Alexei Plays Dvořák Program Notes

Angel Lam’s Please let there be a paradise… (Virginia B. Toulmin Foundation Consortium Partner)

World Premiere April 5, 2024; Kansas City, Missouri
9 Minutes

“Please let there be a paradise… is inspired by a personal story, but I want to share it with you because it is also universal. Many of us had lost a loved one during the pandemic.

This piece is about myself going into the underworld in search of my father. In 2021, during the height of the pandemic, my father passed away alone in Hong Kong. His death was very unusual and unexpected, not caused by COVID-19. I was desperate for answers, but I was 8,000 miles away from him and unable to travel to investigate. I started having dream sequences of myself going into a dark, grisly world looking for him…

Growing up, he was my muse. On one desperate, distressed night, I finally saw him in my dream at a place full of broken roads and misty waters. He talked excitedly about the topics he loved while he was alive…the arts, history and music! He was humming a beautiful melody…

And then, he disappeared again.

Where is he? Where did he go? Is he happy?
Why is he in this dark, broken place?
Why did he leave me? How did he leave?

I had so many questions…

I wrote this piece to heal, to find solace and a resting place for myself, and most importantly, to find a paradise for him” (Angel Lam).

Antonín Dvořák’s Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104

World Premiere March 19, 1896; London, England
40 Minutes

Antonín Dvořák was a central figure in Czech musical nationalism.
He was the first Bohemian composer to achieve international recognition.
Johannes Brahms played an important role in promoting Dvořák’s career.
Folk tunes from Moravia and his native Bohemia appear in many of his works.
The three years he spent in the U.S. (1892-1895) yielded many of his most beloved compositions.

Antonín Dvořák’s Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104 is the crown jewel of the cello’s concerted literature. This piece prompted no less a critic than Johannes Brahms, when he first examined the score, to exclaim: “Why on earth didn’t I know that one could write a violoncello concerto like this? If I had only known, I would have written one long ago!” It was inspired in part by the Second Cello Concerto of the Irish American composer and cellist Victor Herbert, which Dvořák had heard in New York. The new concerto was the culmination of Dvořák’s American visit. The Czech composer was so moved by Herbert’s artistry, and so challenged by the possibilities of the instrument, that he set to work on his own concerto. Perhaps because it was the sole work Dvořák completed during that final year in America, Op. 104, it is generally grouped with Dvořák’s “American” works. Actually, it is far more closely allied to his Bohemian roots, filled with the spirit and rhythms of his beloved Bohemian homeland. The great Spanish cellist Pablo Casals called this work “Dvořák’s Tenth Symphony.” Dvořák’s use of the soloist is magical, benefiting from an expert balance with full orchestra. In fact, the orchestra is more of a symphonic partner than an accompanist. Though the overall concept is symphonic, the prominent solo role, fluid from the start, integrates quite satisfactorily with the larger orchestral entity. The first movement is rich in melodies, distributed generously throughout the orchestra but focused on the woodwinds. Clarinets declaim the main theme in the orchestral exposition. The second theme is one of the French horn’s most soaringly lyrical moments in 19th-century orchestral literature. After their initial statement, the horns cede to clarinet and oboe. Eventually, of course, the soloist has his way with most of the melodic material. This opening Allegro is one of the triumphs of Dvořák’s maturity. Dvořák quotes from one of his songs in the Adagio ma non troppo and, in his finale, he alludes to melodies from the earlier movements. Passionate themes and vigorous rhythms make the Cello Concerto an unforgettable musical experience.

Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Symphony No. 4 in F minor

World Premiere April 10, 1935; London, England
30 Minutes

Ralph Vaughan Williams is best known for having spearheaded renewed interest in the English folk song.
His classmates at London’s Royal College of Music included Gustav Holst and Leopold Stokowski.
He later studied with Maurice Ravel in Paris.
Charles Darwin was his great uncle.
His most celebrated work is the violin and orchestra rhapsody The Lark Ascending.

One of the least performed and recorded of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ nine symphonies, the Symphony No. 4 in F minor, gestated in the early 1930s, when nationalism was on the rise throughout Europe, and the Nazi party was consolidating its newly acquired power in Germany. While very traditional in its treatment of the large symphonic form, this work is a far cry from the more familiar, folksong influenced works by Vaughan Williams. In the Fourth Symphony, we hear a modernist streak with bold exploration of booming sonorities. This startling music hints not only at the conflict that would roil Europe again within a few years but also at the complex and conflicted personality of the composer Vaughan Williams.

Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104

Antonín Dvořák

Born September 8, 1841, in Mühlhausen, Bohemia · Died May 1, 1904, in Prague, Czechoslovakia

Dvořák and the concerto

Dvořák was a brilliant symphonist, a champion of absolute music in an era when the symphonic poem with an extramusical program carried great sway. His most lasting contribution was in the realm of orchestral and chamber music, which makes him a Bohemian analogue to his mentor and friend Johannes Brahms in Vienna. But for some reason, unlike Brahms, Dvořák achieved little resonance in the realm of the concerto. He tried his hand at both piano and violin concertos and produced serviceable works that have their memorable moments. While both those compositions – the Piano Concerto, Op. 33 (1876) and the Violin Concerto, Op. 53 (1880) are performed occasionally and deserve to be heard, neither work is first rank Dvořák.

The late Cello Concerto we hear this weekend, however, is an entirely different story. Op. 104 in B minor crowns Dvořák’s concerto production and remains one of the glories of classical literature. His obvious confidence in solo writing clearly developed with great strides through the piano and violin concertos that preceded it. This work is the harvest.

Oddly enough, Dvořák considered cello to be an inappropriate solo instrument. He perceived its upper register as strained, even nasal, and its lower register gruff. While he favored the cello in orchestral and chamber music, he was disinclined to write a work featuring it. The eminent Czech cellist Hanuš Wihan, his inspiration and eventual dedicatee, succeeded in changing his mind – but not without hiccups [see sidebar].

Autobiographical subtext: an early love

More than anywhere else, the Czech flavor of this dramatic concerto sails forth in the slow movement. While working on the piece on his second trip to the United States in 1894, Dvořák learned that his sister-in-law Josefina Kaunitzova was ill. He retained a strong affection for her. She was quite fond of his song “Let me wander alone with my dreams” (Op. 82, No. 1), and he incorporated it into the Adagio ma non troppo. This movement’s exceptionally rich melodic material also includes a noteworthy duet for oboe and the soloist, plus a lovely flute solo.

Following Dvořák’s return to his homeland in May 1895, Josefina died. At that point, he undertook the revision of the Finale, incorporating the song an additional time into the Coda. He encountered resistance from his intended soloist, squabbling with Wihan, who wished to add a cadenza [see sidebar]. The composer won the battle, resisting Wihan’s interference. He was adamantly opposed to the cadenza and allowed only minor alterations the cellist suggested in the first movement. Instead, he lent the last 60 measures of the finale the ineffable quality of resignation that is one of the concerto’s most distinguishing characteristics.

Personnel change from private to public premieres

Wihan played the concerto at a private performance in Luzany, a village northeast of Prague, in August 1895. The other members of Wihan’s string quartet were present. The first public performance was scheduled for England in spring 1896. Because of the Bohemian String Quartet’s engagements, Wihan was unavailable. The English cellist Leo Stern was selected for the honor. He had visited Prague in 1895. Dvořák may have invited him to introduce the new concerto, or Stern may have been chosen by the London Philharmonic Society. Stern played the premiere at London’s Queen’s Hall on March 19, 1896, and the composer conducted.

In the composer’s words

While putting the finishing touches on his new concerto late in 1895, Dvořák was on edge because of disagreements with his intended soloist. Wihan (1855-1920) had played in several important German orchestras, including as a soloist with the Munich Court Orchestra. He became friendly with Franz Liszt and was later a member of the Bohemian String Quartet. He developed a big ego and was determined to add his bravura input to the new concerto with two flashy cadenzas.

Equally determined to prevent Wihan from making changes in the first edition, Dvořák wrote to his publisher Fritz Simrock on October 3:

Dear Mr. Simrock:

The copyist is not finished yet, but next week, everything will be ready. I have had some differences of opinion with friend Wihan on account of a number of places. I do not like some of the passages – and I must insist on my work being printed as I have written it. The passages in question can be printed in two versions, an easier and more difficult version. I shall only give you the work if you promise not to allow anybody to make changes – Friend Wihan not excepted – without my knowledge and consent – and also not the cadenza that Wihan has added to the last movement. There is no Cadenza in the last movement either in the score or in the piano arrangement. I told Wihan straight away when he showed it to me that it was impossible to stick such a bit on. The finale closes gradually diminuendo – like a sigh – with reminiscences of the first and second movements – the solo dies down to pianissimo (– then swells again –) and the last bars are taken up by the orchestra and the whole concludes in stormy mood. – That was my idea, and I cannot depart from it. If then you agree to these conditions, including the printing of the titles also in Czech, I am willing to give you the Concerto and the Te Deum [Op. 103] together for 6000M (six thousand marks).

With kind regards,

Ant. Dvořák

–From O. Šourek, Antonín Dvořák: Letters and Reminiscences (Prague, 1954), trans. R.L. Samsour

The letter is revealing on several levels. Simrock drove a tough bargain when he first began to publish Dvořák’s music in 1877, and the relationship between composer and publisher was often strained. By the mid-1890s, however, the composer wielded considerable influence. His music sold well and was thus a reliable cash cow for Simrock. Dvořák could name his price with assurance and issue instructions knowing that they would be followed.

His insistence on the Czech titles is another manifestation of pride in national heritage (early on, Simrock printed all titles in German and listed the composer’s first name as Anton). Similarly, Dvořák also refused to allow himself to be bullied by a soloist more interested in showing off than maintaining musical integrity. Most interesting is the composer’s detailed description of his musical intent in the finale, which outlines its links to the Viennese symphonic tradition.

Instrumentation: The instrumentation is adventurous, particularly for Dvořák, who was otherwise an orchestral conservative. His supporting ensemble includes three trombones (a singular touch for him), piccolo and tuba. The full score calls for woodwinds in pairs plus piccolo, three horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, triangle (in the finale only), solo cello and strings.

Symphony No. 4 in F minor

Ralph Vaughan Williams

Born October 12, 1872, in Down Ampney, Gloucestershire, England · Died August 26, 1958, in London, England

Ralph Vaughan Williams was a composer of quintessential English music, immortalizer of folk song and creator of gentle, pastoral orchestral canvasses such as The Lark Ascending, Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, Fantasia on Greensleeves and Serenade to Music.

Forget about that for a moment, at least for the Fourth Symphony. This is a Vaughan Williams only devotees of English music know. No more Mr. Nice Guy, pleasing us with sounds that evoke gentle breezes, sunny summer afternoons and bucolic landscapes. Instead, we hear volcanic eruptions and searing intensity. What’s going on here?

Few works prompted more discussion or debate during Vaughan Williams’ lifetime than the Fourth Symphony. Just as his reputation was beginning to take international hold, this F minor Symphony prompted critics, musicians and audiences to reevaluate who Vaughan Williams was. At the same time, his colleagues immediately recognized that this new symphony was a great work and a major achievement for English music. Was it really so much of a switch? In fact, as the composer’s biographers have pointed out, the Symphony No. 4 is actually the culmination of a process that had been underway for nearly 10 years in Vaughan Williams’ music. The piece is also very much a reflection of its era.

The works on which Vaughan Williams’ popularity rests are beloved for their gentle pastoral qualities and their well-mannered Englishness. They are, however, only one aspect, albeit an important aspect, of this long-lived composer’s musical achievement. One thread that runs through his works is nationalism. Throughout most of the 19th century, England was known on the continent, and particularly in Germany, as Das Land ohne Musik — the land without music, because of a dearth of home-grown composers. There was plenty of musical life in London, Birmingham and other English cities, but most of what was being performed was imported from across the Channel. That situation changed in the late 19th century, when England underwent an astonishing musical renaissance that has continued through to the early 21st century. Edward Elgar spearheaded the first generation of England’s great modern composers. Vaughan Williams was only a half-generation Elgar’s junior and outlived him by nearly a quarter century.

Vaughan Williams’ “Englishness” initially manifested itself through research in British folk song and incorporation of folk song elements into his original music. He had studied with Ravel, however, and like most of his countrymen, was thoroughly schooled in the techniques and trends of music on the continent. His achievement lies in his development of a personal style that fused elements of contemporary music with a specifically English sound that did not necessarily use folk song. The Symphony No. 4 is an excellent example.

To place the symphony in a broader context, we must consider the era during which it was written. Vaughan Williams began sketching the symphony in 1931. He was actively working on it in autumn of 1932 when he traveled to the United States to deliver the Mary Flexner Lectures on the Humanities at Bryn Mawr College. Back in Britain a few months later, he spent much of 1933 revising the score. By December of 1933, he had substantially completed the revisions, writing to his friend Gustav Holst:

The ‘nice’ tunes in the finale have already been replaced by better ones (at all events they are real ones. What I mean is I knew the others were made-up stuff and these are not. So, there we are.

These words were tantalizing hints as to the character of the startling score he had produced. He can hardly have been unmindful of the increasing tension in international politics, especially after January of 1933, when Hitler came to power. While the specter of war was not yet looming, tensions increased throughout Europe as the political situation grew more ominous. Simultaneously, nationalism grew stronger in England as in other countries. For Vaughan Williams, it coincided with a growing sense of individuality that he voiced through experimentation and adventure in his music. His widow, Ursula Vaughan Williams, wrote in her 1964 biography:

It has often been said that this work is related to the period in which it was written, and though this must be true to some extent of any work by any composer who does not cut himself off from contemporary life, no one seems to have observed how far more closely it is related to the character of the man who wrote it. The towering furies of which he was capable, his fire, pride and strength are all revealed, and so are his imagination and lyricism.

We should not assess the F minor symphony in the context of the Wasps Overture (1909), the Tallis Fantasia (1910, rev. 1919) or even The Lark Ascending (1920). During the 11 years that intervened between Lark and the commencement of work on the Fourth Symphony, Vaughan Williams progressed steadily away from folk music toward a more stark and individual musical vocabulary. His developing style is evident in such bold works as the Concerto Accademico for violin and orchestra (1924-1925), the Piano Concerto (1926-1931), a work that Béla Bartók admired) and especially Job, A Masque for Dancing (1931, founded on Blake’s Illustrations of the Book of Job). In Job, Vaughan Williams dealt with the fundamental conflict between good and evil, against the backdrop of the Old Testament’s Book of Job. In the Fourth Symphony, he expressed the same conflict in absolute music, foregoing any programmatic reference other than a distinct connection in some of the symphony’s violent music with music in Job.

The Symphony No. 4 was the first Vaughan Williams symphony to lack a specific programmatic title. It followed A Sea Symphony for chorus and orchestra (1909, on texts of Whitman), A London Symphony for orchestra (1913) and A Pastoral Symphony for orchestra with soprano (1922). The last was a particularly quiet and contemplative work. Accustomed to literary or other clues, critics in 1935 asked Vaughan Williams what his new symphony was about. “It is about F minor,” he answered tersely.

The composer claimed to have lifted the crashing opening chords directly from the opening to the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth. “I have never had any conscience about cribbing,” he often observed. And, indeed, the beginning of the first movement has comparable shock value to the Beethoven. Vaughan Williams assaults us with highly dissonant intervals: a minor ninth resolving to an octave with a falling semitone. The initial motive is one of two that dominates the first movement and actually forms the basis for most of the symphony’s musical ideas. The other motive, first stated just 16 measures in, is a series of rising fourths, followed by a rising minor third. These two ideas set the stage for forceful, tense music that grinds and grates with no apologies.

Three of the symphony’s movements are in recognizable sonata form. The work is thus highly traditional in its layout, for all its temperamental shift from the composer’s earlier works. Vaughan Williams seems to take pains to deliver something different from what we expect throughout the symphony. The opening of the slow movement, Andante moderato, for example, features a brass chorale phrase answered by a woodwind chorale, before the strings present the main theme (violins supported by pizzicato cellos and basses). Both wind phrases are constructed of the ascending fourth motive introduced in the first movement. The texture is contrapuntal, with sequential entrances used to build tension and anxiety. An ethereal flute solo concludes both halves of the movement, effectively delineating exposition, then expanding to a free cadenza at the close.

The third movement scherzo/trio disrupts the calm of the slow movement, re-introducing the rhythmic instability that played such an important part in the first movement. Strident outbursts link this Allegro molto to the violence of the first movement, but elements of jocularity find their way in as well, so does the recurrent motive built on ascending fourths. The trio offers a complete change, increasing our sense that the composer does have a sense of humor.

Vaughan Williams’ transition to the finale occurs almost exactly the same way Beethoven makes the analogous journey in his Fifth Symphony. As in that work, the mood lifts, but strife is still present in the battle between brasses and strings. The two principal motivic building blocks are much in evidence. His monumental fugue starts with a four-note anacrusis, then interweaves themes from earlier in the finale. At the climactic moment, Vaughan Williams restates the symphony’s opening, hammering those powerful chords to an inexorable cadence. “I don’t know whether I like it,” the composer said of the F minor Symphony in the late 1930s, “but it is what I meant.”

Instrumentation: The score calls for a huge orchestra comprising three flutes (second doubling piccolo, third ad lib.), three oboes (second ad lib., except in scherzo; third doubling English horn and ad lib. in scherzo), two clarinets, bass clarinet (ad lib.), two bassoons, contrabassoon (ad lib.), four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani (chromatic ad lib.), side drum, triangle, cymbals, bass drum and strings.