Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa

Earlier Concerts in 2007-2008

Music at the Mission
Saturday, January 12, 2008 - 8 pm
Mission San Luis Obispo de TolosaProgram

Craig H. Russell (b. 1951) - Ecos armónicos (2007)
 [Notes by the composer:] 

Ecos armónicos is a thoroughly “modern” composition that explores the sounds from California’s past, drawing upon snippets of tunes that resonated in the various mission communities and presidio fortresses in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.  In a sense, they are “echoes” of influences brought from Spain by the Franciscan friars that were then repeated as the Native communities learned them—and in some ways transformed them—adding their own levels of “harmony.”

The piece opens with an ethereal statement of the Introit “Gaudeamus” and an “Alleluia” found in the choirbooks of friar Narciso Durán; he used these themes in Mass for each day of the year, gently reshaping them to accommodate each day’s required text.  These two themes, then, were “echoes” even in the early 1800s, since they were heard reverberating within the mission walls over and over, but always slightly modified and transformed.  The “Alleluia” is then interrupted by Juan Sancho’s “Marcha Suiza.” Its jaunty dotted rhythms march about with the gruff sergeant calling out his commands while the soldiers step, turn, and march forward, sometimes missing an instruction—generating inadvertent collisions and minor mishaps.  The violin then embarks on a spacious “Toccata,” an introspective reverie from Santa Barbara that precedes the devotional song “¡O que suave! (O how gentle!),” one of the most beloved songs in early California.  The piece ends at dusk with the rowdy and passionate fandango, a dance that was open to all Californians—a perfect metaphor for the inclusive society that California was to become in a modern age.

Heinrich Ignaz Franz Biber (1644-1704) - Battalia (1673) 

Biber shares certain biographical parallels with Vivaldi, including an international reputation for his virtuosic violin artistry and an ability to write any sort of music with great facility: sacred or secular, vocal or instrumental.  Unlike Vivaldi, however, Biber's fortunes continued to improve during his lifetime, and he was at last knighted by the Austrian emperor Leopold I.

The noted modern performer Nikolaus Harnoncourt points to Biber's Battalia (The Battle) as "perhaps the most 'modern' work in the whole range of Baroque music."  Battalia is loaded with special effects, many derived from Biber's familiarity with the violin's capabilities.  In the first movement, for instance, the orchestra players are asked to perform col legno, meaning they are to turn their bows over and strike their strings with the wood of their bows.  An incredible clamor of sound develops in the second movement, emulating drunken carousing, with eight (!) different folksongs bellowed simultaneously.  (After hearing this movement, it should come as no surprise to learn that Biber dedicated the Battalia to the god Bacchus, patron of party animals.)  The March uses a violin to imitate a fife, while the accompanying instrument puts paper around its strings to sound like a snare drum.  During the Battle, the players are asked to pluck their strings with such force that they resemble cannons.  This vividly programmatic sonata comes to a surprisingly somber close, portraying the moans of the wounded, but it may be a timely reminder that warfare is not all good cheer among comrades followed by triumphant deeds of valor. 

Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741) - The Four Seasons (1725) 

Once the toast of Venice for his spectacular violin-playing, Vivaldi was a poor money-manager, and he died in poverty.  He was soon virtually forgotten, despite the volumes and volumes of music he had composed.  Like many other Baroque musicians, Vivaldi owes the rehabilitation of his reputation to the "Bach revival" (Bach himself had died in obscurity, rising to his current legendary status only in the 19th century).  As scholars began examining the composers who had influenced Bach, Vivaldi's name came under new scrutiny—but it wasn't until the 20th century that Vivaldi at last achieved the fame that he enjoys today. 

We might nickname Vivaldi as the "Costco composer," for he produced hundreds of concertos, usually published in bulk.  In 1725, he unveiled a dozen concertos called “The Battle Between Harmony and Invention”; a novelty of the set was that its first four concertos were based on poetry.  The author of the sonnets is unknown—perhaps it was Vivaldi himself—but each focused on a different season of the year.  The concertos all conform to the typical tempo plan of fast-slow-fast, with different sound effects in each movement, guided by the imagery of the sonnets.  Listeners can hear the lighting bolts and thunder of a spring storm, the distant barking of a goatherd’s dog, or the revels of peasants in harvest season.  Unsurprisingly, these “quattro stagioni,” or “four seasons,” have become not only Vivaldi’s most recognized pieces, but also some of the most popular Baroque works ever.

The Sonnets

Spring

Spring has come, and the birds greet it with happy songs, and at the same time the streams run softly murmuring to the breathing of the gentle breezes.

Then, the sky being cloaked in black, thunder and lightning come and have their say; after the storm has quieted, the little birds turn again to their harmonious song.

Here in a pleasant flowery meadow, the leaves sweetly rustling, the goatherd sleeps,
his faithful dog at this side.

Rejoicing in the pastoral bagpipes, Nymphs and Shepherds dance, in love, their faces glowing with Springtime’s brilliance.

Summer

In the season made harsh by the burning sun the men and the herds languish; even the evergreens are hot.  The cuckoo unlocks his voice and soon the songs of the turtledove and the goldfinch are heard.

Soft breezes breathe, but unexpectedly the north wind from its quarter seeks out a quarrel, and the shepherd weeps because he is overwhelmed by fear of the gusts and of his fate.

Fear of the flashing lightning and of the fierce thunder denies his tired body any rest while his furious troop is on the move.

How justifiable is his fear!  The sky lights up, the awe-inspring thunder brings down the fruit and the proud grain.

Autumn

With songs and dances the peasants celebrate the happiness of a fine harvest, and after being greatly kindled by Sacchic spirits, their rejoicing ends with sleep.

Thus everyone quits both his singing and his dancing.  The air is pleasant and moderate, and the season invites everyone to the agreeableness of a sweet sleep.

At the break of day the hunter goes to the hunt with guns, dogs, and horns; he puts the wild beast to flight and tracks him down.

Tired and terrified by the loud noise of guns and dogs, the beast, now in danger of being wounded, longs for escape, but is overcome and dies.

Winter

To tremble frozen in the icy snow; to be buffeted by the wild wind; to stamp one’s frozen feet; to have excessive cold set one’s teeth to chattering.

To pass to a fireside of quiet and contentment, while outside the downpour bathes all; to walk carefully on ice, going slowly in fear of falling.

To slip and fall sharply to the ground, start out again on the ice, and run until the ice breaks apart.

To hear the south wind, the north wind, and all the other winds unloosed in battle: such is winter, these are joys it brings.

Copyright 2007 by Dr. Alyson McLamore

	Robert Edward Thies

	Shunske Sato

Music on the Coast
Sunday, March 16, 2008 - 3 pm
Trinity United Methodist Church
Los Osos

Jean-Marie Leclair (1697–1764) - Sonata for Two Violins in A Major, Op. 3, No. 2 (1730)  

Death at age 67 is hardly unexpected, but it came as a shock to Jean-Marie Leclair, since he met his demise at the hands of a murderer.  Even worse, although French detectives at the time failed to determine the true culprit among the several suspects—was it the gardener?  a random robber?  Leclair's estranged wife?—historian Albert Borowitz makes a persuasive case that Leclair's own nephew Guillaume-François Vial committed the foul attack at Leclair's front door.  Vial, it seems, was disgruntled that his uncle had not been more enthusiastic in promoting his nephew's musical career, especially with Leclair's own patron. 
 Despite the unfortunate final chapter to Leclair's life, his achievements were considerable.  He was a virtuoso violinist who brought many of the Italian string techniques north to France and merged them into works that catered to French tastes; posterity views him as "the first great figure of the French violin school," and his compositions were printed (and pirated) all over Europe.  The Sonata for Two Violins in A Major illustrates his ability to write music that pleases audiences while challenging performers.  The first movement opens with an extended "shadowing," in which the second violin mimics every nuance played by the first violin; the players then take turns presenting the melody.  During the stately "Sarabanda," a listener with his eyes closed might think that the duo had become a trio, for the first violin plays double-stops (simultaneous notes) nearly continuously.  The elegant chase resumes in the finale, again with the first violin leading the way. 

Maurice Ravel (1875–1937) - Jeux d'eau (1901)  

The biographical details concerning today's three composers might lead one to deduce that being a French musician is hazardous to one's health, but for poor Ravel, death was not swift; rather, it was the outcome of a long, slow, and frustrating decline.  Medical experts have determined that Ravel suffered from Pick's disease, a degenerative neurological condition that usually undermines the victim's ability to speak or write.  Ravel found himself progressively unable to transcribe the music he could still hear in his head; his suffering must have been agonizing. 
 In light of Ravel's later misfortune, his earlier works can seem even more precious, and few pieces are more magical than Ravel's luminous Jeux d'eau (Fountains).  Ravel drew inspiration from two sources; the first was an 1883 piano work by Franz Liszt called Les Jeux d'eau à la Villa d'Este (The Fountains at the Este Villa).  Another influence was literary; the poet Henri de Régnier had published "Fête d'eau" in 1903 (inspired by one of the Versailles fountains), and Ravel included a quotation from the poem in his score: "A river god laughing at the water which tickles him."  Ravel declared Jeux d'eau "marks the beginning of all the pianistic innovations which have been noted in my works," and by use of two interlocking themes, cascades, sweeping glissandos, and delicate arpeggiation, Ravel stretches the capabilities of pianists to make the keyboard sound like splashing water.

Ernest Chausson (1855–1899) – Concert (Concerto) in D Major for Violin, Piano, and String Quartet, Op. 21 (1889–1891)
  
Like his older French countryman Leclair, death came suddenly to Chausson—but the circumstances of the younger composer's passing were far more bittersweet; he and his daughter were leaving his rented country villa to meet the rest of his family at the train station.  Somehow, Chausson lost control of his bicycle and rammed into a wall outside the villa; he died of his injuries.

Chausson left behind an enormous circle of friends from the highest levels of the French artistic community; Debussy, Satie, Mallarmé, Fauré, Manet, Degas, Rodin, and many other luminaries were regular visitors to Chausson's Paris home.  Although not rich, Chausson's circumstances were extremely comfortable, thanks to his father's success as a building contractor.  To please his father, Chausson had earned two degrees in law before at last entering the Paris Conservatory at age 25 to pursue compositional training.  His untimely end at age 44 left much of his potential unrealized, and works like his unusual Concert—a "concerto" for two soloists and a petite "orchestra" consisting of a string quartet—are intriguing foreshadowings of what he might have achieved. 
 In light of Chausson's demise, it may seem tasteless to declare that the Concert uses a cyclic structure, but this is the analytical term for a work in which earlier melodies reappear in later movements.  The emphatic chords that open "Décidé" reflect the movement's name, and the second movement's relaxed sway also mirrors its "Sicilienne" title.  The "Grave" ends with ethereal, mysterious chords, but the energy of the finale pulls both new and previous elements together into an energetic, confident close. 

Copyright 2008 by Dr. Alyson McLamore