SoNA
Symphony of Northwest Arkansas
Phoenix Ascending January 22, 2022 Walton Arts Center Paul Haas, conductor
Danzón No. 2
Arturo Márquez Born 1950 in Álamos, Sonora, Mexico Arturo Márquez is an elder statesman in Mexico’s vibrant musical culture. He studied with many of Mexico’s most important composers, including Joaquín Gutiérrez Heras, Hector Quintanar, Federico Ibarra, and Manuel Enríquez. Like most of his countrymen interested in pursuing a career in music, Márquez sought to broaden his horizons with study in Europe — in his case, France — and in the United States. His early works reflect a keen interest in avant-garde techniques such as electronic music, which he studied with the American composer Morton Subotnick, and mixed media works. In Márquez’s more recent compositions, however, he has embraced Mexican folklore and tradition, melding urban sophistication with an attractive, accessible approach. Nowhere is this more evident than in his series of eight works with the title Danzón. The term denotes a Cuban dance genre that became popular by the late 19th century and remained entrenched in Latin ballroom music through the mid-20th century. It is related to the contradanza and the habanera, with syncopated rhythms in duple meter. Danzónes frequently have
a recurrent refrain that gives the dance a rondo structure. The concluding segment generally ratchets up the energy level.
A collection of Danzónes Marquez’s eight Danzones are for various ensembles; several of them exist in versions for different instrumental combinations. Danzón No.2, for example, may be performed by large mixed ensemble, symphonic band, or full orchestra as we hear it this evening. It was first performed in 1994 in Xalapa, Mexico. The composer has written that the idea for this piece came to him while he was traveling to Malinalco with a painter, Andrés Fonseca, and a dancer, Irene Martínez. Both were experts in ballroom dancing and shared a special passion for the danzón. In observing them and hearing the music to which they danced, Márquez acquired a taste for the old recordings of Acerina and his Danzonera. At the same time, he says that he was absorbing the rhythms, forms, and melodic twists of the danzón. I discovered that the apparent lightness of the danzón hides a music full of sensuality and rigor, music that our old folks live with
nostalgia and joy, a world that we can still grasp in the dance music of Veracruz and the dance halls of Mexico City. Danzón No. 2 is a tribute to this world that nurtured it. It tries to get as close as possible to the dance, to the nostalgic melodies, its rhythms … it is a personal way of expressing my admiration and feelings toward real popular music. The piece was commissioned by the Music Department of Mexico’s National University, and is dedicated to the composer’s daughter, Lily Márquez. It is approximately ten minutes long. The score calls for two flutes, piccolo, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, a large percussion section requiring three players and including claves, snare drum, large suspended cymbal, güiro [a notched gourd that is scraped to produce sound], three tom-toms, and bass drum, timpani, piano, and strings.
Piano Concerto No. 4: “Phoenix Ascending” Heather Schmidt Born 1974 in Calgary, Alberta, Canada Ms. Schmidt’s biography appears in the main portion of the program. The legend of the Phoenix has versions in multiple world cultures ranging from Ancient Greece (Homer’s Iliad) to Africa and Asia. Most commonly, the Phoenix was an immortal bird associated with worship of the sun. This fabulous creature had the ability to immolate itself, then self-regenerate from the ashes of its predecessor. Pianist and composer
Heather Schmidt found inspiration for her Piano Concerto No. 4 in that broader, symbolic legend. Her composer’s note explains further. The Phoenix is a mythological bird with roots in many different cultures, including Egyptian, Greek, Asian, Arabic, African, and Native American. The Phoenix is known for its beautifully colored, radiant feathers. It is majestic, powerful, and magical. Every 500 years or so, depending on the specific legend, the Phoenix bursts into flames. Then, from the pile of ashes, the Phoenix is reborn into another cycle of life. The 4th Piano Concerto is the first of my piano concertos to include a programmatic reference. My compositions are often very colorful and dramatic, and the piano writing in this work is especially powerful and virtuosic. The image of the Phoenix seemed to be an appropriate association for this concerto. For me, the legend and story of the Phoenix was also personally inspiring on several levels. The first movement, “Soaring,” depicts the Phoenix in all its grandeur and beauty. The second movement, “Blazing Fire,” evokes the raging flames that consume the Phoenix in its entirety. In the third movement, “From the Ashes,” the music opens with the desolation and sense of loss from the apparent death of the Phoenix. Little by little, the music gradually ascends as the reborn Phoenix emerges, culminating in a celebration of the rebirth of this fantastic creature.
Schmidt’s description of her approach to the keyboard is warranted. This is explosive, physical music that requires stamina as well as a powerful technique. From the pianist’s initial entrance, the magical bird dominates the narrative with immense chords in both hands, thunderous octaves, and cascading arpeggios. The piano holds its own against the orchestra, declaring itself an equal partner. The second movement is evocative of fire, aptly depicting the leaping, dancing flames that consume the Phoenix. Schmidt’s finale, at more than 13 minutes, is nearly as long as the previous two movements combined. Eerie at the start, it sounds as if we are hearing skeletal music from the abyss. Schmidt uses the orchestra well, suggesting the sepulchral depths with solos for tuba, then bassoons. Slowly, the piano crawls up, ascending from the chasm. The Phoenix’s triumphant reincarnation reprises music from the first movement, completing the magical cycle and convincingly uniting Schmidt’s narrative. Schmidt composed “Phoenix Rising” in 2005. The concerto is dedicated to Allan Bell. The score calls for two flutes (second doubling piccolo), two oboes (second doubling English horn), two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, a large percussion complement [bass drum, marimba, suspended cymbal, tubular bells, vibraphone, xylophone, glockenspiel, and tam tam], harp, solo piano, and strings.
Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 43
Jean Sibelius Born 1865 in Tavastehus, Finland Died 1957 in Järvenpää, Finland “Sibelius is an aggravatingly difficult person to catalogue,” Lawrence Abbott once said. Finland’s most celebrated composer has been variously described as late romantic, expressionist, nationalist, spiritual mythologist, and futurist. Partly because he enjoyed such a long life and fruitful career, his style evolved and altered, lending some credence to all the aforementioned categories. At the same time, certain common themes — Finnish legend, national pride — recurred throughout his career. His more substantial forms descend from the classic-romantic symphonic structures of Tchaikovsky; however, his harmonic language is less chromatic. Sibelius relies on triads and often uses parallel thirds to state his melodies. He also draws on modal scales common to Finnish folk songs. Always, he favors simpler means to deliver his ideas. The Second Symphony, which was composed in 1901 and 1902, has become Sibelius’s most popular symphony, perhaps because of its frankly nationalistic stance. In its day, it startled listeners because of its unconventional first movement form. One doesn’t hear themes so much as musical gestures: short motives from which larger thematic “paragraphs” evolve. Sibelius detaches these succinct motives at the beginning, then forges them together in his development. At the conclusion of the movement he breaks the melodic components into fragments again. The entire process is almost the inverse of the conventional approach to musical
logic as codified in sonata form, wherein one expects exposition of thematic ideas that are fragmented and developed in a middle section, then unified at the close. His style is often described as organic. Despite its origins in Finland’s harsh Nordic climate, this symphony pulses with the warmth of the brief sub-arctic summer. Pastoral elements celebrate Finland’s stark natural beauty. The opening triplets of the first movement are pastoral; so is the second theme. At climactic moments, the brasses blaze forth in clarion fanfares. Sibelius referred to his Tempo andante, ma rubato as “a spiritualized development.” Many of its ideas originated in sketches for a symphonic poem about Don Juan as he confronts Death. An ominous timpani roll and pizzicato cellos and basses open the movement in D minor. Bassoons deliver the first theme, their low register underscoring the dark mood. An agitated passage for full orchestra leads to the strings’ angelic second theme, in a remarkable modulation to F-sharp major. In Sibelius’s sketches, this theme is marked ‘Christus’: the prospect of salvation contrasting with the fate of the unrepentant libertine Don Juan. As in the legend, Death prevails, with a return of the bassoon melody. The gruff scherzo, marked Vivacissimo, demands virtuoso playing from the entire orchestra. Whirlwind string figures skitter about in all registers, punctuated by woodwinds in snippets of themes. The trio section slows down the pace, presenting more song-like themes and shifting the melodic emphasis to woodwinds. Sibelius’s transition from the third movement to the finale is one of the symphony’s master strokes. He fuses them together by repeating the trio section and letting it unfold gradually into his finale. The transition — possibly modeled on Beethoven’s similar ploy in the Fifth
Symphony — is ingenious, organic, and thoroughly convincing, arriving at the majestic finale theme with marvelous assurance. Burnett James has written: The finale is a fine paean of praise and strength, a sturdy affirmation of life and vitality … the force of nature is given full rein. The winds howl and roar; the tuba emits prodigies of elemental energy; strings scurry and swirl; and once again the great ostinato pedal points in the orchestra hold the foundations firm. Simon Parmet refers to Sibelius in this work as being “in one of those rare moods in which he is in complete harmony with the external world.” The Second Symphony’s popularity does not hinge solely on its expansive mood. Pastoral elements alternate with intense drama, making for a fully satisfying musical experience. The score calls for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, bassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones (third doubling bass trombone), tuba, timpani, and strings. Program Notes by Laurie Shulman © 2021 First North American Serial Rights Only