Michael Collins plays Mozart:Themes and variations

4 December 2018: Stratford Play House
5 December 2018: Royal Birmingham Conservatoire

• Igor Stravinsky – Concerto in D for string orchestra ‘Basle’
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Clarinet Concerto in A major, K.622
• Igor Stravinsky – Concerto in E flat for chamber orchestra ‘Dumbarton Oaks’
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony No.40 in G minor ‘Great G minor Symphony’, K.550

Today’s concert is a rich demonstration of just how broad the classification – and content – of ‘classical’ music can be. Stravinsky’s paired concertos are Neoclassical (1920-1950, or thereabouts); and their inspiration and form stem mainly from the Baroque period (approximately 1600-1750). Mozart (1756-1791), of course, is held up by many as the very model of a Classical (1750-1820 or so) composer; but – especially at the outset of his life and career – was, of course, also indebted to the works of Bach, Handel, Lully, etc..

However, it did not take long for young Wolfgang to stretch the categorization of his output and dig the foundations of what would become to be known as the Romantic (roughly 1780-1910) – despite Britten claiming that “A certain rot… set in with Beethoven”. Nor, listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations, is it difficult to find such defining personal passion and self-centred sentiment within, or to be intensely moved by them. All of which only goes to show why the above numbers (apart from Mozart’s) are so very “thereabouts”, “approximately”, “or so”, and “roughly”; and may explain why Descartes once opined that “Perfect numbers like perfect men are very rare…” – although Hamlet’s written claim to Ophelia that “I am ill at these numbers” may be much more accurate!

The case I am trying to make is that Mozart – despite, to that “many”, being just the creator of memorable melodies (such as lies at the centre of today’s heartbreaking Clarinet Concerto) – not only crossed musical divides; but, in many cases, actually invented them. And the ‘Great G minor Symphony’, which closes the concert, is the perfect demonstration of that: evoking Classicism and Romanticism, and predicting Serialism, all in the space of around twenty-five minutes. In other words, his music is all his own; it defies (or at least pushes back at the boundaries of) classification… – although there is no doubt in my mind that his œuvre can be labelled that of a genuine genius.

PS: Even defining the overarching term ‘classical music’ can be laborious; but I am happy to accept Wikipedia’s – that it is “Art music produced or rooted in the traditions of Western culture, including both liturgical (religious) and secular music”. If you think you know, and/or can do better, please email your suggestion to writer@orchestraoftheswan.org with the subject ‘Definition’. The best entry will win two complimentary tickets for a concert of your choice, and will be published in the next programme.

Tai Murray plays Mendelssohn:Themes and variations

2 November 2018: The Courtyard, Hereford
6 November 2018: Stratford Play House
7 November 2018: Royal Birmingham Conservatoire
8 November 2018: Cheltenham Town Hall

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Overture, ‘The Marriage of Figaro’
• Felix Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in E minor, Op.64
• Felix Mendelssohn – Sinfonia for Strings No.6 in E flat major
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony No.25 in G minor, K.183

Reviewing a performance (by OOTS, of course) of “The six movements extracted from Mendelssohn’s version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, in May 2016, I contended that the composer I have subsequently named my cat after…

…was an undoubted genius…. That he produced his first violin concerto – not the one [you will] be singing for the next week… – when still in shorts; followed it not much later with a string octet that has never been beaten; wrote some great oratorios; magnificent symphonies; and some of the best piano pieces I have ever managed, fumblingly, to play – all before dying at a stupidly young age (not much older than Mozart, indeed) – should be evidence enough. But anyone who can transform an orchestra into a braying donkey must rank amongst the very greatest composers of all time!

Tonight’s Sinfonia for Strings – the sixth of a set of twelve, written between the astonishing ages of twelve and fourteen – can also be slotted easily into this prodigy’s long list of precocious masterworks: his command of the smaller orchestra (and particularly of strings) easily on a par with this concert’s other great wunderkind, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

And, although the temptation is to dream of, say, Mendelssohn’s Fifteenth Symphony, or Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.67 (alleging, perhaps, that “only the good die young”), I would prefer to concentrate on the incredibly long list of incredibly wonderful works that thankfully survive from their abbreviated existences (Mozart dying at thirty-five, Mendelssohn at thirty-eight) – both, like Schubert (dead at thirty-one), perhaps, compelled by some premonition to communicate as much of the beauty they found in and around themselves as frequently and urgently as possible.

Interestingly, the works before the interval are both from the composers’ later outputs; whereas those following are the earlier pieces. However, all four compositions are readily matched in style to their creators: their maturity having ripened – if not come totally to fruition – during their temperate teenage years.

English Fantasies for String Orchestra:Themes and variations

25 September 2018: Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon

• Arcangelo Corelli – Concerto Grosso in F major, op6, no2
• Michael Tippett – Fantasia Concertante on a theme of Corelli
• Thomas Tallis – Spem in alium
• Frank Bridge – Idyll for String Quartet, op6, no2
• Benjamin Britten – Variations on a theme of Frank Bridge
• Thomas Tallis – Why fum’th in fight: The Gentils spite
• Ralph Vaughan Williams – Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis

As well as all of tonight’s instrumental pieces being written for various configurations of string orchestra, they also, I believe, have an intense and unremitting spiritual vein running through them – which is more than matched by the two choral works of Thomas Tallis. (I would like to cite this as proof that the English stiff upper lip is merely a nationalist and populist meme and myth: and that our hearts bleed, and our eyes weep, as instantaneously and copiously as any other nation’s – including Italy, of course: where Arcangelo Corelli generated some of the most expressive and captivating Baroque music still in existence.)

Such emotion, I know, is likely to be be amplified by tonight’s location – surely one of this country’s most famous and beautiful parish churches – especially its resonant acoustic. I therefore repeat the request I penned for the orchestra’s previous performance of Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis – but now ask it for every single one of tonight’s seven glorious masterpieces:

…especially as this is one of the very few pieces of music in which we are privileged to hear (what sounds remarkably like) God sighing… – which is that, after that final, astonishing, numinous G-major chord has faded away, you would allow a few seconds to pass, please, before rewarding [Stacey] and the orchestra [or Suzzie and the choir] with the applause they will undoubtedly deserve.

In other words, please give the ancient mortar and stones of this glorious building time to absorb yet more of the wondrous atmosphere they have indubitably experienced in their eight centuries of history; and – for those of us who will frequently be in need of a tissue of two, after “finding something in our eyes” – space in which to find ourselves, and our handkerchiefs. Thank you.

PS: Although Corelli’s and Bridge’s works were written two centuries apart, you may notice that they possess identical opus numbers. Surely this is a coincidence? [Thankfully, as far as I know, Tallis did not number or catalogue his huge output of mostly religious music. Not that I’m superstitious. (Touch wood.)]

Latin America meets Classical:Themes and variations

5 June 2018: Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon

• Aaron Copland – Three Latin American Sketches
• Lucía Caruso – ‘Light and Wind’ piano concerto (world premiere)
• Pedro H. da Silva – ‘Snow’, for Portuguese guitar and orchestra (world premiere)
• Lucía Caruso and Pedro H. da Silva (orchestrated by Pedro H. da Silva) – ‘Folía’, for Portuguese guitar, piano, and orchestra
• Aaron Copland – Appalachian Spring

In 1959 the Festival of Two Worlds in Spoleto, Italy, asked me to write a short work for orchestra. The ‘Paisaje Mexicano’ and ‘Danza de Jalisco’ were completed in time for performance in July of that year…. Both pieces were first performed in the United States under [my] baton at a private invitation concert given by the Pan American Union in 1965…. [However, I] decided not to release the two movements for general performance before adding a third section. This was accomplished in 1971 with the completion of ‘Estribillo’, based on Venezuelan popular materials…. In 1968, a two-piano arrangement of the ‘Danza de Jalisco’ was published, with some revisions of the original orchestral version. These changes were later incorporated in the completed three-movement work, and the whole given the title ‘Three Latin American Sketches’.

Thus Aaron Copland introduced the first performance of his last composition for orchestra, by Andre Kostelanetz and the New York Philharmonic, on 7 June 1972. Lighter in nature than much of his earlier output – although he counselled that the Sketches are “not so light as to be pop-concert material” – they contain no hint of such finality.

As with many new works (even one with such a long gestation period), the handwritten, spiral-bound score used by Kostelanetz for the premiere (held online in the NY Phil archives) is brimming with last-minute amends and annotations; as well as details of what should appear in Boosey & Hawkes’ final printed version. Fascinating to follow for the purpose of penning a programme note; but – although it is apparent Kostelanetz knew Copland’s composition thoroughly – I would not have wished to conduct from it!

Leonard Bernstein’s marks on his score of Appalachian Spring are a little less dense. They reinforce, though, the almost incomprehensible amount of work that conductors must complete before they first stand in front of the orchestra: their understanding of what is now open before them on the podium exhaustive, but lacking one key ingredient: the similarly in-depth input and feedback which the other performers bring – and not just in rehearsal. One of the joys of live music is that no performance is ever fixed: a figurative hummingbird flapping its wings in the opening bars can bring happy innovation several pages later – and perhaps colour all that follows. So when you applaud Bruce, tonight: please do so with a little more awareness, perhaps; and even greater admiration!

Beethoven’s Triple Concerto:Themes and variations

15 May 2018: Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon
23 May 2018: Town Hall, Birmingham
25 May 2018: Town Hall, Cheltenham

• Ludwig van Beethoven – Overture, ‘Coriolan’, op62
• Ludwig van Beethoven – Triple Concerto for Piano, Violin and Cello in C major, op56
• Felix Mendelssohn – Symphony no4 ‘Italian’ in A major, op90

When we are immersed in a great novel, we may wonder just how much of the author, or the author’s life, can be read within it. Likewise with poetry – although this does have an innate tendency to be autobiographical. But with music – unless we have documentary evidence; or the composer has also penned its lyrics – it is much harder to fathom. Many though have seen (or heard) tonight’s overture as a self-portrait: despite its front-and-centre reference to the Roman leader Caius Marcius Coriolanus (or ‘Coriolan’, in German). With its occasional thematic reminders of the Fifth Symphony, written in the same year, 1807, there is no doubt that the work musically encompasses some form of desperate mental struggle. Whether that fight involves Beethoven facing his deafness; or the semi-legendary patrician as he matures from brute to peace-monger (under the onslaught of his mother’s and wife’s entreaties), is, though, solely for the listener to determine.

Notwithstanding, Mendelssohn’s marvellous symphony is definitely autobiographical: as we know, not only from the many letters he wrote to family and friends, but from the fact that it follows his well-recorded ‘grand tour’ around Europe – which included a lengthy period in Italy (as well as Scotland, of course)! Although it eventually closes in a minor key, there is little doubt of the happiness this journey brought its composer. The joyful music he wrote in response is (hopefully) truly infectious!

It is doubtful whether anything other than Beethoven’s innate genius attaches to the Triple Concerto, however; although the short central movement is extremely moving. Following the examples of Haydn’s and Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertantes – for violin, cello, oboe and bassoon; and oboe, clarinet, bassoon and horn; respectively – both performed by OOTS, last season – it contains some of its composer’s most awe-inspiring and enjoyable music. (It is a shame, therefore, that all three of these great composers’ concertos share another trait – that of underperformance – especially when placed side-by-side with this concert’s celebrated overture and symphony.)

Indubitably, though, it is music’s effect on the individual that is most meaningful. There is nothing wrong, therefore, with being cheered by Coriolanus’ fate (killed by his erstwhile allies, according to Shakespeare; nobly dying on his own sword, according to Heinrich Joseph von Collin – who supposedly influenced Beethoven); or with sobbing at the Saltarello which concludes the concert.

Italian Sunshine:Themes and variations

9 May 2018: Forum Theatre, Malvern Theatres

• Gioachino Rossini – Overture, ‘Italian Girl in Algiers’
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Piano Concerto no21 in C major, K467
• Felix Mendelssohn – Symphony no4 ‘Italian’ in A major, op90

Sitting down to write this on the first steadfastly sunny day of Spring, just over a month ago, the blue sky seen through my window – punctuated with only the occasional faint ellipsis of cloud – proved too much of a temptation: and I ventured outside, leaving my labour behind. There, I soon discovered that Winter was still making itself all too present: with its icy winds nibbling at my face and fingers, and the sodden turf beneath my feet oozing with the evidence of March’s heavy downpours. The sap was rising, though (even if the mercury wasn’t): the hellebores, daffodils and hyacinths were in full flower; our oak tree laden with buds; the jackdaws cautiously collecting its discarded twigs to reinforce their distant nests; the blackbirds, robins and finches singing heartily. The only music which came to my mind, though, was Vaughan Williams’ Sinfonia antartica.

Back at my desk, I heard the central heating – the thermostat having been tickled by those brumal breezes – clear its lungs, and creak into action (like myself) once more. What was needed, of course – to truly fulfil the new season’s potential (and to thaw out my nose) – was such warmth. Not artificially generated though; but that which naturally coexists with the azure above and below the Mediterranean horizon; that which is embedded in that region’s winds – the zephyr, sirocco, and fittingly-styled maestro – that which bursts forth from tonight’s balmy programme!

Thus we have a concert not only of “sunshine” (Italian, certainly; but with a gentle touch of the Viennese, by way of Sweden) – but also wit (combined with subtle feminism); beauty (paired with virtuosity); and radiant joy (contrasted with brief stateliness). Oh, and youth! (Although how many concerts have you been to where Mozart is the senior composer – at the grand old age of twenty-nine?!)

As Mendelssohn (twenty-four, when tonight’s symphony was first performed) once wrote:

This is Italy! And now has begun what I have always thought… to be the supreme joy in life. And I am loving it. Today was so rich that now, in the evening, I must collect myself a little….

Even if the weather outside is frightful, I guarantee you will leave the theatre fully prepared for its onslaught: with a smile on your face; a tune (or two) on your lips; and warm sunlight in your heart.

Debussy and Rodrigo:Themes and variations

17 April 2018: Stratford ArtsHouse
18 April 2018: Town Hall, Birmingham

• Claude Debussy – Children’s Corner, L.113
• Joaquín Rodrigo – Concierto de Aranjuez
• Claude Debussy – Petite Suite, L.65
• Georges Bizet – Symphony in C

Today’s concert features two orchestral arrangements, that, on hearing – like Grieg’s Holberg Suite, played earlier in the season – readily draw a very effective instrumental veil over their pianistic origins. As I wrote last November: “the effects [Grieg] conjures make it difficult to believe that this was originally composed for piano…! So reliant is the suite on the startling textures only strings can produce, that it feels utterly original.”

The difference, here, is that Debussy’s works were arranged by other musicians: each of whom, though, knew the composer, and his music, exceeding well. They therefore both succeed in exploring and exploiting the instrumental inferences the original compositions contain, whilst remaining sensitive to their quintessence: bringing further life and force to the stories held within. For instance, the mystical pipes and horns of the Petite Suite’s ‘Menuet’ are given wistful flesh by Henri Büsser, with his inspired utilization of the cor anglais; whilst ‘The little shepherd’ of Children’s Corner is blessed, by André Caplet, with his own sonorous flute (in the shape of an oboe…).

Büsser, by the way, was a quite remarkable man: living to the age of 101. In an interview given on his 100th birthday, in 1972, he recounted how he had approached his friend for permission to transcribe Petite Suite – “already having the orchestration in my head”. “Oh!” replied the composer, “you can’t know the joy you bring me; with my whole heart I authorize you to do this!” Indeed, Debussy conducted today’s arrangement many times: it being such a perfect example of the arranger’s skilful art.

Coincidentally, Petite Suite – like Rodrigo’s guitar concerto, which precedes it today – has also been arranged for brass band: in fact for the very same ensemble (the astounding Grimethorpe Colliery Band) that appears in the film Brassed Off – and that so helped contribute to its well-deserved fame. No less valid, the result is proof that fresh truth and beauty can frequently be found when music is dressed in such different, but befitting, clothes.

In writing my programme notes for Debussy’s ravishing music, I have therefore listened to (and sometimes played through passages from) the original pieces, before absorbing myself in the orchestral arrangements: hoping to discover and describe (if not always explain) some of the magic that has been worked upon them.

Peter Donohoe plays Shostakovich:Themes and variations

13 March 2018: Stratford ArtsHouse
14 March 2018: Town Hall, Birmingham

• Sergei Prokofiev – Symphony no1 ‘Classical’ in D major, op25
• Dmitri Shostakovich – Piano Concerto no2 in F major, op102
• Franz Schubert – Symphony no3 in D major, D200

In the visual arts, according to the Tate, “Neoclassicism was a particularly pure form of classicism that emerged from about 1750”; whilst the original ‘classicism’ was that which “made reference to ancient Greek or Roman style”. Confusingly, though, ‘classical’ music (see The Oxford Dictionary of Music, for example) is generally labelled as materializing around the same time (1750) – following the Baroque, and preceding the Romantic; “covering the development of the symphony and concerto” – with ‘neoclassical’ music then being produced between 1920 and 1950.

Settling on such precise dates is, of course, prone to spark dispute; and I, for one, would claim that Grieg’s spectacular Holberg Suite – from 1884; and performed by OOTS in November’s concert – is definitely neoclassical: although not yet, as such an outlier, part of any definite trend. Today’s first work – formally christened by its composer as ‘Classical’ – was also produced outside those dates (during 1916-1917): and yet surely sets the standard for all that followed. (Unlike Stravinsky, though, who would return to earlier melodies and musical models frequently throughout his life, Prokofiev described this symphony’s composition as merely a “passing phase”!)

Whilst we all know, albeit vaguely, what classical music sounds like (and therefore, by extrapolation, its neoclassical offspring, as well); and recognize it when we hear it; it is harder to say exactly what it is. As with last month’s programme, I shall resort to quoting Michael Kennedy – as his pithy summary is surely as good as it gets!

Music of an orderly nature, with qualities of clarity and balance, and emphasizing formal beauty rather than emotional expression (which is not to say that emotion is lacking); music generally regarded as having permanent rather than ephemeral value.

Fortunately for us, ending as it does with Schubert’s Third Symphony, this concert provides us with the opportunity to compare structurally similar works from both the classical and neoclassical eras, and therefore draw our own conclusions. That these astonishing compositions are both in the same brilliant key of D major may also be to our advantage (although neither one remains in that key for very long). How we categorize Shostakovich’s exuberant concerto, which separates them, I do not know. It is so startlingly original – and so unlike most of his previous, Stalin-shadowed output – that it probably belongs in a class all of its own!

Jennifer Pike plays Tchaikovsky:Themes and variations

12 March 2018: Forum Theatre, Malvern Theatres

• Sergei Prokofiev – Symphony no1 ‘Classical’ in D major, op25
• Franz Schubert – Symphony no3 in D major, D200
• Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky – Violin Concerto in D major, op35

Tonight’s concert begins and ends with bright, golden fireworks… – or yellow ones, at least: Russian composers Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908) and Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915) both agreeing (for once) that this was the characteristic colour, for them, of the key of D major. In his influential work of 1785, Ideas Towards an Aesthetic of Music, Christian Schubart (1739-1791) – summarizing the thoughts of many earlier musicians – described it as “The key of triumph, of Hallelujahs, of war-cries, of victory”; adding that “Thus, the inviting symphonies, the marches, holiday songs and heaven-rejoicing choruses are set in this key”. We are therefore in for an enjoyable evening of what philosopher (and composer) Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) called “gaiety or brilliance”: as not only do our wonderful first and last works start and finish in this flaxen key, but so does our enthralling central one!

Not that this means we are in for an evening of invariability: if anything, the music programmed tonight demonstrates just how spectacularly disparate orchestral ‘classical’ music can be. For example: a comparison of the two “inviting symphonies”, both fashioned to long-standing formal rules – particularly as regards structure – reveals many more differences than similarities. They both just happen to open and close with the same chord. (Although it then takes Prokofiev a mere eleven bars to change key completely: to the “innocent, simple, naïve” C major!) After all, the key which each revolves around, is only a starting-point: all it does is unlock the musical doorway through which we, and the players, ‘visit’ each composition.

As for Tchaikovsky’s miraculous work: the key of D major is a favourite one for violin concertos – think of Mozart’s second and fourth; of Beethoven’s, and of Brahms (also written in 1878); and even of Prokofiev’s first… – as the instrument’s open strings are particularly resonant in this key. (As, of course, are the orchestra’s! Indeed, the last chord we will hear tonight uses this characteristic to full effect: as the strings triple- or quadruple-stop – that is, play three, or all four strings, simultaneously – and, in this case, fortissimo…!)

You might think from the descriptors above that an evening packed full of what scholar Albert Lavignac (1846-1916) dubbed “joyful, brilliant, alert” D major might be too much of a good thing. I don’t believe it is; and I hope, at the end of the evening, as you call Jennifer back to the stage once more, that you won’t either!

Roderick Williams and English Song:Themes and variations

13 February 2018: Stratford ArtsHouse
14 February 2018: Town Hall, Birmingham
6 April 2018: Worcester Cathedral

• Ralph Vaughan Williams – Five Variants of ‘Dives and Lazarus’
• Ralph Vaughan Williams – Five Mystical Songs
• Gerald Finzi – Let Us Garlands Bring, op18
• Gerald Finzi – Romance for String Orchestra, op11
• John Ireland – A Downland Suite

Ralph Vaughan Williams first encountered the folk-song Dives and Lazarus in 1893, when he was twenty-one; and he later said that “I had the sense of recognition – here’s something which I have known all my life, only I didn’t know it!” Michael Kennedy characterized the tune as emanating “from the soil of England”; and one of the end results (RVW was quite addicted to using it), which opens today’s concert, sounds (nearly) as natural as the composer breathing.

But why does this music feel ‘English’? What makes it so? Is it just that we have become accustomed to its ‘shape’, its style; or is there truly an identifiable vernacular? (In other words: would we sense, somehow, that this concert’s musical origins were all so ‘local’, if we had not seen the programme and its title; nor heard these composers before?)

John Ireland – whose A Downland Suite completes the programme – said that “folk-song influenced Vaughan Williams, but I have been more influenced by plainsong”: despite Charles Stanford (one of the originators, with Parry, of the broad style which so influenced the young Elgar) accusing him of sounding “all Brahms and water”! And yet both composers – as well as sharing Stanford as a teacher (although RVW went on to study with Ravel) – share a certain audible je ne sais quoi – or at least my (admittedly capacious) taste easily encompasses both (as well as Holst, Finzi, and Walton; Britten, Tippett, and Maxwell Davies). They also move me in a way that is at odds with the emotions provoked by, say, Mozart, or Messiaen; they speak to a different part of my heart (although I must emphasize that there is no room in there for nationalism of any political piquancy).

I wonder, were I not born of “this sceptred isle”, if they would still affect me like this. Elgar said (to Ireland), referencing The Dream of Gerontius and Richard Strauss, that “No-one in this country took any notice of my music until a German told them it was good”. In other words: I really do not have answers (certainly not simple ones) to the questions I posed above; I simply do not know! But maybe you will come to a different conclusion: once impressed by five outstanding examples of twentieth-century English music.

John Lill plays Beethoven:Themes and variations

19 January 2018: Forum Theatre, Malvern Theatres

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Overture ‘Don Giovanni’, K527
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony no41 ‘Jupiter’ in C major, K551
• Ludwig van Beethoven – Piano Concerto no3 in C minor, op37

This evening’s concert features – arguably – two of the greatest composers who ever lived: both with major works composed hastily during periods of significant trial and tribulation. Firstly, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – here in financial straits, after the failure of his latest opera; and possibly on the verge of depression – three years before his death and his final great outpourings. And then Ludwig van Beethoven, as he began to break free of his great idol’s influence to find his own voice: despite struggling to come to terms with the onset of deafness – especially the concomitant tinnitus.

Don Giovanni had been hailed a palpable hit at its first performance in Prague, in October 1787; but, just over six months later, in Vienna, a revised version met with failure. Facing this setback head-on, Mozart immediately began composing his three final, miraculous, symphonies: managing somehow to complete them in successive summer months.

The last of these – our second work, tonight – even in the light of its two remarkable symphonic companions, K543 and K550 – is utterly astonishing. It simply does not matter whether you consider ‘Jupiter’ the greatest symphony ever written (as I do) – or merely(!) the greatest symphony of one of the “greatest composers who ever lived” – it will always stand as an imposing, sunlit monument to the man and the genre. (Sadly, it seems unlikely that it was ever performed in Mozart’s lifetime.)

It is difficult not to consider Don Giovanni his greatest opera, as well (although his later “great outpouring”, Die Zauberflöte, K620 – certainly more successful in his lifetime; and more frequently performed, today – must also be a contender). The overture is rumoured to have been composed on the day of its first performance (29 October 1787). However, Mozart records the completion of the opera as the day before! Whatever the case, as with the symphony, there are absolutely no audible signs of such alacrity.

Only music from the pen of a composer of Beethoven’s stature could succeed such masterpieces: with a work also premiered in Vienna (in April 1803, alongside his first two symphonies) – however, yet again, to mixed reviews. This time, though, the score had not even been finalized: the composer, as soloist, playing reportedly from “nothing but empty pages [with] a few Egyptian hieroglyphs… scribbled down to serve as clues”!

Messiah:Themes and variations

9 December 2017: Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon

On 9 September 1742, George Frideric Handel wrote a letter to his close friend (and greatest fan), Charles Jennens, enclosing a glowing review – by “no less than the Bishop of Elphim (A Nobleman very learned in musick)” – of the extremely successful first performance of an oratorio in Dublin. This premiere had actually taken place five months earlier, on 13 April 1742: so it seems that Handel was perhaps a little tardy in informing Jennens just “how well Your Messiah was received”.

Yes… – “Your” Messiah. For it was Jennens who not only compiled the text; but also convinced Handel of the merits of such a work in the first place. It seems, as well, that the composer trusted his collaborator’s knowledge of music, and musical forms, well enough to have asked him for feedback on the final article: as later, he would write to Jennens, asking him to “point out these passages in the Messiah which you think require altering”.

Unfortunately, Jennens doesn’t appear to have considered Messiah one of Handel’s greatest hits (an opinion also held by the first London audiences for the work) – as he wrote to his friend Edward Holdsworth that…

I shall show you a collection I gave Handel, called Messiah, which I value highly. He has made a fine entertainment of it, though not near so good as he might and ought to have done. I have with great difficulty made him correct some of the grossest faults in the composition; but he retained his overture obstinately, in which there are some passages far unworthy of Handel, but much more unworthy of the Messiah.

There is no mention in either of my (extremely well-used) scores of Messiah of the librettist’s name; and it would be easy to dismiss – as many have done – its lyrical content as just a collection of random verses from the Bible loosely stitched together. Additionally – especially for those of us who need more than our hands and feet to count the number of performances we have either attended or taken part in – the words have become so utterly familiar, anyway, that we perhaps take little (if any) notice of their meaning – either as individual movements, or overall.

I would argue, though, that Jennens’ knowledge of scripture; his grasp of dramatic literature (he was the first person to produce scholarly editions of individual Shakespeare plays), and of dramatic music; all come together to produce a cohesive, intelligent, and, in many ways, a quite startling narrative. We have to remember that nothing like this had been produced before (excepting Jennens’ own text for Handel’s Saul, in 1739); and that the first edition of Alexander Cruden’s Complete Concordance To the Old and New Testaments had only just been published (in 1736). But, even then, it has to be acknowledged that Jennens must have known the 1611 King James Version of the Bible – and the versions of the psalms as printed in The Book of Common Prayer of 1662 – inside-out. Indeed, musicologist Watkins Shaw – in The story of Handel's ‘Messiah’ – asserts that the libretto “amounts to little short of a work of genius”. As a writer, I have to agree!

The storyline that Jennens weaves can be seen in more than one light, too – hence its effectiveness. As religious propaganda, it reflects his own feelings concerning religion and society. In structure, it follows the liturgical year: Part I corresponding with Advent and Christmas; Part II with Lent, Easter, the Ascension, and Pentecost; and Part III with the year’s end (as well as ‘The End of Days’). Of course, its main thrust is the rehearsal of the life of Jesus: from Isaiah’s prophecies of a longed-for saviour – of his birth and death – to their fulfilment (in effect, from the First Coming to the Second). However, despite its title, this “life” is only ever really implied – apart from the appearance of the angels to the shepherds (in movements 13 to 17), events are written well and truly between the work’s lines.

As you listen to Handel’s glorious music, tonight, please, therefore, pay attention to those wonderful words, as well as – perhaps more than you would normally – to their meaning, their significance and power. And remember that, to all intents and purposes, without Jennens, there would be no music to hear. Without Charles Jennens, there would be no Messiah.

New York comes to Stratford:Themes and variations

5 December 2017: Stratford ArtsHouse

• Aaron Copland – Music for Movies
• Pedro H da Silva – Portuguese Guitar Concerto [world premiere]
• Lucía Caruso – ‘Clouds’, for piano and orchestra
• Aaron Copland – Music for the Theatre

Both George Gershwin and Aaron Copland were born in Brooklyn, New York: Gershwin in September 1898; Copland in November 1900. Having both played the piano from an early age, both went on to study composition with Rubin Goldmark – who had once been a pupil of Antonín Dvořák. However, whilst Gershwin remained in America (producing, among other things, a string of successful musicals), in 1920 Copland moved to France, to study with Nadia Boulanger. While there, he was introduced to many European composers – including Igor Stravinsky – and began to realize that, whereas he could easily identify music as, say, ‘French’, or ‘Russian’, there was no immediately recognizable ‘American’ style.

He therefore set out to deliberately create such a language (and “purge” his music of its European influences). Thus, when he returned to the US in 1924 (the year of Rhapsody in Blue), he looked to jazz as a key ingredient. It certainly permeates (if not dominates) this concert’s Music for the Theatre (strangely, Copland preferred the British spelling) – and is the first piece to sound so obviously ‘by Copland’ (as we now know him). “I was anxious to write a work that would immediately be recognized as American in character,” he later recollected. While no particular dramatic device was involved, Copland said that he chose the title because “the music seemed to suggest a certain theatrical atmosphere”. Labelled a “suite in five parts for small orchestra” (not to mention an expansive percussion section!), it received its first performance by the Boston Symphony Orchestra on 20 November 1925.

But there is a great deal more to Copland’s music than ‘all that jazz’. Indeed, that genre’s influence dissipated soon afterwards; and other constituents – especially those derived from American ‘folk’ and ‘popular’ music – started to come to the fore. These can clearly be heard in later masterpieces such as Rodeo, Billy the Kid, and Appalachian Spring – music which is readily identifiable as both Copland’s, and, therefore, as ‘American’.

Although Stateside ‘classical’ music has also moved on – think of John Adams or Milton Babbitt – it could be suggested that Copland was, perhaps, too successful in propagating his national idiom. Nearly a century later, and so many film scores still owe him their existence. Thankfully, his own Music for Movies – which opens this concert – stands head and shoulders above those who try to mimic his matchless style.

Tamsin Waley-Cohen plays Mozart:Themes and variations

21 November 2017: Stratford ArtsHouse
22 November 2017: Town Hall, Birmingham

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony no15 in G major, K124
• Edvard Grieg – Holberg Suite, op40
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Violin Concerto no4 in D major, K218
• Joseph Haydn – Symphony no22 ‘The Philosopher’ in E-flat major, Hob.I:22

In different ways, all three of today’s composers (and all four of today’s works) can be seen as reflecting on their compositional inheritance – or even looking back at it deliberately, with unfeigned affection – especially in the use of earlier dance-forms. In doing so, they each not only shine a new light on such musical history and tradition, but also breathe fresh energy into its utilization.

Fifteen, when he wrote his Fifteenth Symphony, and only eighteen or nineteen when he wrote his five violin concertos, Mozart’s style, here, is not yet fully mature, of course: and he is therefore still audibly influenced by that of his predecessors and elders – including his father, Leopold; as well as JC Bach and Michael Haydn. Nevertheless, the obvious musical growth demonstrated by this concert’s two compositions is quite astounding. And it is in the later work’s final movement – the Violin Concerto’s explicitly French-style Rondeau (Italian: rondó; ‘round’) – that Mozart’s retrospection takes its most concrete form. (As with its predecessor, K216, though, this movement stops and starts, and veers off in all sorts of ‘modern’ and ‘humorous’ directions!)

Additionally, until supplanted by the Beethovenian scherzo (Italian for ‘jest’ or ‘joke’), the minuet (Italian: minuetto; German: Menuett; French: menuet) was a recognizable, characteristic part of most classical symphonies: and thus features in both of today’s, along with its typical, central trio (so-called because, initially, this was in three-part harmony: as with the minor-key sections of sixteenth-century masses). Originally a rustic French dance, the menuetto (a neologism frequently used by both Mozart and Beethoven) is always in triple time – its epithet deriving from its distinctive dainty step: that is, from the French menu, for ‘small’.

As well as including such a Menuet e Trio, the overall structure of Haydn’s symphony also references the past: its slow-fast-slow-fast sequence of movements being more typical of the Baroque-era (roughly 1600 to 1750) sonata da chiesa (‘church sonata’). Its instrumentation, though, is both unique and groundbreaking.

However, it is in Grieg’s Holberg Suite that we find bygone styles evoked most knowingly – the deliberate call to earlier forms and styles (as with Warlock’s Capriol Suite and Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony) coloured with, and seen from, a more distant remove; as well as treated with a more modern discernment. Proof indeed that looking back is no hindrance to looking – and moving – forward.

Julian Bliss plays Weber:Themes and variations

25 October 2017: Town Hall, Birmingham

• Gioachino Rossini – Overture, ‘The Barber of Seville’
• Carl Maria von Weber – Clarinet Concerto no2 in E-flat major, op74 (J114)
• Ludwig van Beethoven – Symphony no8 in F major, op93

All of this afternoon’s works were composed within three years of each other – Weber’s concerto first, in 1811; Rossini’s overture last, in 1813 (albeit originally for his earlier opera, Aureliano in Palmira) – and yet, stylistically, apart from their Classical structures, they have little in common. What they do share are a contagious joie de vivre and characteristic confidence: all three composers at the top of their game – which, considering Rossini was only twenty-one, and Weber twenty-four, demonstrates just how rapidly their brilliance ripened. All three composers knew of each other, too: Rossini and Weber both meeting Beethoven in Vienna, in 1822 and 1823, respectively (around the time he was completing his Missa Solemnis and the Choral Symphony).

Both of the younger composers were much saddened at seeing their idol so isolated by his deafness; but it seems Beethoven’s wicked sense of humour (so apparent in today’s symphony) was still to the fore. He said to Rossini – a backhanded compliment, if ever there was one – that The Barber of Seville was “an excellent opera buffa”; but that Rossini should “never try to do anything other than comic operas – to want to succeed in another style would force your nature”! (This was despite the success of ‘serious’ operas such as Tancredi, Otello, and Mosè in Egitto.) His final words, repeated as he saw Rossini out of his “dirty and frightfully disorderly attic”, being: “Above all, you must make more Barbers.”

Weber was perhaps more fortunate – “You’re a devil of a fellow!” – even though he had been publicly critical of some of Beethoven’s earlier compositions, including the Fourth Symphony. Beethoven had been deeply impressed by Der Freischütz, and was so astonished at its originality that – according to Weber’s son, Max – he struck the score with his hand, and exclaimed “I never would have thought it of the gentle little man”. When they parted, Beethoven – having “served [him] at table as if I had been his lady” – embraced and kissed him several times and cried: “Good luck to the new opera [Euryanthe]; if I can, I’ll come to the first performance!”

Although this afternoon’s music is still essentially Classical in nature – Beethoven resolutely recalling its glory years – all three are now seen as the founding fathers, or architects, of Romanticism (despite Rossini describing himself as “the last of the Classicists”). What a joy it is to have them all in the same room!

Viola and double-bass take centre stage!Themes and variations

20 June 2017: Stratford ArtsHouse

• Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf – Sinfonia Concertante for Double-Bass and Viola in D major, Kr.127
• Julian Philips – Ballades Concertantes [world premiere]
• Joseph Haydn – Symphony no49 ‘La Passione’ in F minor, Hob.I:49

Most – if not all – concertos are composed with specific performers in mind. Sometimes, they are written to showcase the composer’s own skills (think Mozart, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, etc.). Many times, they are written for a restricted number of instruments – particularly, it seems, violin and piano.

At the time of writing, IMSLP – the International Music Score Library Project: “Sharing the world’s public domain music” – holds 119,774 works, by 15,188 composers. Of these, 4,136 are labelled as concertos: 1,081 including ‘violin’ in their title (26.1%); and 471 containing the word ‘piano’ (11.4%). There are nearly as many concertos written for oboe (238) as there are cello (257); but only 117 for my favourite instrument, the bassoon… – and only one (yes, one!) for the glorious cor anglais (a very recent work, by Simon Laumer). Even the tuba has more written for it: with seven!

Tonight’s soloists – Virginia and Stacey – have, respectively 99 (viola) and 27 (double-bass) to choose from. But it is only when you type in ‘Dittersdorf’ or ‘Symphony Concertante’ that tonight’s first ‘double concerto’ is revealed – which, I’m afraid, only goes to show that all the above numbers should be treated (like opinion polls) as reasonably indicative (especially as contemporary composers seem to be much more inventive in their solo works: there already being two concertos listed for ‘electric bass’).

The point I’m trying to make is that such instruments are very rarely brought forward from their places in the orchestra… – and yet, when they are, we realize just how unfair this is: both the viola and double-bass being capable (as you will hear) of sonorous lyricism and striking virtuosity so different from their smaller cousins, the violin and cello. I accept that there are fewer players (certainly fewer solo players) of these instruments; and that surrounding such lower voices with orchestral timbres that do not overpower them may present more complex challenges… – although Tchaikovsky, Dvořák and Elgar met these head-on in creating glorious works for cello, of course!

We should therefore be immensely grateful to Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf and to Julian Philips, for creating pieces that, although around 250 years apart, demonstrate what we have been missing. In their extremely different ways, not only do they give us the full range of these wonderful instruments’ capabilities, whilst producing music that captivates; but they demonstrate – as the Dalai Lama said – that “if you listen, you may learn something new”.

Jennifer Pike plays Mozart:Themes and variations

16 May 2017: Forum Theatre, Malvern Theatres

• Michael Haydn – Symphony no25 ‘Mozart’s 37th’ in G major, MH334
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Violin Concerto no3 ‘Strassburg’ in G major, K216
• Franz Schubert – Symphony no5 in B-flat major, D485

Three months before he composed the symphony which closes this concert, nineteen-year-old Franz Peter Schubert wrote in his diary: “O Mozart! immortal Mozart! what countless impressions of a brighter, better life hast thou stamped up our souls!” – and it comes as no surprise, therefore, that the ensuing work owes a major debt to his idol (particularly his 40th Symphony).

In some ways, all three of today’s works are Mozartian – either by attachment (or attribution), authorship, or afflation (or such divine inspiration as Schubert would perhaps claim). In fact, until 1907, Michael Haydn’s vibrant 25th, which opens proceedings, was believed to be Mozart’s 37th (K444) – although it is difficult to accept, upon hearing it, that anyone could have really considered it the sequel to the miraculous Linz Symphony (K425): written – in four days – in late 1783. Despite it being composed in the same year, it is more representative of a previous era: when young Wolfgang was still striving to find his own voice. Having said that, today’s violin concerto was composed eight years earlier – when Mozart, like Schubert, was only nineteen – and yet his distinct, rapidly-burgeoning genius really shines through.

There is little doubt that Mozart thought a great deal of the older composer; and they were indeed good friends – influence therefore flowing in both directions. So, when Mozart was commissioned to write his great Requiem, it is likely that he used Michael Haydn’s C minor mass (MH155) as a model. (Coincidentally, Haydn wrote forty-one symphonies – his last being composed one year after Mozart’s stupendous Jupiter Symphony.)

Sadly, we hear very little of the younger Haydn’s music nowadays. It is his big brother, Franz Joseph, we look to as Mozart’s mentor; and Mozart’s influence we hear propelling later composers. It is well-known that Tchaikovsky idolized him – his Rococo Variations the most direct tribute – and Ravel stated that he was similarly inspired when composing the Adagio assai of his G major piano concerto.

No-one else, though, has ever quite recaptured that melodic ease, or fleetness of composition (although Schubert comes exceeding close). As Ravel said of his Mozartian theme: “That flowing phrase! How I worked over it bar by bar! It nearly killed me!” However, Brahms expresses it best, in a letter to Clara Schumann: “But how happy is the man who, like Mozart…, arrives at a pub in the evening and writes new music. Creating is simply his life, but he does what he wants. What a man.”

Emma Johnson plays Mozart:Themes and variations

13 April 2017: Forum Theatre, Malvern Theatres

• Joseph Haydn – Concerto for Two Flutes in C Major, Hob.VIIh:1
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Clarinet Concerto in A major, K622
• Christoph Willibald Gluck – Dance of the Blessed Spirits
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony no40 in G minor, K550

Tonight’s concert should probably be dedicated to Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry: who not only inspired Homer’s Odyssey and Virgil’s Aeneid – but whose name means ‘beautiful voiced’.

Moreover, there is a keyboard instrument called a calliope: which features a set of pipes usually powered by steam; and which is not that far removed from the lira organizzata – a fascinating Italian gizmo that is half hurdy-gurdy, half chamber organ. This ‘organ-ized lyre’ was the favourite instrument of King Ferdinand IV of Naples: who was one of the original soloists (along with his teacher) in tonight’s Concerto for Two Flutes – originally, the first of Haydn’s Concertos for Two Lire Organizzate – pieces which work equally well when played not only on flutes, but also oboes and recorders.

Furthermore, the “beautiful voices” of solo woodwind are at the heart of three of this concert’s works – an extremely unusual occurrence indeed: seeing that, as Emma Johnson recently pointed out, when I interviewed her, “The solo repertoire for violin and for piano is far larger than that of any of the woodwind instruments.”

And, finally, it is Calliope’s son Orpheus (or Orfeo) – who the goddess “taught verses for singing” – and his attempt to rescue his wife Eurydice (Euridice) from the Underworld – that inspired the opera from which our third work is taken: Gluck’s ravishing Dance of the Blessed Spirits (which, in placing Elysium, the world of the blessed, within the Underworld, also follows strongly in the Homeric tradition).

Overall, though, it is melody which unites these four late 18th Century works: built, as they are, around some of the most beautiful and memorable tunes ever written. My personal favourite is that which gently opens the Adagio of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto: which Emma described as “one of those examples of pure beauty in art” – one which I find incredibly moving. She confirmed that even for her, as soloist, “it is an emotional experience to play… and if the performer doesn’t feel that, then neither will the audience…. Like an actor,” she added, “you have to learn to manipulate your emotions so they express the work of art you are performing.”

I will leave the last word to Irving Berlin, though: who – with Mozart’s fireworks still ringing in your ears, as you head safely homewards… – probably expresses that enduring property of the greatest tunes better than anyone else: “The song is ended But the melody lingers on.”

Laura van der Heijden plays Tchaikovsky:Themes and variations

11 April 2017: Stratford ArtsHouse
12 April 2017: Town Hall, Birmingham

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Eine kleine Nachtmusik, K525
• Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (edited by W Fitzenhagen) – Variations on a Rococo Theme, op33
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Symphony no40 in G minor, K550

Why are variations on a theme such a popular art-form – for composers, at least? Elgar famously used them, in his Enigma Variations, to paint portraits of his closest friends. Bach wrote the incomparable Goldberg Variations to assuage insomnia. And some – including Czerny, Brahms and Britten – composed a collection to pay tribute to those that have inspired or tutored them (respectively: Beethoven, Schumann and Bridge – but not exclusively).

The variation is one of the oldest musical forms: even being found within the keyboard works of William Byrd (c1540-1623). Its development is also intimately linked with that of the concerto: from the earliest concerti grossi, through Handel and JC Bach, to Franck’s Variations symphoniques for piano and orchestra – and, of course, this concert’s Rococo Variations.

Its possibilities are inexhaustible. If you require proof: one of the most popular themes used for ‘alteration’ is that of Paganini’s Caprice no24 in A minor for violin. Not only does this prototype itself include eleven variations; but many, many musicians – including Brahms, Lutosławski, and, most notably, Rachmaninoff – have created wonderfully transformative sequences of their own.

Julian Lloyd Webber, our conductor today, has also recorded an album, simply entitled Variations, based on this theme: written for him by his brother, Andrew. I therefore wondered if he might have an answer. Why…?

Because, for a composer, it’s a big challenge: to be able to write a set of variations on one particular theme; and come up with very different ideas. Some of the ideas are so good… – you hear these Paganini variations: the way different composers approach them – it’s fascinating. For instance, Rachmaninoff turning the tune around and making an absolutely beautiful melody – that’s very, very clever! I do think Andrew was quite brave to choose that tune: because so many other famous pieces had come out of it. But he’s never shirked a challenge!

And so I think it works both ways: for the composer to demonstrate his technique, and what he can actually do with imagination and a simple theme; and also for the audience, who get to follow the changes through a theme that they hear many times during a piece of music.

Tchaikovsky, of course, opted to write his own theme. He may claim it as ‘Rococo’; but, in reality, it has more to do with his role model – the man he called his “musical Christ” – Mozart: whose inspirational works also begin and end today’s proceedings.

Orchestra of the Swan’s 21st Anniversary Concert – The English Genius:Themes and variations

14 March 2017: Stratford ArtsHouse

• Gustav Holst – St Paul’s Suite
• Ralph Vaughan Williams – Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
• Ralph Vaughan Williams – Symphony no5 in D major

With the first classical symphonies (as we might recognize them today) emerging from around Lombardy in the 1730s, it seems awfully bad form that the earliest English masterpiece of the genre didn’t arrive until 1908: with Elgar’s magnificent opus 55. To make up for its tardiness, though, that work was performed one hundred times in just over a year – in cities as far apart as Manchester and Saint Petersburg.

And, of course, it wasn’t long before other composers took up the baton. So – even though many pundits repeatedly (and fatuously) declared the form dead (globally) during the 20th Century – suddenly, like buses, whole hosts of English symphonic works arrived together! Names that spring to mind as Elgar’s natural heirs include those born ‘just up the road’ in Northampton – William Alwyn, Malcolm Arnold, and Edmund Rubbra: who wrote twenty-five between them. Down the road was Humphrey Searle – born in Oxford – with five. And then, looking south, towards the village (and glorious hymn-tune) of Down Ampney, in Gloucestershire, there emerged probably the country’s greatest symphonic composer to date: Ralph Vaughan Williams, with his traditional sequence of nine.

It never ceases to amaze me just how distinctive in disposition these creations are – and yet all are instantly identifiable as the man’s own. But the Fifth – which closes this 21st Anniversary Concert – is the one which many claim to be his greatest (and I could not disagree).

Ostensibly romantic and beautiful, it should offer respite from the explicit violence of its predecessor; and yet it overflows with ambiguity: inciting doubt, rather than imparting belief. It could, in its own keep-calm-and-carry-on fashion, be seen as a stereotypically English response to the global destruction enveloping its arrival; and yet its heartfelt desolation lies barely beneath its composer’s not-quite-so-stiff upper lip – so does not take much unearthing. It is thus, I contend, the most ‘mortal’ of his symphonies. Indeed, as their creator once stated: “The principles which govern the composition of music… are not the tricks of the trade or even the mysteries of the craft, they are founded on the very nature of human beings.”

110 years after its prodigious birth, the English symphony endures. A wonderful recent example is Peter Maxwell Davies’ Symphony No.10. And we also have the English Symphony Orchestra’s extensive 21st Century Symphony Project – led by OOTS’ former guest conductor Kenneth Woods – launching in a fortnight. Long may it prevail!