Death of Children.”

The lyrics came from a set of 428 poems written by nineteenth-century poet Friedrich Rückert, who lost his children to scarlet fever and chronicled his grief in verse.

Gustav Mahler as a child

As a child, Mahler witnessed many of his siblings dying young, and he found himself drawn to this material. His setting of “Wenn dein Mütterlein” (“When Your Mama”) is especially heartbreaking:

When your mama
steps in through the door
and I turn my head
to see her,
on her face
my gaze does not first fall,
but at the place
nearer the doorstep,
there, where your
dear little face would be,
when you with bright joy
would step inside,
as you used to, my little daughter.

Tragically, three years after Mahler finished this work, one of his own daughters would die of scarlet fever.

“When I really lost my daughter, I could not have written these songs anymore,” he confessed to a friend.

About Mother by Josef Suk (1907) 

Josef Suk wrote these sweet piano pieces for his children about their mother. (In a callback to an earlier piece on this list, that mother was none other than Antonín Dvořák’s daughter!)

There are flashes of Bohemian or Dvořákian characters here, as interpreted by a younger composer from a new generation.

Ma Mere l’Oye by Maurice Ravel (1910)

The Ma Mere l’Oye (or Mother Goose) suite was originally composed as a simple piano duet for two of his friends’ children.

One of those children later recalled, “Ravel used to tell me marvelous stories. I would sit on his knee and he would begin, ‘once upon a time…’ And it was Laideronette, Beauty and the Beast, and the adventures of a poor mouse that he had made up for me.”

Turns out Maurice Ravel was a bit of a mother hen himself!

The work was so enchanting that Ravel soon orchestrated it, to great effect.

Two Musical Relics of my Mother by Percy Grainger (1905-12) 

Australian composer Percy Grainger and his mother Rose had a famously (some would say infamously) close relationship. When he was a boy, his father cheated on his mother, giving her syphilis. Understandably, there were tensions at home.

Percy wrote his first works for his mother, and, as he was homeschooled, she was his main teacher.

Rose turned into her son’s personal and professional manager, and they lived together until her death in 1922.

Senza Mamma from Suor Angelica by Giacomo Puccini (1917) 

Puccini’s one-act opera Suor Angelica is set in a convent. Three nuns discuss their dreams. Sister Angelica confesses that she dreams of being contacted by her wealthy noble family, whom she has not heard from in seven years.

A visitor arrives. It’s Angelica’s aunt, who wants her to sign a piece of paper. Once she does, Angelica’s claim to her inheritance will be renounced.

Angelica reveals that she had an illegitimate son seven years ago. Her aunt coldly informs her that the child has been dead for two years.

Angelica hallucinates her son and drinks poison. She realizes too late that she is dying by suicide, a mortal sin that will separate her from her son in the afterlife.

In desperation, she calls upon the Virgin Mary to send her a miracle. Just before she dies, she sees her son running toward her to hug her.

This stunning aria gives full voice to Angelica’s motherly heartbreak.

Mother and Child by John Ireland (1918) 

English composer John Ireland wrote this set of eight brief songs based on nursery song poems by author Christina Rossetti.

The final poem is a gut punch; it describes flowers in a garland “for death”, presumably a funeral arrangement.

Cradle Song of the Lonely Mother by Amy Beach (1924) 

Composer Amy Beach also addressed a similar topic.

In this somber cradle song, the gentle rocking rhythms and eerie chromaticism suggest that a mother is remembering a child who has died.

It’s a heartbreaking reminder of how the loss of a child was a formative life experience for so many mothers throughout the history of classical music.

Tiny’s Song from Paul Bunyan by Benjamin Britten (1941) 

In 1941 British composer Benjamin Britten wrote an operetta tackling one of the most American of characters: mythical lumberjack Paul Bunyan.

In the operetta, the massive Paul Bunyan (reportedly as tall as the Empire State Building) finds a wife as tall as he is, and she gives birth to a woman they name Tiny.

Mrs. Bunyan isn’t happy at home, so she leaves the household and eventually dies.

When Tiny arrives in camp, the men are attracted to her, since she is the only woman. She explains she is not in the mood for love; she is still mourning her mother.

Lullaby, From Jewish Folk Poetry by Dmitri Shostakovich (1948) 

This gloriously off-kilter lullaby is a deeply moving work by Shostakovich.

It comes from his song cycle From Jewish Folk Poetry. He said that he was intrigued by the idea of “a jolly melody on sad intonations.”

The words are tragic; the mother is singing to her child about its father, who has been imprisoned by the Tsar in Siberia.

“Sleep, my dear, whilst no sleep comes to me,” the mother implores her son.

Two Hymns to the Mother of God by John Tavener (1985) 

English composer John Tavener wrote a simple introduction in the score to his Two Hymns to the Mother of God:

These Two Hymns were written in memory of my mother. The first is for double choir and is a setting of a text from the Liturgy of St Basil. It speaks of the almost cosmic power attributed to the Mother of God by the Orthodox Church. The second comes from the Vigil Service of the Dormition (of falling asleep) of the Mother of God. She invites the apostles to gather from the end of the earth to bury her body in Gethsemane and asks her to receive her spirit.

The Sting of a Bad Review — And Revenge!

by Janet Horvath , Interlude

Bad reviews hurt! Why else would we remember Word for Word our first bad review?

When I was a college student, I performed one of my first solos with an orchestra. I had just won the school wide concerto competition and I was chosen to perform Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations. It was in a fabulous new concert hall in Ottawa, Canada. The review said, “… nice tone, iffy intonation…a talented but premature exponent of the Rococo Variations for Cello and Orchestra.”

Reviews can be nasty. Some of these are infamous. Perhaps you’ve heard worse? “Often dull and obscure…” wrote Leon Escudier about Bizet’s ever-popular opera Carmen. Regarding Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, The Harmonicon, an influential monthly journal of music, printed the following review, “… Frightful indeed, which puts the muscles and lungs of the band, and the patience of the audience to a severe trial…” \

Famed writer George Bernard Shaw was quoted as saying about the Brahms Requiem, “It is so execrable and ponderously dull…“

Another favorite composer, Rachmaninoff, didn’t escape the vindictive words of Cesar Cui. He wrote “… This music (Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1) leaves an evil impression with it’s broken rhythms, obscurity and vagueness of form, meaningless repetition of the same short tricks…” And fellow Russian, Tchaikovsky?

“Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, like the first pancake, is a flop,” said Nicolai Soloviev.

Lexicon of Musical Invective

Between its hundreds of pages The Lexicon of Musical Invective, by Nicolas Slonimsky, first published in 1953, and later revised in 2000, is a collection of brutal outbursts. I suppose it is more entertaining to read a slam than a gushing review. None other than Peter Schickele of P.D.Q. Bach fame wrote the foreword to the book:

“It is a widely known fact—or, at least, a widely held belief—that negative criticism is more entertaining to read than enthusiastic endorsement. There is certainly no doubt that many critics write pans with an unbridled gusto that seems to be lacking in their (usually rarer) raves, and these critics often become more famous, or infamous, than their less caustic colleagues.

– From “Dangerous Minds”, Posted by Ron Kretsch

Klaus Tennstedt

One of our favorite conductors of all time was Klaus Tennstedt our principal guest conductor of the Minnesota Orchestra from 1979 to 1982. We just clicked! Everything we performed with him was magic. He was known for his brilliant interpretations of Mahler symphonies and we played many of those, but we also performed other works including Beethoven and a memorable performance of the New World Symphony of Antonin Dvořák. The interpretation was so deep and riveting that many of us were literally in tears on stage. It was one of those times that we ascended into the spheres making music that transcended boundaries. Sadly, the reviewer didn’t think so. We were aghast. The headline read:

“Is Klaus Tennstedt Losing His Touch?”

As perhaps you know, the slow movement has a memorable melody for the English horn, which was performed with great heart and soul by our young English horn player now a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra. The reviewer, with stunning ignorance, referred to the famous solo as an oboe solo — indicating to us that this person not only lacked discernment but also of basic knowledge of orchestral music.

Normally one has to take a bad review and swallow it! It’s a matter of taste, preference and perhaps experience of other performances. But here was a case of blatant ignorance.

The members of the orchestra decided to do something that we’ve never done before — not only did several of us write individual letters to the newspaper, we wrote a collective letter— a rebuttal, that was signed by virtually all the members of the orchestra, head lined:

Dvořák Conductor Didn’t Deserve Critic’s Caviling

“As members of the Minnesota orchestra, we wish to express our collective outrage at the criticism written by X. We strongly question the credibility of the XX in engaging a free-lance writer who knows so little about the subject matter. A cursory glance through the program notes would have revealed to X that the solo in the LARGO movement of Dvořák New World Symphony was not an oboe, as X stated, but an English horn…. unable to distinguish a great performance from a bad one….X stated Maestro Tennstedt had “nothing new to say about the New World Symphony…” criticizing the orchestra for including a “Warhorse” on the program that was capable of, “bringing down the house even with a high school orchestra… the last movement seemed to have nothing to say, but said it loudly…”

…The spontaneous ovation from the 2,200-plus members of the audience and the 82 members of the Minnesota Orchestra on the stage …constituted an eloquent testament to the depth of the performance and the profundity of Tennstedt’s interpretation…

The orchestra is forced to compete with the orchestras of Berlin, London, Boston, New York and Philadelphia (to name a few) for his time and talent and it is lamentable that the X prints insulting columns by a writer who not only displays a dearth of simple musical knowledge but also a total lack of critical acumen… Klaus Tennstedt’s knowledge and genius are not in question. However the critical perceptiveness of X and the editorial integrity of XX most certainly are.

The reviewer was fired. Bad reviews may be part of the business but the next time you are rejected, passed on or criticized, remember our sweet revenge!

Dvorak: Serenade for Strings (Moderato, Scherzo, Finale)

895 views  Aug 16, 2019

Manila Symphony Junior Orchestra

Jeffrey Solares, Conductor

July 27, 2019 

Youngsan Art Hall, Seoul, Korea

Secret Stories Behind The Greatest Classical Compositions: Dvořák’s “New World Symphony”

Officially, the “New World Symphony” is Antonin Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, B. 178, and subtitled “From the New World.”  Of course, everyone simply calls it the “New World Symphony.” Dvořák composed the symphony over the first half of 1893, and it was premiered by the New York Philharmonic on December 13, 1893, at Carnegie Hall.

It was a hotly anticipated work. So much so that Carnegie Hall was forced to install a significant amount of extra seating to meet the demand for the premiere. Why so much anticipation? 

At that time, Dvořák was living and working in New York City as the musical director of the National Conservatory of Music of America. The conservatory opened in 1888 with the twin aims of making music education available to talented students from every background, including marginalized communities, and to foster the creation of a particularly American national music. 

Dvořák came on as musical director in 1892. As such, his work on The New World Symphony was an explicitly intentional attempt to bring an American musical sensibility to European classical music. He'd made public comments months earlier that he felt the core of an American sound could be found in Native American communities and African-American spirituals, and it was these sensibilities he'd bring to his new composition. 

His comments on his influences for the symphony caused a stir, and discussions by writers and critics about what could be expected continued until the day before the premiere. In an interview with Dvořák, published by The New York Daily Herald, he reiterated that he was influenced and inspired by Native American music and black spirituals when he composed the symphony to be performed the next night. 

Folk Music at the Core of a Classical Composition 

Before he ever arrived in the United States, Dvořák was already well-known, particularly for his compositions incorporating Czech folk music from his native Bohemia.  From a humble background, he keenly felt the struggle to maintain a cultural and political independence of his homeland from the weight of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. As such, he came to America with the approach of drawing on well-formed local folk music. 

He began composing the New World Symphony in New York City but completed it during a summer excursion to Iowa, where there was a large Czech community. Thus, he got to experience a range of American vistas as he wrote, often inspired by America's wide-open spaces. 

Dvořák also studied music that originated in the African-American community. He heard a student singing spirituals at the Conservatory and asked him to sing some more. Quickly, Dvořák and his student Henry Burleigh (soon to be a composer himself) were meeting regularly, with Burleigh teaching Dvořák all he had learned growing-up hearing his mother, a freed slave, sing. In his personal notes, Burleigh wrote that Dvořák had described the spiritual “Go Down Moses” as great as any theme composed by Beethoven. 

The New World Symphony is noted for using elements characteristic of slave spirituals, including syncopated rhythms, pentatonic scales, and flatted seventh. It’s been debated whether Dvořák derived from specific songs in the New World Symphony. For his part, Dvořák said he was inspired by the music without directly using specific melodies.  Yet many, including Burleigh, couldn’t help but hear echoes of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” in the second theme of the first movement. 

n a more abstract level, Dvořák was also inspired by Longfellow’s poem “Song of Hiawatha.” According to Dvořák’s sketch notes and public comments, the symphony’s second movement, the Largo, was inspired by Hiawatha’s journey across the American plains with his wife, Minnehaha. The third movement, a Scherzo, was animated by the feasting and energetic dancing of the magician Pau-Puk-Keewis during the wedding scene of the epic. Indeed, he had thought to use these movements as the basis for a full-scale vocal work of Longfellow’s poem. 

Impact of The New World Symphony 

The work was a huge success. At the premiere, the audience applauded so loudly between each movement that Dvořák stood to bow before the orchestra could continue. It had its first European premiere less than a year later, performed by the London Philharmonic Society on June 21, 1894. It was premiered in Prague and other Czech cities later in 1894. From there, it’s remained a favorite all over the world. 

The New York Philharmonic celebrated the symphony’s 175th anniversary with the performance linked in the opening paragraph, and by starting the New World Initiative, a competition for artists to create new works inspired by the New World Symphony. You can find the winners and performances here. 

The work has been so closely associated with African-American spirituals, that many believed that Dvořák used the popular folk song “Goin’ Home” in the Largo. In fact, it was the symphony’s Largo movement that inspired “Goin’ Home,” which wasn’t written until 1922. You can listen to the legendary Paul Robeson sing it here. 

Interestingly, Neil Armstrong brought a recording of the symphony with him during the Apollo 11 mission to the Moon. 

The Melting Pot Symphony 

While inspired by local musical and folk traditions, Dvořák remained firmly in the European classical tradition for its structure. The symphony is made up of four movements and built on a framework of developing and repeating themes. 

Leonard Bernstein, in a lecture deconstructing the work, identified themes with Czech, French, German, Scottish and Chinese origins. Indeed, music critic James Huneker, in his review of the symphony’s premiere, described it as “distinctly American,” exactly because it was made up of so many elements representing the diverse American culture.

Published by StringOvation Team on October 11, 2017

Photo of Antonin Dvorak courtesy of the Gallica Digital Library

What is the Curse of the Ninth -

– and does it really exist?

Beethoven, Mahler and Dvořák all died after writing their ninth symphonies.Picture: Getty

By Maddy Shaw Roberts, ClassicFM London

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It’s a superstition that plagued some of the great composers of the 19th and 20th centuries – but is there any truth in it?

The ‘Curse of the Ninth’ is a superstition that developed during the late Romantic period – some people believed that composers were fated to die during or after writing their ninth symphony.

On the surface, the theory seems like it might have some basis in fact: Beethoven, Schubert, Dvořák and Vaughan Williamsall died after completing their Ninths, Anton Bruckner died with his Ninth unfinished – and Mahler contracted pneumonia while writing his tenth.

But like all good conspiracy theories, the Curse of the Ninth has been debunked and dismissed. Here’s the real story.

Gustav Mahler hatched a plan to beat the Curse of the Ninth. Picture: Getty

It all started with Mahler… kind of

Gustav Mahler, who wrote some of the most glorious symphonies of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, was one of the first composers to believe in a superstition surrounding ninth symphonies. 

But Mahler was a little *too* obsessed with the idea. Seeing how fate had struck down Beethoven and Bruckner before him, he came up with a cunning plan to beat the curse.

After completing his eighth symphony, Mahler wrote a piece of music (Das Lied von der Erde) that was, in essence, a symphony – but he refused to call it one.

He then finished his ninth symphony and set to work on his tenth – but then he contracted pneumonia while writing it and died in 1911, aged 51, apparently proving the superstition correct. 

But Mahler didn’t know about Schubert, Dvořák... or any of the others

Arnold Schoenberg, whose music was heavily influenced by Mahler, described the Curse of the Ninth in an essay on the composer: “He who wants to go beyond it must pass away. It seems as if something might be imparted to us in the Tenth which we ought not yet to know, for which we are not ready. Those who have written a Ninth stood too close to the hereafter.”

There are a few issues with this theory. Because of the time he was writing, the only victims of the ‘curse’ that Mahler would have been aware of were Beethoven and Bruckner.

He wouldn’t have known about Schubert’s nine symphonies – because what is now called his Symphony No. 9 (the ‘Great’) was known as his Seventh in Mahler’s time.

Plus, Dvořák’s Ninth ‘New World’ Symphony wasn’t even considered a ‘ninth’ in Mahler’s time. It was published as his Symphony No. 5, before four extra symphonies appeared after Dvořák’s death. And Spohr – who is often included on the ‘curse’ list – wrote and completed a tenth symphony, but withdrew it.

Beethoven died before he could release his tenth symphony. Picture: Getty

Even Bruckner doesn’t fully qualify; he died before completing his (unfinished) Ninth Symphony – which brings his total symphonies to just eight.

But lots of composers have written more than nine symphonies...

Yes. The main snag with the Curse of the Ninth is that it only really makes sense if you concentrate on a relatively small number of 19th and 20th-century composers, omitting composers like Shostakovich, who wrote 15 symphonies, and Heitor Villa-Lobos, who wrote 12.

There’s also the most famous Classical composers: Mozart, for instance, wrote 41 symphonies, while Haydn wrote a whopping 104 – 106 if you count the unnumbered ones (there was no stopping that man).

And then there’s Leif Segerstam’s casual 327 symphonies…

The Curse of the Nine is a great story, and it probably fuelled a lot of the angst behind Mahler’s heart-wrenching symphonies. But perhaps it’s best to treat it as a superstition.