Series Concert V
Friday, September 19
Darius Milhaud | Suite du Voyageur sans bagage, Op. 157b
Darius Milhaud had little respect for boundaries of genre, or of “high” and “low” art, despite his highly conventional training at the Paris Conservatoire. With the onslaught of World War I, which broke out as he was completing his studies, Milhaud was dispatched not to the frontlines but to Brazil, where he worked as an attaché for the foreign ministry’s propaganda division. The soundtrack of his travels made an indelible mark on his approach to composition. Experimental works like L’homme et son désir, with its large percussion battery, evoke rainforest noises, while his more famous Saudades do Brasil and La Création du Monde pay homage respectively to popular genres he experienced in Brazil and New York, where he stopped over on his way back to France.
Milhaud saw no conflict in crossing over between, say, incidental music for the theater and chamber music for the salon — as he does in his Suite for clarinet, violin, and piano. The music for the Suite was originally composed to accompany the play, Le Voyageur sans bagage (“The Traveler without Baggage”), written by Jean Anouilh in 1936. The play concerns Gaston, a World War I veteran struck with amnesia, who gradually apprehends, to his own horror, his destructive history; the music accompanied the final scene, in which Gaston must decide whether to stay with his true family and face his past, or pose as a member of one of many other families who lost boys in the war. Nor was Milhaud above an ironic reference, in the final movement, to the popular tune, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” — which is itself an adaptation of an older French folksong, “Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre” (“Malbrough is off to the war”).
~ Peter Asimov
Lili Boulanger | Nocturne
French composer Lili Boulanger (1893–1918) was an immense musical talent from a young age. Despite suffering chronic illness, she composed prolifically, creating substantial, potently expressive works for choir, voice, piano, chamber ensemble, and orchestra; she was at work on an opera when intestinal tuberculosis claimed her life at only 24 years old. In 1913, she became the first woman to win the prestigious Prix de Rome. Her distinctive style bears qualities typical of early 20th-century French music, notably influenced by Gabriel Fauré and Claude Debussy in her synthesis of tonal and modal harmony, combined with her imaginative use of instrumental colour and layered textures.
Although her frail health prevented her from pursuing a comprehensive musical education at the Paris Conservatoire, Boulanger had her prodigious musical abilities nurtured through private instruction. In 1911, the year she wrote this Nocturne, she was studying with French composer Georges Caussade, preparing to compete for the Prix de Rome. The work was originally conceived as a “short piece” for flute and piano, although it has been more frequently performed in a transcription for violin and piano. In this performance, it will be played by cello and piano.
It was the publisher who added the title “Nocturne”, yet the piece certainly shares characteristics with that genre of composition that is evocative of night—an enigmatic atmosphere, perhaps tinged with anxiousness, as well as allusions to romantic passion. Boulanger masterfully conveys these qualities through her impressionistic use of harmonic colour in the piano part, which supports a sumptuous song on the cello. The beginning is somewhat tentative, but gradually, the melody gains confidence, becoming more impassioned and rhapsodic, while the accompaniment’s sparse texture fills out accordingly. After reaching an intense climax, the music subsides in a state of blissful peace.
~ Hannah Chan-Hartley, PhD, originally for Canada’s National Arts Centre Orchestra, adapted and reprinted with permission.
Nadia Boulanger | Cantique, arr. for cello and piano
Nadia Boulanger, long-lived elder sister of composer Lili Boulanger, achieved worldwide fame through her activities as educator, pedagogue, writer, conductor, composer, and performer for over seven decades in the 20th century. Her hundreds of students and disciples, from Aaron Copland to Quincy Jones, sought her out for her legendary instruction in composition, conducting, harmony, and performance.
In 1909, at the age of 22, Boulanger set a poem by Maurice Maeterlinck, “Cantique de soeur Béatrice”, for soprano voice with piano accompaniment. Its steadily shifting chordal underpinning and simple, exquisite vocal line are reminiscent of Gabriel Fauré, Boulanger’s teacher at the Paris Conservatory from the age of nine. In this sensitive transcription for cello and piano by Alex Demutskiy, the piece becomes an expressive “song without words”.
Sergei Rachmaninov | Prelude in B-flat minor, Op. 32, No. 10
The 1887 painting Die Heimkehr (“The Homecoming” or “The Return”), by Swiss Symbolist Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901), shows a solitary figure seated with his back to a square reflecting pool. His attention is focused on a shadowy house with a single lit window. The late autumnal landscape suggests the falling veil of mortality, greeted with a blend of quiet anxiety, detachment, and inevitability.
It was this painting which inspired Sergei Rachmaninov to write the haunting Prelude in B minor, Op. 32, No. 10, part of a set of thirteen solo piano works composed in 1910. Two years earlier, another work by Böcklin formed the basis of Rachmaninov’s tone poem, Isle of the Dead.
Following the Russian Revolution, Rachmaninov fled his homeland, settled with his family in New York in 1918, and remained in exile for the rest of his life. Perhaps the composer, once described by Stravinsky as “six foot six of Russian gloom,” longed for a homecoming which remained impossible. Regardless, according to pianist Benno Moiseiwitsch, the B minor (Prelude), Op. 32, held special significance for Rachmaninov and remained his personal favorite among his preludes.
Hovering with a sense of melancholy stasis, the Prelude in B minor unfolds with the dotted rhythm of a siciliano. A throbbing emotional eruption in the middle section falls back, and the final measures fail to reach a definitive resolution.
Credit: “Explore classical music with Timothy Judd at “thelistenersclub.com”
Charlie Chaplin | Smile
“Smile” is a song based on instrumental music composed by Charlie Chaplin, with the help of David Raksin, for his 1936 film Modern Times. The film is set in the Great Depression and follows the struggles and foibles of “the Little Tramp” as he tries to earn a living but repeatedly runs afoul of the law. Chaplin, who often composed music for his films, was inspired by a melodic fragment in the love duet from the first act of Puccini’s opera Tosca. One hears the theme as Cavaradossi sings Quale occhio al mondo può star di paro (What eyes in the world can compare?).
Lyrics were not added to Chaplin’s music until 1954, almost twenty years after the film was released. Writing the lyrics, John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons drew from the story lines of the film and crafted a simple but poignant message of hope: smile through your tears, through troubles and heartache, and you will find that life is still worthwhile. They gave Chaplin’s beautiful theme a title. “Smile” took its place in the American songbook and has been recorded by numerous artists, beginning with Nat King Cole in 1954.
~ Linda Monahan
Darius Milhaud | Le Boeuf sur le toit: An Homage to Charlie Chaplin
Between 1919 and 1920, the French composer Darius Milhaud set out to create “fifteen minutes of music, rapid and gay, as a background to any Charlie Chaplin silent movie.”
The result was Le Boeuf sur le toit, a jubilant and colorful work for chamber orchestra. The title translates as “The Ox on the Roof”. It may have been taken from the signboard of a tavern. Or perhaps it was inspired by a Parisian urban legend about a man who lived on the top floor of a flat with a pet calf that quickly and disastrously turned into a full-grown ox. The composer insisted that the title referenced a Brazilian folk dance. He wrote, “haunted by my memories of Brazil, I assembled some popular melodies – tangos, maxixes, sambas, and even a Portuguese fado – and transcribed them with a rondo-like section recurring between each successive pair.”
Milhaud’s music was not premiered as incidental music for a Chaplin film. Instead, it became the score for a Surrealist ballet by Jean Cocteau, performed by clown-acrobats from the acclaimed circus troupes, the Cirque Médrano and the Fratellini. Later, Milhaud explained that his uptempo music accompanied choreographed movements which suggested “a slow-motion film.” The ballet’s scenario has been described as “pleasantly devoid of all meaning.” (Harding) The music is a cheerful romp which combines Latin-American swing with quirky moments of polytonality, in which more than one key is heard simultaneously.
Credit: “Explore classical music with Timothy Judd” at thelistenersclub.com
Igor Stravinsky | L’Histoire du soldat
Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) had already written his three epoch-making ballets (Firebird, Petrushka, Rite of Spring), filled with colorful big orchestration, when L’histoire du soldat (A Soldier’s Tale) was performed for the first time in 1918.
Due to World War I, funds were not available for large-scale performances, and many great musicians were both literally and figuratively caught up in the battle. Concerned about their subsistence, Stravinsky and friends (including writer Charles Ferdinand Ramuz, conductor Ernest Ansermet, and production designer René Victor zAuberjonois) wanted to write something that could be produced simply and economically. They planned a traveling theater show during their exile in Switzerland, a theater that would work with reduced instrumental and scenic demands. In the course of these considerations, the creators of A Soldier’s Tale settled on seven musicians, one reader, and a mix of actors and dancers. The work premiered just two weeks before the armistice. The exciting combination of different genres – music, theater, dance – allows for numerous staging possibilities.
For the libretto Stravinsky and Ramuz culled two stories from a collection of Russian fairytales from Alexander Afanas’ev and transferred them into a more contemporary, albeit timeless context. Afanas’ev’s tale “The Runaway Soldier and the Devil” forms the heart of L’histoire. Set out in two parts, the plot centers on a Russian soldier, Joseph, who makes a pact with the devil. The action opens with Joseph on leave, marching home to Stravinsky’s delightfully quirky main theme. Pausing to rest, he pulls out his trusty violin to play a simple song. Given its importance in the plot, the violin takes on a prominent role in Stravinsky’s score. It is often paired in a leading capacity with the clarinet. The remaining instruments in the full ensemble include those that provide striking timbral contrast, as well as a nod toward the military aspect (trumpet, trombone, percussion), and those that are needed to build up solid harmonic foundation in the bass register (bassoon, double bass).
Joseph is surprised by the devil in disguise, and the two swap items: Joseph gives up his violin in exchange for the stranger’s book of prognostications, which he thinks will bring him untold wealth. Years magically pass as quickly as days. The first part of L’histoire circles back to its beginning, including both a reprise of the march theme and the narrator’s opening words. Floating ghostlike through his home village, Joseph suddenly realizes how much time has passed and how he has given up the happiness he had for the promise of wealth to come. Doleful strains from clarinet and bassoon give voice to his despair. The devil reappears as a peddler offering to sell back to Joseph the very possessions he previously forsook: the mirror, the portrait of his beloved, and the violin – now completely mute to his touch.
Part 2 follows Joseph to the royal palace where he will ultimately regain some measure of happiness. He confronts the devil at cards, willingly loses all his money, and is thereby freed from the devil’s clutches. With his restored musical ability, Joseph resurrects a sick princess to health. An extensive interlude follows featuring an alluring tango, an updated Viennese waltz, and an American Ragtime. Then, in a furious dance scene, Joseph uses his music to defeat the devil one last time. The narrator relates the overriding moral of the story, a condemnation of empty materialism: no one can have everything he desires, choices must be made. But Joseph is unwilling to heed that advice, despite all he has experienced. Urged on by the princess, he attempts to leave the palace grounds and find his long-lost mother. In so doing he will step beyond a prescribed boundary placed upon him by the devil; he loses his new bride, who had been trailing silently behind like Eurydice.
Thus, despite beginning as a happy young man, despite discovering the path to untold wealth, despite discovering love – despite all that, Joseph cannot find satisfaction. The devil’s triumphant march carries the day, and a slow decrescendo played by solo percussion brings the drama to an end.
Overall, one can hear Stravinsky’s neo-classical aesthetic, which developed after the First World War. Gone are the imposing textures, atonal explorations, and rhythmic aggression of the pre-war period. A Soldier’s Tale carries a bright optimism, despite the darker tones of the libretto, and signifies one of the composer’s most successful stylistic evolutions.
~ Jason Stell
Darius Milhaud had little respect for boundaries of genre, or of “high” and “low” art, despite his highly conventional training at the Paris Conservatoire. With the onslaught of World War I, which broke out as he was completing his studies, Milhaud was dispatched not to the frontlines but to Brazil, where he worked as an attaché for the foreign ministry’s propaganda division. The soundtrack of his travels made an indelible mark on his approach to composition. Experimental works like L’homme et son désir, with its large percussion battery, evoke rainforest noises, while his more famous Saudades do Brasil and La Création du Monde pay homage respectively to popular genres he experienced in Brazil and New York, where he stopped over on his way back to France.
Milhaud saw no conflict in crossing over between, say, incidental music for the theater and chamber music for the salon — as he does in his Suite for clarinet, violin, and piano. The music for the Suite was originally composed to accompany the play, Le Voyageur sans bagage (“The Traveler without Baggage”), written by Jean Anouilh in 1936. The play concerns Gaston, a World War I veteran struck with amnesia, who gradually apprehends, to his own horror, his destructive history; the music accompanied the final scene, in which Gaston must decide whether to stay with his true family and face his past, or pose as a member of one of many other families who lost boys in the war. Nor was Milhaud above an ironic reference, in the final movement, to the popular tune, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” — which is itself an adaptation of an older French folksong, “Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre” (“Malbrough is off to the war”).
~ Peter Asimov
Lili Boulanger | Nocturne
French composer Lili Boulanger (1893–1918) was an immense musical talent from a young age. Despite suffering chronic illness, she composed prolifically, creating substantial, potently expressive works for choir, voice, piano, chamber ensemble, and orchestra; she was at work on an opera when intestinal tuberculosis claimed her life at only 24 years old. In 1913, she became the first woman to win the prestigious Prix de Rome. Her distinctive style bears qualities typical of early 20th-century French music, notably influenced by Gabriel Fauré and Claude Debussy in her synthesis of tonal and modal harmony, combined with her imaginative use of instrumental colour and layered textures.
Although her frail health prevented her from pursuing a comprehensive musical education at the Paris Conservatoire, Boulanger had her prodigious musical abilities nurtured through private instruction. In 1911, the year she wrote this Nocturne, she was studying with French composer Georges Caussade, preparing to compete for the Prix de Rome. The work was originally conceived as a “short piece” for flute and piano, although it has been more frequently performed in a transcription for violin and piano. In this performance, it will be played by cello and piano.
It was the publisher who added the title “Nocturne”, yet the piece certainly shares characteristics with that genre of composition that is evocative of night—an enigmatic atmosphere, perhaps tinged with anxiousness, as well as allusions to romantic passion. Boulanger masterfully conveys these qualities through her impressionistic use of harmonic colour in the piano part, which supports a sumptuous song on the cello. The beginning is somewhat tentative, but gradually, the melody gains confidence, becoming more impassioned and rhapsodic, while the accompaniment’s sparse texture fills out accordingly. After reaching an intense climax, the music subsides in a state of blissful peace.
~ Hannah Chan-Hartley, PhD, originally for Canada’s National Arts Centre Orchestra, adapted and reprinted with permission.
Nadia Boulanger | Cantique, arr. for cello and piano
Nadia Boulanger, long-lived elder sister of composer Lili Boulanger, achieved worldwide fame through her activities as educator, pedagogue, writer, conductor, composer, and performer for over seven decades in the 20th century. Her hundreds of students and disciples, from Aaron Copland to Quincy Jones, sought her out for her legendary instruction in composition, conducting, harmony, and performance.
In 1909, at the age of 22, Boulanger set a poem by Maurice Maeterlinck, “Cantique de soeur Béatrice”, for soprano voice with piano accompaniment. Its steadily shifting chordal underpinning and simple, exquisite vocal line are reminiscent of Gabriel Fauré, Boulanger’s teacher at the Paris Conservatory from the age of nine. In this sensitive transcription for cello and piano by Alex Demutskiy, the piece becomes an expressive “song without words”.
Sergei Rachmaninov | Prelude in B-flat minor, Op. 32, No. 10
The 1887 painting Die Heimkehr (“The Homecoming” or “The Return”), by Swiss Symbolist Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901), shows a solitary figure seated with his back to a square reflecting pool. His attention is focused on a shadowy house with a single lit window. The late autumnal landscape suggests the falling veil of mortality, greeted with a blend of quiet anxiety, detachment, and inevitability.
It was this painting which inspired Sergei Rachmaninov to write the haunting Prelude in B minor, Op. 32, No. 10, part of a set of thirteen solo piano works composed in 1910. Two years earlier, another work by Böcklin formed the basis of Rachmaninov’s tone poem, Isle of the Dead.
Following the Russian Revolution, Rachmaninov fled his homeland, settled with his family in New York in 1918, and remained in exile for the rest of his life. Perhaps the composer, once described by Stravinsky as “six foot six of Russian gloom,” longed for a homecoming which remained impossible. Regardless, according to pianist Benno Moiseiwitsch, the B minor (Prelude), Op. 32, held special significance for Rachmaninov and remained his personal favorite among his preludes.
Hovering with a sense of melancholy stasis, the Prelude in B minor unfolds with the dotted rhythm of a siciliano. A throbbing emotional eruption in the middle section falls back, and the final measures fail to reach a definitive resolution.
Credit: “Explore classical music with Timothy Judd at “thelistenersclub.com”
Charlie Chaplin | Smile
“Smile” is a song based on instrumental music composed by Charlie Chaplin, with the help of David Raksin, for his 1936 film Modern Times. The film is set in the Great Depression and follows the struggles and foibles of “the Little Tramp” as he tries to earn a living but repeatedly runs afoul of the law. Chaplin, who often composed music for his films, was inspired by a melodic fragment in the love duet from the first act of Puccini’s opera Tosca. One hears the theme as Cavaradossi sings Quale occhio al mondo può star di paro (What eyes in the world can compare?).
Lyrics were not added to Chaplin’s music until 1954, almost twenty years after the film was released. Writing the lyrics, John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons drew from the story lines of the film and crafted a simple but poignant message of hope: smile through your tears, through troubles and heartache, and you will find that life is still worthwhile. They gave Chaplin’s beautiful theme a title. “Smile” took its place in the American songbook and has been recorded by numerous artists, beginning with Nat King Cole in 1954.
~ Linda Monahan
Darius Milhaud | Le Boeuf sur le toit: An Homage to Charlie Chaplin
Between 1919 and 1920, the French composer Darius Milhaud set out to create “fifteen minutes of music, rapid and gay, as a background to any Charlie Chaplin silent movie.”
The result was Le Boeuf sur le toit, a jubilant and colorful work for chamber orchestra. The title translates as “The Ox on the Roof”. It may have been taken from the signboard of a tavern. Or perhaps it was inspired by a Parisian urban legend about a man who lived on the top floor of a flat with a pet calf that quickly and disastrously turned into a full-grown ox. The composer insisted that the title referenced a Brazilian folk dance. He wrote, “haunted by my memories of Brazil, I assembled some popular melodies – tangos, maxixes, sambas, and even a Portuguese fado – and transcribed them with a rondo-like section recurring between each successive pair.”
Milhaud’s music was not premiered as incidental music for a Chaplin film. Instead, it became the score for a Surrealist ballet by Jean Cocteau, performed by clown-acrobats from the acclaimed circus troupes, the Cirque Médrano and the Fratellini. Later, Milhaud explained that his uptempo music accompanied choreographed movements which suggested “a slow-motion film.” The ballet’s scenario has been described as “pleasantly devoid of all meaning.” (Harding) The music is a cheerful romp which combines Latin-American swing with quirky moments of polytonality, in which more than one key is heard simultaneously.
Credit: “Explore classical music with Timothy Judd” at thelistenersclub.com
Igor Stravinsky | L’Histoire du soldat
Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) had already written his three epoch-making ballets (Firebird, Petrushka, Rite of Spring), filled with colorful big orchestration, when L’histoire du soldat (A Soldier’s Tale) was performed for the first time in 1918.
Due to World War I, funds were not available for large-scale performances, and many great musicians were both literally and figuratively caught up in the battle. Concerned about their subsistence, Stravinsky and friends (including writer Charles Ferdinand Ramuz, conductor Ernest Ansermet, and production designer René Victor zAuberjonois) wanted to write something that could be produced simply and economically. They planned a traveling theater show during their exile in Switzerland, a theater that would work with reduced instrumental and scenic demands. In the course of these considerations, the creators of A Soldier’s Tale settled on seven musicians, one reader, and a mix of actors and dancers. The work premiered just two weeks before the armistice. The exciting combination of different genres – music, theater, dance – allows for numerous staging possibilities.
For the libretto Stravinsky and Ramuz culled two stories from a collection of Russian fairytales from Alexander Afanas’ev and transferred them into a more contemporary, albeit timeless context. Afanas’ev’s tale “The Runaway Soldier and the Devil” forms the heart of L’histoire. Set out in two parts, the plot centers on a Russian soldier, Joseph, who makes a pact with the devil. The action opens with Joseph on leave, marching home to Stravinsky’s delightfully quirky main theme. Pausing to rest, he pulls out his trusty violin to play a simple song. Given its importance in the plot, the violin takes on a prominent role in Stravinsky’s score. It is often paired in a leading capacity with the clarinet. The remaining instruments in the full ensemble include those that provide striking timbral contrast, as well as a nod toward the military aspect (trumpet, trombone, percussion), and those that are needed to build up solid harmonic foundation in the bass register (bassoon, double bass).
Joseph is surprised by the devil in disguise, and the two swap items: Joseph gives up his violin in exchange for the stranger’s book of prognostications, which he thinks will bring him untold wealth. Years magically pass as quickly as days. The first part of L’histoire circles back to its beginning, including both a reprise of the march theme and the narrator’s opening words. Floating ghostlike through his home village, Joseph suddenly realizes how much time has passed and how he has given up the happiness he had for the promise of wealth to come. Doleful strains from clarinet and bassoon give voice to his despair. The devil reappears as a peddler offering to sell back to Joseph the very possessions he previously forsook: the mirror, the portrait of his beloved, and the violin – now completely mute to his touch.
Part 2 follows Joseph to the royal palace where he will ultimately regain some measure of happiness. He confronts the devil at cards, willingly loses all his money, and is thereby freed from the devil’s clutches. With his restored musical ability, Joseph resurrects a sick princess to health. An extensive interlude follows featuring an alluring tango, an updated Viennese waltz, and an American Ragtime. Then, in a furious dance scene, Joseph uses his music to defeat the devil one last time. The narrator relates the overriding moral of the story, a condemnation of empty materialism: no one can have everything he desires, choices must be made. But Joseph is unwilling to heed that advice, despite all he has experienced. Urged on by the princess, he attempts to leave the palace grounds and find his long-lost mother. In so doing he will step beyond a prescribed boundary placed upon him by the devil; he loses his new bride, who had been trailing silently behind like Eurydice.
Thus, despite beginning as a happy young man, despite discovering the path to untold wealth, despite discovering love – despite all that, Joseph cannot find satisfaction. The devil’s triumphant march carries the day, and a slow decrescendo played by solo percussion brings the drama to an end.
Overall, one can hear Stravinsky’s neo-classical aesthetic, which developed after the First World War. Gone are the imposing textures, atonal explorations, and rhythmic aggression of the pre-war period. A Soldier’s Tale carries a bright optimism, despite the darker tones of the libretto, and signifies one of the composer’s most successful stylistic evolutions.
~ Jason Stell