NACO Playlist

with the NAC Orchestra

2022-01-28 20:00 2022-01-28 22:00 60 Canada/Eastern 🎟 NAC: NACO Playlist

https://nac-cna.ca/en/event/29641

NAC Livestream

Conductor: Alexander Shelley Guest curator: Anna Petersen (NACO second oboe / English horn) The National Arts Centre Orchestra is delighted to present the second edition of our new NACO Playlist series, curated by the NAC Orchestra’s own Anna Petersen (second oboe / English horn)—a joyful and intimate look at the music that has shaped her life and art. About her playlist, Anna says, “these are my absolute favorite excerpts from the orchestral...

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Online
Fri, January 28, 2022
NAC Livestream

≈ 90 minutes · No intermission

Repertoire

Paul Dukas

Fanfare from La Péri

I love the sound of loud, bombastic brass! This is probably because my dad is a trumpet player and a band director, and as a result, I grew up exposed to—and loving—music for wind ensemble and marching band. That wall of sound only a brass section can make is awesome!”

Paul Dukas (1865–1935) composed this scintillating opener to his ballet La Péri for its 1912 premiere in Paris, which took place at a series of “danced concerts” arranged by Natalia Trouhanova (the work’s commissioner and lead dancer) and the theatre director Jacques Rouché. It provides a glimpse into the composer’s masterful skill in writing for brass instruments—in this case, an ensemble consisting of three trumpets, four French horns, three trombones, and a tuba. Unfolding in three brief sections, the fanfare displays the bright and warm sonorities of these instruments. It opens with a brilliant “call-to-order”. An assertive theme follows, first played by French horns, then trumpets, then the rest of the brass join in, culminating in three confident chords; this is repeated, slightly varied. After a more flowing chorale-like section of bold harmonies, the “call-to-order” returns as a final summons.

Sergei Rachmaninoff

Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op.18

I. Moderato 
II. Adagio sostenuto – Più animato 
III. Allegro scherzando 

In March 1897, Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873–1943) was in St. Petersburg at the premiere of his first major work, Symphony No. 1. It was a total failure (he blamed it on Alexander Glazunov’s poor conducting), which led to a creative crisis lasting three years, during which he was unable to compose anything of significance. (He did, however, continue to perform as a pianist and began another career as a conductor.) Eventually, with the support and encouragement of his friends, as well as conversations with the hypnotherapist Dr. Nikolai Dahl, he resumed composing, and completed the Second Piano Concerto in 1901. A success from when he performed it on October 27/November 9 that year, it remains his most popular work today. 

And it’s easy to see why. The Concerto (which is dedicated to Dahl) is a powerful—and superbly crafted--drama between piano and orchestra, filled with passionate melodies, sumptuous textures, and rich harmonies. After the striking introduction of sombre chords played by the pianist alone, the first movement is dominated by two themes: a brooding, chant-like main theme presented by the violins and violas, and later, an ardent arch-like melody first introduced by the piano. These are developed in the middle of the movement, as the piano and orchestra together build tension and momentum, ultimately surging towards a climactic return of the main theme in a march-like version. The piano continues, the music more achingly melancholy now, leading into a nostalgic version of the second theme played by solo horn. After a dreamy episode for the piano, the tempo gradually accelerates, and the movement is brought to an abruptly emphatic end. 

From C minor sombreness, shifting harmonies played by muted strings progress to the luminous key of E major, at which point the piano enters with serene arpeggios hovering over descending chromatic lines and sustained bass notes. Solo flute enters with a nostalgically tender melody, which is then continued by the clarinet, and later, fully taken up by the piano. After subsiding in B major, the mode turns to minor, and the mood becomes more agitated, as the piano rhapsodizes on the main theme. It builds to a climax three times, each one becoming more intense and expansive; after the third peak, the piano suddenly drives forward, and brings us to an animated episode with fragments of the first movement’s opening theme in the violins and oboe sounding over the soloist’s flurry of notes. It culminates in a dazzling cadenza, after which the piano draws us back to a reprise of the main theme, now sung by muted violins. A sublime coda follows, unfolding like a passionate farewell, with the piano left alone at the close.

The third movement opens with a sprightly march that modulates out of the previous movement’s E major world back to C minor. From quiet tiptoe, the march crescendos to a noisy climax (with cymbals and bass drum), to which the piano responds with a brilliant cadenza, and eventually settles on the main theme with sparkling figuration. A grand transition in the piano arrives at the lyrical second theme, first sung by violas and oboe, then echoed by the piano. An enigmatic episode follows—the piano weaves a line through the march theme now slowed down, with haunting touches of cymbals and an unsettling timpani roll. The pace suddenly picks up, and the march theme is further developed, first gaining energy and speed, then via an orchestral fugue, with its initial rigor soon giving way to more flashy passages in the piano. Later, the second theme and the enigmatic slow march are reprised, after which piano and orchestra build to the ultimate climax: a blazing piano cadenza, silence, then a majestic presentation of the second theme by the strings, as the piano powers through virtuosic patterns of chords. In the final moments, the music rushes forth in jubilant C major, to the concerto’s exuberant finish. 

Sergei Prokofiev

Suite No. 2 from Romeo and Juliet, Opus 64b – I. Montagues and Capulets, II. The Young Girl Juliet

I. Montagues and Capulets
II. The Young Girl Juliet

Composed in 1935, Romeo and Juliet was Sergey Prokofiev’s first full-length ballet. While complications, both political and artistic, prevented it from being realized on the Soviet stage until 1940, audiences were already hearing the music in the form of the two orchestral suites the composer had compiled from the score. Whether in the concert hall or in the ballet theatre, Prokofiev’s music for Shakespeare’s enduring story about the two star-crossed lovers from feuding families is one of his greatest ever artistic successes.

“Montagues and Capulets” and “The Young Girl Juliet” are the first two movements from the second suite, and taken together, they are prime examples of Prokofiev’s formidable gifts as a dramatic and symphonic composer. “Montagues and Capulets” is a powerful evocation of the longstanding bitterness between the families. To start, two crescendos build to stridently dissonant chords, out of which very softly sustained strings materialize. The music of the Dance of the Knights follows—a ponderous march, featuring an aggressive theme played by the violins, against a menacing backdrop of low woodwind and brass instruments (plus bass drum). There’s a brief contrasting episode of ethereal atmosphere with a delicate flute solo, after which the main march theme returns, on saxophone, then the violins take it forcefully to the end.

In “The Young Girl Juliet”, Prokofiev uses glittering timbres, quicksilver scales, and piquant harmonies to depict the teenage Capulet as a young woman of vivacity as well as elegance (note the tender clarinet melody). This music alternates with two sections of contemplative reverie, the first combining flutes and clarinets, with a rapturous cello solo; the second draws the number to a shimmering close.

Program notes by Dr. Hannah Chan-Hartley

Rodrigo

Concierto de Aranjuez for Guitar and Orchestra

One of Spain’s leading composers of the 20th century, Joaquín Rodrigo (1901–1999) first made his name with this piece, which has since become a central work in the classical guitar repertory. He composed Concierto de Aranjuez, on the suggestion of the guitarist Regino Saínz de la Maza, in 1939, while living in Paris. On reflecting on the genesis of the piece, Rodrigo noted that the stirring main theme of the Adagio movement came to him as an “irresistible and super-natural inspiration”:

“I also remember—I don't know why but everything related to has stayed in my memory—, that one morning several months later, standing in my small studio on Rue Saint Jacques in the heart of the Latin Quarter, vaguely thinking about the concerto, which had become a fond idea given how difficult I judged it to be, when I heard a voice inside me singing the entire theme of the Adagio at one go, without hesitation.”
From Escritos de Joaquín Rodrigo, 1999

The movement unfolds as a dialogue between the solo guitar and the instruments of the orchestra, trading back and forth the poignant main theme, first introduced by the English horn, and its various motifs and phrases. As the “conversation” progresses, the solo guitar responds with increasing ferocity and virtuosity, culminating in an extended solo cadenza with rhapsodic passages. Rapid strumming leads into an emotional orchestral climax on the main theme, after which the guitar offers a concluding reflection.

Program notes by Dr. Hannah Chan-Hartley

PYOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

Symphony No. 6 in B minor, “Pathétique” – IV. Finale: Adagio lamentoso

For his sixth—and what would be his last—symphony, Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893) subverted the 19th century convention for such works to have a brilliant ending, and wrote a slow, lamenting finale. The composer left no explicit explanation for this, only admitting to his beloved nephew Bob Davydov (to whom the piece is dedicated) that the symphony did have an accompanying narrative but that it would remain a secret. The only hint we have is the work’s subtitle of “Pathétique”; in the original Russian, which Tchaikovsky’s brother Modest had suggested, “pateticheskaya” means “passionate” or “emotional”, with the subtext of anguish or suffering. Whatever the actual meaning, it’s clear that the symphony was of deeply person and artistic significance for the composer; as he had written to Bob, “I absolutely consider [this symphony] to be the best, and in particular, the most sincere of all my creations. I love it as I have never loved any of my other musical offspring.”

The movement’s opening section centers on a sorrowful melody comprised of sighing phrases, played by the strings. A contrasting section follows, the strings now offering comfort with a warm, consoling theme, against pulsating French horns. It builds steadily, inexorably, but at its peak, it collapses, into rapidly descending scales, then silence. The lament returns, and eventually reaches an even more devastating climax. Swirling obsessively on the theme’s main motif, the strings die off, giving way to a “chorale” of long sighs in the trombones and tuba. The second theme reappears, now no longer comforting but intensely mournful, and gradually descends and fades into the depths.

Program notes by Dr. Hannah Chan-Hartley

Samuel Barber

Violin Concerto, Op. 14

While many of his contemporaries were experimenting with the various avant-garde aesthetic trends of the 20th century, Samuel Barber (1910–1981) remained steadfast to a more traditional harmonic palette, creating deeply expressive works. Several of them, such as his Adagio for Strings (1936) and the Violin Concerto (1939) have become modern classics and audience favourites, beloved for their poignant melodies and lush orchestral timbres.

In the slow second movement of Barber’s Violin Concerto, muted strings set the stage for a haunting melody played by the oboe, which, supported by shifts in harmony, is alternately warm and melancholy. The cellos then take it on, and the melody continues to unfold via the clarinet, muted violins, and finally French horn, before settling on a chord. Here, the solo violin enters with a rhapsodic climbing passage, which leads into the middle section of more uneasy mood. Gradually, the violin winds through the mounting tension, and tempers it in a short cadenza before it eases into the main theme, which is played all on the G string (the instrument’s lowest string). Soon after, the orchestra breaks through with a soaring version of the melody, which the solo violin continues, impassioned. An anguished peak is reached, but eventually, the violin finds its way back to serenity on the final chord.

Program notes by Dr. Hannah Chan-Hartley

Dmitri Shostakovich

Festive Overture, Opus 96

In 1954, Dmitry Shostakovich (1906–1975) was given three days to create a short work for a concert celebrating the 37th anniversary of the October Revolution. His friend Lev Lebedinsky was with the composer when he received the commission; observing him at work, Lebedinsky noted that “The speed with which he wrote was truly astounding. Moreover, when he wrote light music, he was able to talk, make jokes, and compose simultaneously, like the legendary Mozart. He laughed and chuckled, and in the meanwhile, work was under way and the music was being written down.” The apparent glee and humour with which Shostakovich completed the work, found its way into the brilliant orchestral showpiece that is the Festive Overture.

An immense brass fanfare launches the work, after which the orchestra is released into the first theme—an exuberant melody introduced by the clarinets, continued by the woodwinds, and finally taken on by the violins. Later, French horn and cellos play a new expansive theme accompanied by chords punching on the offbeat. Motifs from the first theme are further developed at breakneck pace, after which the expansive theme is given bold and brash treatment. The fanfare returns, more splendidly garish than ever, and brings the Overture to a glittering, over-the-top finish.

Program notes by Dr. Hannah Chan-Hartley

Artists

  • dscf9130-curtis-perry-2-cropped
    Featuring Alexander Shelley
  • Featuring NAC Orchestra
  • anna-petersen-2
    Guest curator Anna Petersen