Season 27

Composers are continually repurposing, reimagining, and reinventing the music of the past. All of the works on today’s program show composers pouring their original thoughts into well-established musical forms and genres. New wine in old bottles.

— all program notes by Jeffrey Sykes, DMA

Clara Schumann (1819-1896)

Romance no. 3 in B-flat Major for violin and piano (1853)

Clara Schumann wrote her Three Romances for violin and piano, op. 22, in 1853 for performance with her close friend, the virtuoso violinist Joseph Joachim. The two went on tour with the work, even performing it for King George V of Hannover, who found it very beautiful. A contemporary critic remarked, “All three pieces display an individual character conceived in a truly sincere manner and written in a delicate and fragrant hand.” Of course, “delicate and fragrant” is code for female. Clara, though one of the most famous pianists of her time, was neither expected nor encouraged to compose, and critics continually expressed surprise at the quality of her compositions. She herself famously said that “women are not born to compose.” The quality of her work makes one wish she had believed differently!

The Romance no. 3 in B-flat Major is marked “Leidenschaftlich schnell”—passionately fast. The piano ripples along in elaborate arpeggios while the violin sings in long, beautiful phrases.

Gian Carlo Menotti (1911-2007)

Suite for two cellos and piano (1973)

The Italian-American composer Gian Carlo Menotti was best known for his English-language operas, several of which have become mainstays of the repertoire, including Amahl and the Night Visitors, The Consul, and The Telephone. His opera The Last Savage, a humorous take on the Tarzan story, recently enjoyed a very successful revival at the Santa Fe Opera. Menotti also founded the Spoleto Festivals in both Italy and the US. He studied composition at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia where fellow students included Leonard Bernstein and Samuel Barber. Barber became Menotti’s partner in both work and life for over forty years.

During an age in which composers were experimenting with the farthest reaches of what could be considered music, Menotti maintained a commitment to clear melody, clear harmony, and audience accessibility. He wrote, “there is a certain indolence toward the use of the voice today, a tendency to treat the voice instrumentally, as if composers feared that its texture is too expressive, too human.” Indeed, one could argue that Menotti did just the opposite, crafting music that is very human, very expressive, and often treating instruments vocally. The Suite for two cellos and piano is a perfect example of this, and the title of the third movement, “Arioso,” proves the point. Commissioned in 1973 by the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center for the great cellist Gregor Piatigorsky, the Suite features a perfect blend of the neoclassical and neo-romantic styles. Menotti tells a wonderful story about the inception of the work:

As we [Menotti and Gregor Piatigorsky, aka “Grisha”] were both teaching at the Curtis institute in Philadelphia at the time, we often crossed each other in the common room or on the main stairway as we hurried to our different classrooms. (We were both always late!) “My dear Gian Carlo,” he would cry at these brief encounters, “when will you write a cello piece for me?” I never took the invitation seriously, treating it more as the sort of polite, friendly greeting that interpreters think befit composers. “One day soon, I promise,” was my equally polite, noncommittal answer.

However, one day, as we met at noon, he grabbed me by the arm and insisted that we should lunch together. “You don’t take me seriously,” he scolded me at the dinner table, “but I always mean what I say. I want you to write a great concerto for me. But not the usual stuff. It has to be something different. Most composers think that to write a good cello concerto one must keep the orchestration thin and light so as not to cover the solo instrument. Not for me! I want to use a huge orchestra and make as loud a sound as you please. I can always be heard and no orchestration can cover the sound of my cello. I’ll show what a powerful instrument the cello can be in my hands. We shall amaze the world.” I listened politely as he became more and more excited about the opulent orchestration of my future concerto.

A few weeks went by and again we met for lunch. “How’s my concerto coming along?” “Well, I’m thinking about it,” I smiled evasively. “Ah, but I haven’t told you the kind of concerto that I want you to write. It has to be something different, something new. You see, most composers think of the cello as a slow gloomy pachyderm, a sentimental slob. I want you to write a very light, happy peace, witty, mercurial, like a Scarlatti sonata, using a small chamber-like transparent orchestration…” “Good idea, I’ll think about it,” I said, glad that the huge orchestra of the previous lunch had vanished into thin air. A few more weeks went by. This time we met at the end of the day, so it had to be dinner. “Have you started on my concerto yet?” “Not quite.” “Good. I have an idea. I hate conductors and symphony orchestras. It’s all so commercial. Why not a lovely chamber music piece? What about two cellos and piano? I’m not a prima donna, you know. I love to share the evening with a colleague or even pupil…”

He was irresistible. If he liked you it was impossible to escape his torrential, inexhaustible charm. I succumbed, and I owe him if I finally wrote my first serious chamber piece. Later together with Leslie Parnas, he rewarded me with a brilliant, unforgettable performance. Thank you, dear Grisha!

To which we add, thank you, dear Gian Carlo, for writing such a wonderful addition to the repertoire.

John Wineglass (b. 1973)

“And the summer was over…” for piano quintet (2023)

Composer John Wineglass is a highly acclaimed and versatile artist known for his contributions to film, television, and the concert stage. With a career spanning over three decades, Wineglass has composed music for numerous award-winning films and documentaries, showcasing his ability to capture the essence of storytelling through his captivating melodies and rich orchestrations. His works often blend various musical styles, incorporating elements of classical, jazz, world, and contemporary genres to create a unique and distinctive sound. Wineglass's compositions are characterized by their emotional depth, evocative harmonies, and intricate attention to detail, making him a sought-after composer in the entertainment industry. He has the ability to create music that seamlessly enhances visual narratives while standing on its own as a powerful listening experience.

Wineglass writes about his composition:

[“And the summer was over” was] commissioned by Stephanie Sant'Ambrogio representing Cactus Pear Music Festival in a consortium with Bach Dancing & Dynamite Society, Chamber Music Reno, Music in The Vineyards, and Orcas Island Chamber Music Festival for a 2023 summer of season premieres.

This composition was inspired by the author Alice Walker's "The Flowers" included in her book, In Love & Trouble: Stories of Black Women published in 1973. In our initial discussions, Stephanie Sant'Ambrogio brought this childhood work back into my purview. Consequently, my personal music codification of this work actually chronicles the short story from rather the end narrative where the main character Myop's perception of the world is scarred to the triumphant beginning of her story celebrating 'her song' and beautiful innocence in a wretched Post-Civil War time in the segregated American farm-country South. I flipped the story to take the listener on a journey of resilience despite challenging times.

The first movement entitled "Frayed and Rotten" is a depiction of Myop's discovery of a rotten skull of a man who has been lynched quite literally in her backyard. Upon stepping upon his tall form, his cracked white teeth with naked grin and long fingers, Myop's perception of the world with a surprised yelp shifts as she also notices a decaying noose overhanging a limb of a large oak tree. From irregular meters, extended techniques on the piano to high distorted bird calls in the violins like sharp glass, this movement is a stark reminder of the eerie, icy and cold (in the middle of hot summer) atmosphere of the scene.

The second movement, "Persecution" is an arduous musical framework describing the pursuit and chase of the victim perhaps months or years before Myop's gruesome discovery.

The third and fourth movements, "Stolen Innocence " and "Back to Summer Days" are a musical offering of vigilance for those who suffered through the Jim Crow Era. It's for those who didn't make it and their descendants who continue to press the issues of liberty, freedom and equality for all mankind.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

String Sextet in B-flat Major, op. 18 (1860)

During the late 1850s, Johannes Brahms had made a deep study of Schubert's instrumental works, perhaps inspired by Robert Schumann's strong advocacy of Schubert. The first masterpiece in which that study bore fruit is the String Sextet in B-flat Major, op. 18. Together with the Piano Quintet in F minor, op. 34, and the Piano Quartet in A Major, op. 26, this sextet shows us most clearly Brahms' love of and engagement with the music of Schubert. We hear Schubert's influence in the lyrical breadth of each movement and the many contrasts of major and minor. We can also see Schubert’s influence in the choice of instrumentation. Schubert’s greatest chamber work is undoubtedly his Quintet in C Major for two violins, viola, and two cellos. That instrumentation provided for a sumptuous sonority throughout the work. Brahms noticed that sumptuousness and decided to one-up Schubert by adding an extra viola to create an even richer sound.

The first movement proceeds amiably without hurry; the character is that of a Ländler, a slowish Austrian folk waltz. Throughout the movement, the mood is serene and slightly melancholy—very reminiscent of Schubert. The frequent contrast of major and minor gives tension to the serenity. The second movement is a set of variations, but variations not so much on a melody as on a bass line and a harmonic progression. This was a common practice in the Baroque period, and one of the most notable examples of it is Bach’s famous Chaconne in D minor for solo violin. Is it any wonder that this was a work Brahms adored? Like Bach’s Chaconne, Brahms’ movement juxtaposes major and minor to great expressive effect. Brahms was clearly proud of this movement; he made a piano transcription of it as a gift for Clara Schumann. (He similarly made a piano transcription of Bach’s Chaconne.)

The third and fourth movements are lighter in character, but no less Schubertian. In the jolly and rustic Scherzo, we can hear the stylistic line that connects Haydn, Schubert, Brahms and, ultimately, Mahler. The finale spins its long-breathed melody easily and luxuriously, not unlike a Schubert finale, with ideas batting back and forth between the different halves of the ensemble. Brahms’ friend, the great critic Eduard Hanslick, wrote upon hearing this sextet, “We believed ourselves suddenly transported into a pure world of beauty; it seemed like a dream.”

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