Madison Symphony Orchestra
Program Notes
October 18-19-20, 2019
94th Season / Subscription Concert No.2
Michael Allsen
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This program brings together music by the three greatest composers of the old Soviet Union, beginning with Prokofiev’s tongue-in-cheek music from the film Lieutenant Kijé. The sensational violinist Rachel Barton Pine makes her first appearance with the Madison Symphony Orchestra playing Khachaturian’s Violin Concerto, a work deeply influenced by the music of Armenia, the composer’s homeland. We end with Shostakovich’s ninth symphony, a sometimes sarcastic work written at the end of the Great Patriotic War…and one that got Shostakovich in trouble with Stalin’s artistic bureaucracy.
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953)
Suite
from Lieutenant Kijé,
Op.60
Prokofiev composed his
film score to Lieutenant Kijé in 1933, and extracted the
suite heard here in 1934. The composer conducted the Moscow
Radio Orchestra in the suite’s premiere on December 21, 1934.
This is the Madison Symphony Orchestra’s first performance of
the complete suite. Duration 20:00.
In the early 1930s, Prokofiev was living in
Paris, making a fine living as both a composer and a pianist.
Though he had fled from Russia in the aftermath of the 1917
revolution, he was homesick, and this was a period of
increasingly frequent visits to the Soviet Union, and works
written for Soviet organizations—he would return permanently to
Russia in 1936. In 1933, he was commissioned to write music for
Alexander Feinzimmer’s film Lieutenant Kijé.
Prokofiev would later have great success as a film composer,
most notably with his monumental scores for Alexander Nevsky (1938)
and Ivan the Terrible
(1944). While the film Lieutenant
Kijé was successful when it opened in Russia in March
1934, Prokofiev was less than satisfied with his innovative
first attempt writing a film score. However, at the invitation
of the Moscow Radio Orchestra, he began to assemble all of the
short fragmentary musical cues from the Kijé film score into a
more coherent five-movement suite. Though Feinzimmer’s film is
largely forgotten today, Prokofiev’s Suite from “Lieutenant
Kijé” remains one of his most popular pieces of concert
music.
Lieutenant
Kijé, based on a satirical novel by Yuri Tynyanov, tells the story of a
soldier whose very existence was invented to keep his
superiors out of trouble. The novel is set during the reign of
Czar Paul I (r. 1796-1801), who was notorious for his
nitpicking devotion to military protocol and bureaucracy. When
he was read a dispatch by one of his officers, the Czar
mistakenly understood the words Poruchiki zhe… (The
lieutenant, however…) as Poruchik Kizhe
(Lieutenant Kijé). The Czar takes an interest in this “Kijé,”
and his officers find it safer to play along than to correct
their Czar. They construct a detailed life story for Kijé,
eventually giving him a romance and a wedding. Their invention
succeeds too well, however, and the Czar finally expresses a
desire to meet this gallant young soldier. The officers safely
kill off Kijé before the Czar suspects that he has been
hoodwinked.
Prokofiev’s suite contains some delightfully
wry and witty music. One interesting bit of orchestration is his
prominent use of a tenor saxophone, which replaces the baritone
singer of the film score. The first movement, Birth of Kijé,
introduces the melancholy trumpet theme that represents Kijé
himself. Most of the movement is a flashy and satirical military
march, with a moment of mock-seriousness at the end. Romance portrays Kijé’s
rather ponderous love affair, with a long solo for the saxophone
and highly melodramatic pauses. The Wedding of Kijé
opens with a kind of wedding-toast fanfare from the trombones,
followed a sardonic polka-style wedding dance from the solo
trumpet. After an opening drinking-song, the Troika depicts a rather
frenzied ride in a traditional Russian three-horse sleigh. The
closing lament, The
Burial of Kije, opens with Kijé’s theme, and continues
with a suitably morose funeral march. Prokofiev mixes together
several reminiscences of music from episodes in Kijé’s “life,”
before ending with a final melancholy statement of his theme.
Aram Khachaturian (1903-1976)
Violin
Concerto
Khachaturian composed his
Violin Concerto in
1940 for violinist David Oistrakh, who played its premiere in
Moscow on September 16, 1940. This is the first performance of
the concerto at these concerts. Duration 33:00.
Of the three great Soviet composers included
on this program, Armenian-born Aram Khachaturian was the one who
moved most comfortably in the artistic atmosphere imposed in the
era of Stalin—one biographer has characterized his music as
“Socialist Realism at its best.” Khachaturian was an
enthusiastic participant in the State’s musical authority:
joining the Union of Soviet Composers, and eventually serving as
President of the Union’s National Organizing Committee. Soviet
doctrine was that music should be optimistic and uplifting, and
should further the goals of the State, but all too often it
became a means of censure and punishment of composers whose work
was found to contain “formalist” elements: dissonance,
intellectualized forms, modernist ideas, and characteristics
generally considered bourgeois.
While Prokofiev and Shostakovich pushed the boundaries
throughout their careers, Khachaturian seems to have worked
comfortably within Soviet expectations—his natural style was
straightforward and had an immediate mass appeal. (However, even
Khachaturian was censured for a few years in the repressive
years between the end of World War II and Stalin’s death in
1953.) His musical style is generally Romantic, drawing on the
music of Liszt, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Borodin, but he also
absorbed the melodic style and rhythmic vitality of Armenian
music.
The decade following the composition of his Piano Concerto in 1936
saw the creation of some of Khachaturian’s finest music: his
incidental music for Masquerade
(1939), the ballet Gayane
(1942), his second symphony (1943), and his Cello Concerto (1946).
The Violin Concerto
was also composed during this fertile period. Khachaturian wrote
much of it during the summer of 1940, while living in a
“composer’s cottage” at a remote estate managed by the Union of
Soviet Composers. He was inspired by the artistry of his friend
David Oistrakh, the Soviet Union’s leading violin virtuoso, who
advised Khachaturian throughout his composition of the concerto.
The composer later wrote
“I worked without effort…
Sometimes my thoughts and imagination outraced the hand that
was covering the staff with notes. The themes came to me in
such abundance that I had a hard time putting them in some
order.” The
concerto was wildly successful when Oistrakh played
the premiere that fall, but with Khachaturian’s permission,
Oistrakh substituted his own solo cadenzas. The concerto is
usually performed with Oistrakh’s cadenzas today.
The first movement (Allegro con fermezza), set in traditional
sonata form, begins with a bold statement from the orchestra,
and a short motive from the solo violin that soon grows into a
lively Armenian dance that serves as the main theme. A
languorous second theme emerges above a background of flutes
and pizzicato strings. This ends with a short solo passage,
before an orchestral outburst opens the extensive development
section, which explores and combines both main
themes—culminating in a pair of sinuous duets with the
clarinet and orchestral solo violin, and a long solo cadenza.
The movement closes with a shortened and varied recapitulation
of the main themes and an energetic coda. The slow movement (Andante
sostenuto) begins with a solemn solos by bassoon and
clarinet. According to biographer Grigory Shneerson, Khachaturian’s
inspiration was the improvised melodies created by Armenian
traditional bards, as they sang folk epics. The violin sings the
movement’s unhurried and melancholy main theme, filled with
Armenian color. There are a few slightly contrasting episodes,
but the overall mood of the movement remains wistful and quiet
until a grand orchestral statement of the theme near the end—the
mood soon calms, and it ends in hushed serenity. The wild finale (Allegro vivace)
presents a series of folklike dance themes that serve as
springboards for brilliant solo passages. There is a more
reserved reminiscence of material from the first two movements,
before the opening character returns for a fierce ending.
Dmitri Shostakovich
(1906-1975)
Symphony
No.9 in E-flat Major, Op.70
Shostakovich’s ninth
symphony was completed in August of 1945. The premiere took
place in Leningrad, on November 3, 1945, with the Leningrad
Philharmonic under the direction of Eugene Mravinsky. Previous
performances by the Madison Symphony Orchestra were in 1998
and 2008. Duration 27:00.
“It
is a merry little piece. Musicians will love playing it
-
Dmitri Shostakovich
For Shostakovich—as for all artists working
in Joseph Stalin’s Soviet Union—art was inexorably tied to
politics. Composers like Prokofiev,
Khachaturian, and Shostakovich were employees of the
State, and it was expected that their music would be created in
the service of the Communism. An article published by the Union
of Soviet Composers directs that composers turn their thoughts
“towards the victorious progressive principles of reality,
towards all that is heroic, bright, and beautiful. This
distinguishes the spiritual world of Soviet man, and must be
embodied in musical images full of beauty and strength.” Musical
commissars and even Stalin himself took an intense interest in
the works of Soviet composers, and scrutinized every measure to
make sure that they adhered to the Party line. The consequences
for delinquency were immediate and severe: at best, censure and
unemployment—at the worst, a one-way trip to the Gulag
Archipelago.
Shostakovich’s career in the 1930s and 1940s
seems to be a recurring pattern of official censure and
rehabilitation—he never dropped into the abyss, but often came
uncomfortably close to the edge. At the height of Stalinist
purges in the late 1930s, Shostakovich kept a small suitcase
packed and by the door at all times, so that he would be ready
if the police arrived to take him away. One of the first times
he suffered official censure was in 1936, when Stalin published
a critical review of one of Shostakovich’s operas. Only after a
public apology and the performance of his Symphony No.5 did he
regain some sort of security.
The composition of his ninth symphony marks
another occasion where Shostakovich suffered Stalin’s
displeasure. His seventh and eighth symphonies were enormous,
powerful works—each lasts well over an hour—that take their cues
from events in what Russians call the Great Patriotic War. Shostakovich had dropped
hints that he would round out a trilogy with a symphony
celebrating Soviet victory, but at the war’s end in 1945, he
found that he had little desire to create yet another
glorification of Stalin. The Symphony No.9, composed
relatively quickly during the summer of that year, is a
miniature in comparison to the wartime works: it is under half
the length of either the seventh or the eighth, and is scored
for a standard-sized orchestra. The work is cheerful and ironic
throughout—certainly not the ecstatic and victorious patriotic
piece that Soviet authorities expected. Years later, when Stalin
was safely dead, Shostakovich remembered that “When my ninth was
performed, Stalin was incensed. He was deeply offended, because
there was no chorus, no soloists—and no apotheosis. There wasn’t
even a paltry dedication. It was just music, which Stalin didn’t
understand very well, and which was of dubious content.” The
piece received a cool reception from the critics and
Shostakovich again found himself on the wrong side of Soviet
musical authorities. It was not until after Stalin’s death in
1953 that he was rehabilitated again.
The opening movement (Allegro) is set in
traditional sonata form. The bright and cheery mood is set in
the opening bars with a lively string theme. The second theme
features an almost hilarious combination of piccolo and
trombone: the piccolo playing a happy little tune in alternation
with dour two-note fanfares from the trombone. Only near the end
of the development does the music become dark and troubled, but
it is only for a moment; the original material soon returns to
rescue the mood. Underlying much of the movement is a vaguely
military feel, clearly satirical in intent.
The sparsely-scored second movement (Moderato) begins with
a plaintive clarinet solo. This becomes a duet with the addition
of a second clarinet, then a trio with the flute, and finally a
woodwind ensemble. This texture gradually thins out and there is
a lengthy central passage for muted strings that becomes
gradually more sinister. The opening material returns at the
end, now introduced by a solo flute.
The final three movements are played without
pauses. The brief Presto
begins with woodwinds playing at breakneck speed, introducing a
scherzo-style theme. There are two contrasting episodes placed
between repeats of this music: first a passage dominated by the
strings, and then a march-style theme for solo trumpet and
trombones. The final statement of the scherzo fades away and the
mood darkens, setting up a bridge to the next movement. The Largo opens with an
ominous statements by trombones and tuba. This idea alternates
with a bassoon recitative. The bassoon’s second recitative
suddenly changes character, and becomes the main theme of the
final movement (Allegretto)—a
grotesque tune that is soon picked up by the strings, and then
by string and woodwinds. Like the first movement, the finale is
set in sonata form, and here the contrasting idea is a limping
string theme. The development section is a gradual crescendo
towards the climactic moment: a return of the bassoon’s main
theme, now shouted out by the brass. The trumpet plays a
military-style fanfare through much of the brief recapitulation.
The tempo suddenly quickens, and the movement ends with a brisk
coda.
________
program
notes ©2019 by J. Michael Allsen