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Sensational soprano Sari Gruber returns to Syracuse to perform Strauss’ gloriously serene and transcendent Four Last Songs. Copland’s masterpiece Symphony No. 3, with its inspiring last movement based on Fanfare for the Common Man, is featured after intermission for an unforgettable conclusion.


PROGRAM

ESMAIL: Black Iris #metoo    
STRAUSS: Four last songs, TrV 296                                                        COPLAND: Symphony No. 3        

 


PROGRAM NOTES

Richard Strauss (1864–1949) wrote the Four Last Songs during the summer of 1948 as the last blossom in an unexpected flowering at the end of his career. Why unexpected? The 1930s had been difficult for the once-acclaimed Strauss. True, at the end of the 19th century, he had been treated as a musical hero for his extroverted post-Wagnerian tone poems like Also sprach Zarathustra; and around the turn of the century, he added to his fame by reinventing himself as Germany’s leading (and for a while, most revolutionary) opera composer.

With the rise of National Socialism, however, Strauss ...

Richard Strauss (1864–1949) wrote the Four Last Songs during the summer of 1948 as the last blossom in an unexpected flowering at the end of his career. Why unexpected? The 1930s had been difficult for the once-acclaimed Strauss. True, at the end of the 19th century, he had been treated as a musical hero for his extroverted post-Wagnerian tone poems like Also sprach Zarathustra; and around the turn of the century, he added to his fame by reinventing himself as Germany’s leading (and for a while, most revolutionary) opera composer.

With the rise of National Socialism, however, Strauss found himself aesthetically dried up and morally confused. Few of his newer large-scale works caught on; and squeezed by a political system he abhorred but couldn’t resist, he took an administrative post with the Nazis, thinking it might help him protect Jewish members of his family and colleagues. After the war, excoriated by many for both his suspect politics and his by now old-fashioned music, he moved to Switzerland awaiting clearance from a denazification panel.

Yet somehow, beginning in 1941, he produced another series of masterpieces, quiet and nostalgic works, many of which seem to be trying to come to terms with the collapse of German culture—and, perhaps, his own role in that collapse. His last opera Capriccio, the Oboe Concerto, the Second Horn Concerto, and Metamorphoses (a response to the bombing of Munich) are all part of this artistic renewal. For many listeners, though, the radiant Four Last Songs—his last finished work except for a brief unpublished song—is the pinnacle.

Did Strauss compose this cycle as a farewell? Certainly, “Im Abendrot”—which quotes his earlier tone poem Death and Transfiguration—suggests so. And as tonight’s soloist Sari Gruber points out, “It’s extraordinary that he got to the end of his life and this is what he wanted to write.” Although there’s plenty of regret in this bittersweet collection, there’s no pain: patient and radiant, it’s music of transcendent acceptance. Strauss was renowned as an orchestrator, but nothing he wrote shows his mastery as gloriously as does this score, which often sounds like chamber music. He was especially skilled in combining voice and orchestra, a point of contact with his beloved Mozart. As Sari says, “Nobody understood writing for voice and orchestra like Strauss and Mozart.”

While the Four Last Songs sounds strikingly simple, in fact there are extreme technical difficulties (especially rhythmic) under the surface, difficulties that have to be hidden from the listeners. More challenging for the singer, though is the need to keep emotions under control. Sari explains: “What I find so hard about this piece is that it is so loaded. And if I linger too long in the moment, it hits. I don’t want it to be detached at all, so I have to figure out how to get through it without sentimentality”—otherwise, she may break down. She never has broken down, but she has had to sing through tears. I suspect that many in the audience tonight will be listening through tears.

In his prime, Strauss was the German composer; Aaron Copland (1900 –1990) held a parallel status in the United States during his peak years. And he was certainly at his peak when he wrote his Symphony No. 3. It was composed in 1944-46, just a short time before Strauss wrote the Four Last Songs, but the two works have very different stances. Strauss was in a reflective mood as he looked at a destroyed world; Copland was at his most outgoing, confident, and optimistic as he looked at a world of tremendous potential.

Surprisingly, Copland seemed, at the time, eager to play down his reputation as what he called, in his program notes for the premiere, “a purveyor of Americana.” He was insistent about his attempt to avoid jazz and folk music, and analyzed the symphony in cold, formal terms that align it with the great European tradition. Even so, almost since its first performance, it has come to be seen as a profoundly “American” piece.

There are at least two reasons why that’s so. First, in such earlier works as Rodeo and Appalachian Spring, Copland—even though he was a gay Jewish left-winger from Brooklyn—had, to a large extent, invented what came to be heard as the quintessentially American classical-music idiom, an idiom that became firmly associated with images of broad prairies and homespun values. Thus, to sound American, Copland didn’t need to borrow from American traditions; he only needed to sound like Copland. Second, the American tone is amplified by the incorporation—throughout the symphony, but most overtly in the finale—of his Fanfare for the Common Man, which, along with the Barber Adagio, is perhaps the most iconic of American classical pieces.

Yet at the same time, the Third does have the formal rigor of a European symphony. Put all that together, and you have what conductor Larry Loh calls “something like the American Beethoven Ninth. I don’t know if it’s pride or what, but it gives us the feeling that this is the American symphony, written by the greatest American composer, the one we think of as having defined American music.” If the Strauss brings you to tears, the Copland will bring you to cheers.

Our opening work, Black Iris (#metoo) (2017) by Reena Esmail (b. 1983), differs radically from those by Strauss and Copland both politically and aesthetically. To begin with the politics: As I’ve said, Strauss and Copland were prestigious artists trying to solidify (or reclaim) their positions in the canon. Reena, like other women composers, had no position in the canon to shore up—and Black Iris explicitly confronts the prejudices that contributed to women’s absence from concert programs. Her concern, however, was deeper than simply prejudice. She wrote Black Iris, she says, as the “#metoo movement was raging,” and she wrote it partly to expose the sexual abuse to which women composers were subject in the course of their education, abuse that she herself suffered. The piece was originally titled #metoo; and although she eventually retitled it to refer to a painting by Georgia O’Keefe, she made the change because she came to realize that hashtags were “ephemeral” and minimized the depth of the piece, not because she believed the problems had been overcome.

Black Iris thus grew out of anger. It’s not, however, the kind of anger you hear, say, in the second movement of the Shostakovich Tenth. Rather than a piece that makes the audience feel anger, she wrote the piece as a way to process her own anger. Like many women, she says, she had to keep “a lot under wraps” in order to work in a male-dominated field. “I didn’t feel comfortable expressing my anger directly.” The resulting frustration is expressed in a striking musical way: “The main theme is trying to come out, and it keeps getting dissuaded. Eventually there is this feeling that we are going to push through until we finally get this theme out into the world. That to me is like working through my own anger.”

A key moment comes about two-thirds of the way through. After what she calls a “roiling” passage—the most overtly angry part of the piece—there’s a moment of near silence. Then, in a coup de théâtre, the women in the orchestra sing a chord, joining in slowly, according to how long they have been members of the group. Over this stillness, we hear a gorgeous solo by the English horn, soon joined in conversation by the solo cello. From there, the work becomes increasingly luminous as the main theme blossoms and Black Iris works its way to the final measures. Reena says that she “always turns anger into a generative force”—and this transformative moment is a stunning example of her practice, one that you won’t soon forget.

As for the aesthetic dimension of her difference from Strauss and Copland: Both Strauss and Copland were trying to distil national traditions; Reena, as in most of her mature music, does the opposite, blurring borders by combining Western and Indian musical idioms. She came up with this stylistic approach while still a graduate student at Yale, as she tried to chart out her personal path as a composer. Since she was someone who “always believed in melody,” she was not comfortable with the atonal tradition that was dominant at the time. In fact, she had trouble composing until “music with tonal centers was being valued again.” But even then, she says, “I felt limited by the major and minor that was being offered. Imagine my delight when I realized that my own cultural tradition, Hindustani music, was rich in a way that helped me fill in the gaps of my own story and find my own sense of values.” Especially at a time of heightened ethnic conflict around the world, this harmonizing of profoundly different traditions serves as an inspiration.

Peter J. Rabinowitz
Have any comments or questions? Contact me at prabinowitz@ExperienceSymphoria.org


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