TO MOTHER, WITH LOVE: WAGNER, RAVEL AND ELGAR

slower, more reflective middle section introduced by the cello. Then the movement closes with a brief, frenzied reprise of the opening. The strictness of form is relaxed slightly in the slow movement, which is more improvisatory in character, and more episodic in its sequences. The tempi change continually and the opening theme of the first movement returns here in quite a different guise. In true chamber music fashion, themes and ideas (two of which are introduced by the viola) are tossed back and forth between the protagonists. A vigorous flourish renews the sense of urgency in the helter-skelter finale. The unusual rhythm (based on five-in-a-bar) creates an off-beat feel, but passages of a more expressive character continually emerge amidst the disconcerting effects. The opening theme of the Quartet returns once more, suitably contorted within the ‘new sound world’ of the finale, both rounding off the Quartet as a whole, but also pointing toward a new direction in Ravel’s later music. No wonder it made the venerable Fauré feel uncomfortable!

Martin Buzacott Symphony Australia © 1998

EDWARD ELGAR

(1857–1934) Salut d’Amour, Op.12 Not content simply with a diamond ring as an engagement gift, the young composer Edward Elgar composed and presented Caroline Alice Roberts with Liebesgruss. Miss Robert’s fluency in German gives a clue to the choice of language for the title (Love’s Greeting), but it was later changed by the publishing company Schott & Co to Salut d’Amour. remarkable as it is arguably one of his most recognisable ditties. Originally written for violin and piano, Elgar made editions for piano solo, cello and piano and small orchestra but today we hear my new favourite version on flugelhorn. Hopefully my mother (and yours) agrees!

Christopher Moore © 2021

MAURICE RAVEL

Trois poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé

Soupir

Placet futile

Surgi de la croupe et du bond Georgia Wilkinson soprano When asked to interpret the poems he set, Ravel responded: “Useless to explain. The poetry speaks to you or it does not. It is very obscure and if it once seizes you — marvellous! I consider Mallarmé not merely the greatest French poet, but the only French poet; since he made the French language, not designed for poetry, poetical. It is a feat in which he stands alone... He released winged thoughts, subconscious reveries, from their prisons.” Whether Ravel fully understood Mallarmé’s aesthetic or not is anyone’s guess. In any case, his endeavour to ‘transpose’ Mallarmé’s reflexive poetic technique into music has produced some of the most exquisitely delicate sonance ever penned.

Christopher Moore © 2021

RICHARD WAGNER

(1813–1883) Siegfried Idyll The Siegfried Idyll reveals a touchingly gentle and domestic side of a composer who often displayed the opposite. Wagner’s full title for the piece was Tribschen Idyll, with Fidi’s Birdsong and Orange Sunrise, as a Symphonic Birthday Greeting from Richard to Cosima.

Tribschen is the villa near the Swiss town of Lucerne where Wagner was living with his wife Cosima, whom he had recently married when her divorce from Hans von Bülow was finalised. She already had two daughters by Wagner, and in 1869 a son was born, Siegfried, known in the family circle as Fidi. On Christmas Day 1870, which was also Cosima’s birthday, she awoke to the strains of music. As the music died away, Richard came into the room and offered Cosima the score of the ‘symphonic birthday poem’. The 13 musicians stood on various levels of the staircase of Tribschen. They were rehearsed secretly by the young Hans Richter, who played horn, and also the brief trumpet part. Richter, later to become famous as a conductor, was at that stage living in the Wagner household. He had almost given the game away to Cosima, who wondered why he was disappearing every evening, and what on earth he was doing practising the trumpet! The Siegfried Idyll is a kind of pendant to the music drama Siegfried, on which Wagner had been working, and many of its themes are to be found in the opera. The peaceful melody with which it begins is associated in the opera’s last act with Brünnhilde’s yielding, her giving up of memories of immortality for love of Siegfried. Another theme, appearing in counterpoint with it, is that of Brünnhilde’s sleep. There is a second theme, not from the opera, based on an old German lullaby, and later the wind instruments present the theme associated with the words ‘Siegfried, Treasure of the World’, from the opera’s love duet. We hear the horn melody associated with the young Siegfried as hero, and the theme of the woodbird who leads Siegfried to Brünnhilde’s firesurrounded rock.

Although it began as private chamber music (Wagner later sanctioned its publication and performance with orchestral strings), the Siegfried Idyll is really an early example of the symphonic poem. Liszt invented this genre and Richard Strauss developed it: Wagner here depends less on an extraneous program than either of these composers. The Siegfried Idyll (which Wagner originally planned to call ‘Symphony’) can be heard as a single movement in a kind of expanded sonata form. The first theme, in fact, comes from a planned string quartet Richard had promised to Cosima in the days of their first love. Only later was it incorporated into the opera Siegfried. The second group of themes ends with the lullaby, played by the oboe and accompanied by string figures which, Wagner explained, represent sheep. The surprise performance of this piece was the most ambitious of a number of pantomimes mounted in the Wagner household. Although containing many private meanings for the family, the Siegfried Idyll is an application to instrumental music of a method Wagner developed in his music dramas – the building of broad melodies out of constantly repeated single phrases. As Donald Tovey has written, the Siegfried Idyll is ‘a gigantic though intensely quiet piece of purely instrumental music, connected with the opera only by a private undercurrent of poetic allusion’. Cosima herself recalled Richard telling her that ‘all that he had set out to do was to work the theme which had come to him in Starnberg (where we were living together), and which he had promised me as a quartet, into a morning serenade, and then he had unconsciously woven our whole life into it — Fidi’s birth, my recuperation, Fidi’s bird, etc. As Schopenhauer said, this is the way a musician works — he expresses life in a language which reason does not understand.’

Text and translations

Poems by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842–1898)

1. SOUPIR (1864)

Mon âme vers ton front où rêve, ô calme sœur, Un automne jonché de taches de rousseur, Et vers le ciel errant de ton œil angélique Monte, comme dans un jardin mélancolique, Fidèle, un blanc jet d’eau soupire vers l’Azur ! – Vers l’azur attendri d’octobre pâle et pur Qui mire aux grands bassins sa langueur infinie Et laisse, sur l’eau morte où la fauve agonie Des feuilles erre au vent et creuse un froid sillon, Se trainer le soleil jaune d’un long rayon.

2. PLACET FUTILE (1897)

Princesse! à jalouser le destin d’une Hébé Qui poind sur cette tasse au baiser de vos lèvres; J’use mes feux mais n’ai rang discret que d’abbé Et ne figurerai même nu sur le Sèvres.

Comme je ne suis pas ton bichon embarbé Ni la pastille ni du rouge, ni jeux mièvres Et que sur moi je sens ton regard clos tombé Blonde dont les coiffeurs divins sont des orfèvres!

Nommez-nous... toi de qui tant de ris framboisés Se joignent en troupeau d’agneaux apprivoisés Chez tous broutant les vœux et bêlant aux délires,

1. SIGH

My soul climbs towards your forehead, where dreams––oh calm sister––an autumn strewn with russet freckles, And towards the errant sky of your angelic eye, As in a melancholy garden, Faithful, a white fountain of water sighs toward the Azure! – Toward the softened azure of October, pale and pure, Which mirrors in the grand basins its infinite languor And, on the dead water, where the tawny agony of leaves wanders in the wind and digs a cold furrow, the yellow sun drags itself in a long ray.

2. FUTILE PETITION

Princess! in envying the destiny of a Hebe,* Who appears on this cup at the kiss of your lips; I exhaust my fervor, but have only the discrete rank of an Abbot, and will not even appear nude on the Sèvres porcelain.**

Since I am not your bearded lapdog Nor lozenge, nor rouge, nor insipid games And on me I feel that your gaze falls closed, Blonde one, whose divine hairdressers are goldsmiths!

Name us... you whose many raspberried laughs Join in a herd of tame lambs Grazing on all the vows and bleating with delirium,

M’y peigne flûte aux doigts endormant ce bercail, Princesse, nommez-nous berger de vos sourires.

3. SURGI DE LA CROUPE ET DU BOND (1887)

Surgi de la croupe et du bond D’une verrerie éphémère Sans fleurir la veillée amère Le col ignoré s’interrompt.

Je crois bien que deux bouches n’ont Bu, ni son amant ni ma mère, Jamais à la même chimère, Moi, sylphe de ce froid plafond!

Le pur vase d’aucun breuvage Que l’inexhaustible veuvage Agonise mais ne consent,

Naïf baiser des plus funèbres! À rien expirer annonçant Une rose dans les ténèbres. Paints me fingering a flute, lulling this sheep fold, Princesse, name us shepherd of your smiles.

*Hebe: the cupbearer for the gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, serving their nectar and ambrosia ** Sèvres: a town near Paris famous since 1756 for it’s porcelain, mosaics and painted glass from Several sonnets.

3. EMERGE FROM THE CRUPPER AND THE BOUND

Emerge from the crupper* and the bound of an ephemeral glassware Without flourish, the bitter vigil, The ignored neck stops itself short.

I truly believe that the two mouths did not Drink, neither her lover, nor my mother, Never from the same chimera,** Me, sylph of this cold ceiling! ***

The pure vase of any beverage That inexhaustible widowhood Dying, but not consenting,

Naïve kiss of many funerals! To expire announcing nothing A rose in the shadows.

*crupper: the rump of a horse; or a strap to prevent the saddle or harness on a horse from sliding forward **chimera: the term chimera has come to describe any mythical or fictional animal with parts taken from various animals; or describes anything composed of very disparate parts *** sylph: a slender, graceful woman; (in folklore) a supernatural being able to inhabit the air.

Schumann’s Cello Concerto

Thursday 13 May | 6pm Friday 14 May | 6pm Saturday 15 May | 6pm

Arts Centre Melbourne, Hamer Hall

Melbourne Symphony Orchestra

Umberto Clerici conductor and cello

SCHUMANN Cello Concerto

MENDELSSOHN Symphony No.4 Italian

A musical Acknowledgement of Country, Long Time Living Here by Deborah Cheetham AO, will be performed before the start of this concert. Running time: Approximately 1 hour, no interval.

Umberto Clerici conductor and cello

With a career spanning more than 20 years as a gifted cello soloist, orchestral musician, and now emerging conductor, Umberto Clerici is swiftly gaining a reputation as an artist with a diverse and multifaceted career.

Umberto started studying the cello at the age of five. As a cello soloist, he has appeared with some of the world’s most prestigious orchestras including the Vienna Philharmonic, St. Petersburg Philharmoni and at the Salzburg Festival amongst many others. Umberto then moved to Australia to take up the position as Principal Cello of the Sydney Symphony during the years 2014–2020. Umberto is now successfully establishing his reputation as a conductor after making his debut with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra last season. He recently made his debut with the Queensland Symphony and looks forward to making his debut with the Melbourne Symphony. Umberto is already enjoying a special relationship with the Sydney Symphony, who, he will conduct three times this season in Mahler’s Symphony No.4, Classics in the City and two regional tours. Umberto also enjoys his position as the Artistic Director of the Sydney Youth Orchestra Chamber Ensemble.

Program Notes

ROBERT SCHUMANN

(1810–1856) Cello Concerto in A minor, Op.129

Nicht zu schnell (Not too fast) –

Langsam (Slowly) –

Sehr lebhaft (Very lively) Umberto Clerici cello/director

The fluency and spontaneous grace of this work could be thought to reflect the single span of inspiration in which Schumann composed it. The work was composed by the 40-year-old, newly arrived in Düsseldorf from Dresden, in the space of 15 days — from 10 to 24 October 1850.

Schumann at first considered calling this masterpiece a Konzertstück, to reflect its less than concerto-length dimensions (it runs to about 25 minutes). However, it is only the brevity of the slow movement which could in any way threaten its claim to the grander title. In contrast with certain passages in the Violin Concerto of 1853, Schumann here composed solo music which is wellpitched for the instrument. Schumann, though remembered as a pianist, in fact possessed a reasonably deep first-hand knowledge of the cello, having taken it up briefly after the injury in 1832 which put an end to his piano career. He once explained that he was able to handle the bow despite the paralysis which affected one of the fingers of his right hand. Though Schumann didn’t study cello for long, this concerto is evidence that his time on the instrument paid off. As his wife, Clara, confided in her diary (16 November 1850): ‘Last month [Robert] composed a concerto for violoncello … It appears to be written in the true violoncello style.’ As always Clara was Schumann’s most perceptive critic and keenest admirer, and she added in her diary, a year later:

I have played Robert’s Violoncello

Concerto again and thus procured for myself a truly musical and happy hour.

The romantic quality, the flight, the freshness and the humour, and also the highly interesting interweaving of cello and orchestra are, indeed, wholly ravishing, and what euphony and what deep sentiment are in all the melodic passages. One could forgive Clara for being partisan, but in this case, her summary is quite apt. For once, Schumann’s habitually over-painted orchestration is under control. The cello is exploited for its eloquent tenor tone, and the work has a wonderful lyricism. Schumann the musical poet is evident in the way each movement is linked to the next to allow for a continuity of thought unlikely to be broken by applause, and in the eschewal of virtuosity for its own sake. ‘I cannot write a concerto for the virtuosos,’ Schumann had commented early in his career. The cadenza is in fact shifted from the first movement to the last, so that an audience may first attend to the warmth and scope of the musical ideas. The triplets in the first movement are the only early concessions to virtuosity. There is no orchestral introduction as was customary in the Classical concerto — just four bars of material which introduces a sweeping opening melody in the cello. The cello goes on for some time in its attractive tenor register, until a more vigorous orchestral passage takes over. Then a secondary, slightly more chromatic and more rhythmically pointed melody is heard, before triplets are introduced in the codetta, taking the listener almost imperceptibly into the development section, a passage notable for pert, light scoring for the orchestra

and long, flowing responses in the solo cello. A recollection of the opening melody in more languorous mood, in the remote key of F sharp minor, marks the furthest point of the development, before a return to the material of the opening section, now slightly varied. A gradual retarding of the coda leads to the slow movement, where traditionally the soloist plays in duet with the leader of the orchestral cellos. It is only 34 bars long, but rises to a glorious climax with the cello in its tenor register. An accelerating coloratura leads to the last movement. Here the cello takes on a more playful character, while remaining essentially melodic.

G.K. Williams Symphony Australia © 1997

FELIX MENDELSSOHN

(1809–1847) Symphony No.4 in A, Op.90 Italian

Allegro vivace

Andante con moto

Con moto moderato

Saltarello (Presto) For once a subtitle seems apt: Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony expresses a northern European’s love of the sun-drenched south. ‘Blue sky in A major’, it has been called. The ideas for it came to Mendelssohn as he spent the winter of 1830–31 in Italy, and he wrote to his parents about the symphony that Naples ‘must play a part in it’. Indeed it did, in the leaping dance of the Saltarello finale. Mendelssohn was in his early twenties, and in this symphony ‘there stands the eager youth who looks out with bright eyes upon the world, and, behold, all is very good’ (Ernest Walker). Fresh and youthful, this symphony is at the same time one of Mendelssohn’s supreme achievements. He himself considered it ‘the most mature thing I have ever done’. For some reason, he was dissatisfied with this symphony, and always intended to revise it. He never got around to doing so, and it was published only after his death, edited by his friend Ignaz Moscheles. Meanwhile, Mendelssohn had submitted this symphony in response to a request from the London Philharmonic Society for ‘a symphony, an overture, and a vocal piece’ (along with the concert aria Infelice, the overture The Hebrides and perhaps the Trumpet Overture). The Italian Symphony was performed in a concert of the Society in London, in which Mendelssohn also played Mozart’s D minor Piano Concerto K.466, on 13 May 1833. SCHUMANN’S CELLO CONCERTO | 13–15 May Mendelssohn’s anxiety about his symphonies had a lot to do with his sense of responsibility imposed by what Beethoven had done. An energetic symphony in A major was bound to put listeners in mind of Beethoven’s Seventh, and the processional character of Mendelssohn’s second movement inevitably recalls the same movement in Beethoven’s symphony. Perhaps also Mendelssohn was bothered by the challenge which faces interpreters of his Italian Symphony: how to avoid making each of the four movements sound like a moto perpetuo. The great English musicologist Sir Donald Tovey thought that if he wanted to change anything, Mendelssohn could have wished to broaden the design of the last movement towards the end. That is what he did in the symphony he was working on concurrently, the Scottish Symphony (No.3). Posterity considers that Mendelssohn should have remained satisfied with a masterpiece in which, far from being a pale reflection of Beethoven, he was entirely himself in the lightness of touch, the polished elegance of scoring, and the sureness of form which mark every movement of the Italian Symphony. Mendelssohn sometimes spoke convincingly of weightier things, but it is no accident 31

that along with the Violin Concerto, the Midsummer Night’s Dream music, several overtures and the Octet for Strings, the Italian Symphony is among those works of his which have never gone out of fashion. Here, it has always been agreed, is a large-scale work which in every bar brings Mendelssohn’s distinctive contribution to music.

The opening of the symphony, like much of what follows, is notable for its brilliant and imaginative scoring. Here the bounding theme for the violins is presented to the accompaniment of repeated chords for the woodwinds, which at least doubles its effect of almost breathless energy. The string theme migrates to the winds in a masterly preparation of the second subject, in which the first subject returns, fortissimo. The second subject is a rocking figure for clarinets and bassoons, which, as Tovey says, is obviously in no hurry. After further development of the opening theme, a quiet close leads back to the beginning. The important material this contains is present only in the ‘first time bars’, so the repeat of the exposition should really not be omitted. The development soon presents a fugato on a wholly new theme, then the two main subjects are elaborately worked out, and the recapitulation is approached through a long crescendo beginning under a longheld tonic A for the first oboe — another memorably original idea. The second movement may have been suggested by a religious procession Mendelssohn is known to have seen in Naples (though Moscheles claimed that it was based on a Czech pilgrims’ song). It begins with plainchant-like intonation, then the ‘marching’ starts in the cellos and basses, over which the cantus firmus is sounded by oboes, bassoons and violas. One particularly delightful instance of the many felicitous instrumental combinations here is the weaving in counterpoint between flutes and violins. The chromatic subsidiary theme is a development of the opening intonation.

Although not called a minuet and trio, this is in effect what the third movement is. There is little suggestion of the dance in this graceful music, which is more like a song without words, and the trio, with its solemn horns and bassoons (a low note for the second of which is tricky to balance audibly) sounds a deeply Romantic, poetic note. Pedants point out that one of the rhythms of the movement Mendelssohn calls Saltarello is that of the even more furious Tarantella – the victims of tarantula bite, Tovey wittily observes, cannot even stop to jump in their dance! The energy here is even more irresistible than in the first movement, so much so that it may pass unnoticed that the movement remains in A minor until the end. Mendelssohn said this symphony was composed at one of the bitterest moments of his life, when he was most troubled by his hypercritical attitude towards his own music. It is good to be reminded of this artistic struggle by a ‘driven’ personality, because his art so transcends the struggle that we can hardly guess that it ever existed.

David Garrett © 2003

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