Program notes!

Program Notes for Saturday, December 14, 2024 “Holiday Pops”

“Ghosts from Christmas Concerts Passed”

It was November, 1964.  The high school that I attended in Oak Lawn, Illinois, a suburb southwest of Chicago, was a large one.  Its sizeable student population--some 2,400--was large enough to allow for four choruses and five bands, all of different sizes and reflecting different levels of musicianship.  And, oh yes, there was also a nascent orchestra program, a motley mix of students ranging from rank beginners to All-Staters; they all rehearsed in the same classroom at the same time—an impossible situation for the conductor/teacher.

The school’s highly-respected band director, RGP, was always looking for ways to keep his program fresh, whether it was through ordering a set of six herald trumpets or buying a ridiculous-looking machine of six colored vertical cubes that lit up successively according to the dynamic level being played.  The music that he had ordered for the annual Christmas Concert (as it was called in those days) was slow in arriving that year, but he told us not to worry.  He was already making plans for us to reuse our contest selections from the previous spring by simply renaming them to fit the season:  Joseph Wilcox Jenkins’ classic American Overture for Band was to become Christmas Overture for Band and Christoph Willibald Gluck’s Overture to Iphigenia in Aulis would have been Iphigenia at the North Pole.  Fortunately the music arrived in the nick of time and the integrity of those overtures remained unblemished.

The conductor of the orchestra was a very nice middle-aged man, one Mr. Kalida, who was of Eastern European origin; he barely spoke English.  He was an excellent violinist, and so it was only natural that when RGP was out one day with a bad cold, Mr. Kalida was called upon to substitute for him in a rehearsal of the Spartan Band, the school’s premiere instrumental performing ensemble.  Football season was over and we were finally working on the Christmas music.  The concert was to take place the following month in the rather colossal Spartan Gym.  This gym, the newest of the school’s three, was our regular performance venue; several bond issues that would resulted in the construction of an auditorium, had failed.  The Village of Oak Lawn had no sizeable industries that would have supplied the needed tax support.

One of the pieces we were rehearsing for the concert was Leroy Anderson’s Sleigh Ride.  Everything went quite smoothly until one of our drummers missed the ever essential slapstick (whip) cue.  Mr. Kalida looked over at the poor offending soul, smiled at him, and then shouted at the top of his lungs, “More from the CONCUSSION section!”  That was it; the entire band burst out laughing and all decorum was lost for the rest of the period.  It didn’t matter to us; we figured we would never see him again.  WRONG.

Two weeks later, a number of Spartan Band personnel were “volunteered” to perform in a different concert—a sing-along of Part I plus the “Hallelujah Chorus” from the oratorio Messiah by Georg Friedrich Händel (1685-1759).  I was actually looking forward to playing in a choral-orchestral performance of Händel’s masterpiece, ever since participating as a chorister a few years earlier when my father conducted it.  That performance featured only our church’s fifteen-voice choir and organist, so this one was to be much greater in scope.  The school’s top choral ensemble, the A Cappella Choir, sufficed as the lead chorus and the band volunteers--plus the handful of the school’s string players who could actually play anything--served as the orchestra.  The A Cappella Choir and the orchestra were seated on the floor of the Spartan Gym while the community “sing-a-longers” had to produce their musical sounds from the bleachers.

For Messiah’s 1742 Dublin premiere Händel employed a large baroque orchestra consisting of oboes, bassoons, trumpets, timpani, and strings.  Needing a fuller sound to deal with the gym’s rather hollow acoustics, it was decided to use the 1902 edition of Messiah by the English musicologist Ebenezer Prout (love that name!).  In addition to Händel’s original instrumentation, the Prout edition includes flutes, clarinets, horns, and trombones.  Bob Pritchard and I were handed the 1st and 2nd trombone parts at the dress rehearsal; we had not seen the music prior to that.  Still, we were raring to go, though neither one of us had any orchestral experience which, for trombonists, means counting rests and waiting and waiting… 

We were bored to death at first, having to sit through the first eleven numbers.  Finally, in “No. 12: For Unto Us a Child Is Born” we had a chance to display our musical prowess, letting loose on the chords accompanying the words “Wonderful Counselor.”  It was loud, but not at all “wonderful” since the sounds we produced were too low.  Mr. Kalida, who was engrossed with the constant cacophony occurring in the strings, managed to look up at us for a second and shouted something that sounded like “Dough.”  After a few seconds of scratching our heads Bob and I figured out that he was trying to tell us that our parts weren’t written in bass clef; they were written in C clefs, where the line designating middle C was indicated by an indentation. 

Bob’s was part was in alto clef, mine was in tenor, so our middle C’s were on different lines.  We had to move quickly and decisively, since there were only five more movements before we were needed again on “No. 17: Glory to God.”  We immediately started to pencil in the letter names below the notes, but found that after doing this for a line or two, we could actually manage it mentally.  By the time we reached “No. 44: Hallelujah” we felt like old pros at reading the clefs.  All of this seemed to be a very pedestrian activity, but it did lead to my becoming proficient in the alto and tenor clefs and, in less than two years’ time, passing the audition for a chair in the Youth Orchestra of Greater Chicago.   

There was (is) also a physical happy ending to this, although it took a while for it to come to fruition.  In April of 1967 the Spartan Gym was severely damaged when the school was hit by a killer tornado.  The gym was rebuilt almost immediately and continued to suffice as the school’s main concert venue until 2017 when, a half-century after the tornado and half-century after I had graduated, it was finally replaced as a performance venue by a new Performing Arts facility with a decent auditorium.  

Wishing you all the merriest of holiday seasons,

Jon Ceander Mitchell     

Program Notes for Saturday, November 9, 2024 “Classical Icons”

The 2024-25 Twenty-fifth Anniversary Season of the Claflin Hill Symphony Orchestra is at hand and what a great series of programs to behold!  And what better way to start off the series than with a concert of Classical Icons—great works of music that have stood the test of time.  This is not a shallow statement for me to make; it is very personal.  I have either conducted, played, or researched many of CHSO’s offerings in the past, but this is the first time I have ever conducted all of the works of a single program—some more than once—and can unabashedly say that all of these are personal favorites.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) composed his opera Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), K. 620 during the summer of what turned out to be the final year of his life. There is debate over whether this or La Clemenza di Tito (The Clemency of Titus), K. 621 was his final opera.  He was almost finished with The Magic Flute, a Singspiel in German, when the commission arrived for him to hurriedly write Titus, an Opera Seria, in Italian.  As it turned out, Titus, though written second, was premiered first, only three weeks before The Magic Flute.

At seven minutes, Mozart’s overture to The Magic Flute is the longest he would write, yet it never feels too long.  Its sonata-allegro form is introduced and interrupted by the stately temple music found at the start of Act II and the brisk principal theme that follows anticipates the beloved “pa-pa-pa-pa-geno” duet also found in the second act.  The overture is scored for full classical instrumentation (pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, timpani and strings) plus three trombones.

Some thirteen years earlier, the then twenty-two year old Mozart journeyed to Paris with his mother, Maria Anna.  Needing to acquire some income, he accepted students, among them the talented teen-age harpist Marie-Louise Philippine, daughter of Adriene-Louis Bonnierres de Souastres, the Duke of Guines, who was himself a talented flute player.  At the urging of his father, Mozart established a solid teacher-pupil relationship with the harpist and happily composed for her and her father the Flute and Harp Concerto in C, K. 299.  Perhaps in considering the relatively soft timbre of the two solo instruments, Mozart employed a small accompanying orchestra of Neopolitan instrumentation (two oboes, two horns, and strings).

Notwithstanding its small forces, the concerto itself can be described as full-bodied.  The expansive concerto-sonata form of the opening Allegro is introduced by a descending triadic theme and from there Mozart rolls out a movement of elegance and grace, effortlessly featuring the interplay of both solo instruments with the orchestra.  The second movement, an Andantino in F major, is one of the most beautiful that Mozart would ever write, and the concluding Rondeau, a Gavotte with no fewer than fourteen (!) melodic ideas, is a real compositional tour de force.       

By 1873, Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) was already a skilled craftsman at dealing with the orchestral palette.  Though he had not yet composed a symphony, Brahms already had two orchestral serenades and a piano concerto under his belt.  Three years earlier his friend, Carl Ferdinand Pohl, the librarian of the Vienna Philharmonic, had shown him a transcription he had made of a piece attributed to Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809).  The work in question, labelled "Divertimento No. 1," was in four short movements and was originally written for a rather unusual harmoniemusik combination of 2 oboes, 2 horns, 3 bassoons and contrabassoon.  It contained a slow movement in B flat major labelled “Chorale St. Antoni.”  Brahms obviously liked this chorale.  Since Brahms’ death, Haydn’s authorship of the divertimento has been questioned; some musicologists have attributed it to his student Ignaz Pleyel (1757-1831).  Had Brahms known this, it probably would not have mattered, for this short movement offered him a springboard for creativity.

Brahms wrote two versions of his Variations on a Theme by Haydn (1873), first for piano (Op. 56b) and then for an orchestra (Op. 56a) consisting of piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, triangle, and strings.  The character of each of the eight variations is clearly defined by tempo, meter, and tonality.  The form of the work is as follows:

            Chorale St. Antoni.  Andante (2/4)

            I.  Poco più animato (2/4)

            II.  Più vivace (2/4, minor)

            III.  Con moto (2/4)

            IV.  Andante con moto (3/8, minor)

            V.  Vivace (6/8)

            VI.  Vivace (2/4)

            VII.  Grazioso  (Siciliano), 6/8)

            VIII.  Presto non troppo (3/4)

            Finale.  Andante (2/2)

Brahms’ Finale differs from the variations that precede it in that it is cast upon a ground bass.  This may be seen as Brahms tipping his cap to the Baroque era, yet the work still sounds romantic and the composer gave it an emphatic finish with the inclusion of a triangle.

Perhaps the most iconic work in all symphonic literature is the Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67 (1805-1808) of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827).  Composed during the height of his creative powers during what is generally considered to be his second compositional period, this symphony has served as a source of inspiration and awe to composers, conductors, performers, and audiences alike for over two centuries.  When it was first performed in Vienna on December 22, 1808, however, many were shocked by the symphony’s overtly aggressive nature.  Consider the following statement by the highly respected German writer and critic Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)—and Goethe was usually on good terms with the composer:  

It is a strange state to which the great improvements in the technical and mechanical arts have brought our newest composers.  Their productions are no longer music; they go beyond the level of human feelings, and no response can be given them from mind and heart.

So much has been written about Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony—program notes, chapters in books, even entire books--that it is difficult (almost impossible) to say more.  Nevertheless, it behooves us to examine two pronouncements about the work: one, while being an oversimplification, has an element of truth about it, while the other one is probably false.

The first pronouncement is that Beethoven built the entire symphony from just four notes.  True, the driving motif (three G’s followed by a sustained E flat) starts the Allegro con brio’s first theme and continues to permeate the entire movement.  True also that the four pounding notes permeate the Scherzo, though in triple meter, as well as in the transition to the Finale.  They also find their way into a variety of subordinate roles in the Finale.  Yet there is so much more to this symphony, and the second movement is actually void of the motif.

The second pronouncement is that, in regard the opening motif, Beethoven stated “Thus fate knocks at the door.” This may be hearsay as the source is the composer’s less-than-reliable erstwhile biographer Anton Schindler (1795-1864).  In many ways, however, Beethoven does alter the fate of the four-movement “classical” symphony through transformations in each of the separate movements.

I.  Allegro con brio, C minor.  As expected, this tight-knit movement is in the standard sonata-allegro form, with repeated exposition. The development section, recapitulation, and coda are of similar length and energy.  The fermatas at the beginning and throughout the movement could be said to be rather unusual for this form, but equally unusual is the oboe cadenza inserted into the recapitulation.

II.  Andante con moto, A flat.  This is a theme and variations movement, beginning with a noble theme presented by the strings. It is offset by an exultant C major passage highlighted by the brass.  Beethoven often used the key relationship of a third (in this case A flat and C) and, with the first movement’s Clarino trumpets constructed in C, C major was the optimal choice. After a series of variations and repetitions, the movement ends with an extensive Coda, where Beethoven once again makes optimal use of the compositional techniques at his disposal, which included placing his theme into minor and shredding it into small pieces.

III.  Allegro, C minor.  This ABA form Scherzo, though not labelled as such, begins not with its main theme, but with a rather mysterious introduction presented by the cellos and basses.  This is followed by the horns bellowing out the four-note “Fate” motif but now, being in three, it has a different thrust.  The Trio, with its boisterous polyphonic outbursts initiated in the cellos and basses, strays very far from what was expected of a classical period trio section.  The reprise of the Scherzo, with its skeletal instrumentation, seems to anticipate some lurking evil about to pounce; but the evil never does.  Instead, Beethoven does what no other composer had done previously: connect the two last movements of a symphony.  The bridge begins with a very soft sustained chord with the timpani repeating the “Fate” motif; then, after just the right amount of time, there is an immense crescendo leading to the Finale. 

IV.  Allegro, C major.  Beethoven’s finale is exuberant and triumphant.  Here the composer has embodied one of the basic tenets of the Romantic era that was to follow: Good versus Evil.  The movement is in sonata-allegro form with one striking exception.  At the end of the development, and before heading into the recapitulation, Beethoven reprises the skeletal version of the Scherzo and the transition, thus creating a symphony that is cyclical in nature.  In the body of the Finale, the four-note “Fate” motif is still very much in evidence, but it is now supportive of the joy that transcends the movement. 

It is no wonder that during World War II the British broadcasted this symphony over the airwaves after gains on the battlefield—the “Fate” motif spelling out in Morse code the letter “V” (***—), for victory.  Perhaps Goethe was right; this work does go “beyond the level of human feelings.”

As a side note, I first conducted this symphony in Walbrzych, Poland in 1999.  Mendelssohn’s overture to Ruy Blas and Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor were also on the program.  When I approached Zofia Antes, the piano soloist, about the possibility of ending the concert with the Rachmaninoff so that she could share in the glory of the final applause, she said, “Absolutely not!  Don’t you know what this symphony means to these people?  It means Freedom!”

The symphony is scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets, timpani, and strings.  In the Finale, Beethoven increases his forces to include piccolo, contrabassoon and three trombones, the first time these instruments had been used in a symphony.      

Jon Ceander Mitchell   

Program Notes for Saturday, April 27, 2024 “Symphony Movie Pops Night”

Ah! The movies!  The very thought of motion pictures conjures up visual images in our minds, yet from the industry’s very beginnings, even in the silent era, the vast majority of films have featured some sort of musical accompaniment.  From the start, some musical scores, such as Camille Saint-Saëns’ accompaniment to The Assassination of the Duke of Guise (1908--the first by a major composer) have outlasted the films for which they were composed.  Conversely, most films of the early sound era, such as Universal Studio’s Frankenstein (1931)—which in Leonard Maltin’s words “cries for a musical score”—feature music heard only during their title sequences.  Only a couple of years later, with the improvement of sound-on-film systems, the concept of actual background music came into play.

Before discussing the actual film music at hand, there are two pieces on tonight’s program from the late Romantic era that, in spite of becoming celluloid “hits,” were never intended for films.  A significant Italian opera composer in his day, Pietro Mascagni (1863-1945) is remembered today primarily for his relatively short 1890 opera, Cavalleria rusticana (Rustic Chivalry); it in turn is remembered today for its rousing drinking song and its simple yet lucious “Intermezzo.”  The Austrian composer Gustav Mahler (1860-1911) is known for his symphonic giganticism, both in terms of the size of the orchestra he required and in terms of the length of his compositions.  At more than an hour and a half, his Symphony No. 5 bears this out, yet its fourth movement, “Adagietto,” a tender orchestral love letter to his wife Alma, is scored only for strings.

Most of the following classic film scores have achieved a permanent place not only on Turner Classic Movies but also in Symphonic Pops concerts and a few, such as Leonard Bernstein’s Symphonic Dances from West Side Story (1957), regularly appear on non-pops classical concerts.

Symphony Movie Pops Night opens with a work by John Williams (1932- present), who many would consider to be the Dean of film composers—living or departed.  In addition to being a composer, Williams was also conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra for a fourteen-year period between Arthur Fiedler’s tenure and that of the present conductor, Keith Lockhart.  Volumes could be (and have been) written about Williams’ extensive contributions to the genre.  The work on tonight’s program, suite from Superman, dates from 1978.

Elmer Bernstein (1922-2004) was one of the most prolific of film composers, having written some 150 scores for movies in a variety of styles, from the heavily romantic The Ten Commandments (1956) to the light-hearted Ghost Busters (1984).  He was no relation to conductor Leonard Bernstein.  The two Bernsteins were often distinguished from each other by location: Bernstein West (Elmer) and Bernstein East (Leonard), based on their bases of operation, respectively Hollywood and New York.  Immediately after it was written, Elmer Bernstein’s score to The Magnificent Seven (1960) became an instant classic, heard everywhere, including a plethora of television commercials.

Giovanni Rota Rinaldi (1911 – 1979), better known as Nino Rota, was an Italian composer, pianist, and conductor who is remembered primarily for his film scores, particularly those for Romeo and Juliet (1968) and the first two films of The Godfather trilogy (1972,1974).  This reviewer became familiar with the latter’s love theme not through its “proper” setting, but through a salsa version available in a juke box in a café in the mountains of Puerto Rico, proving that a great theme can survive just about anything.

John Barry Prendergast (1933-2011) was a prolific English composer best known for the “James Bond Theme” from Dr. No (1962) and the music for eleven subsequent James Bond films.  For his musical score to the Academy Award winning Out of Africa (1985) he received a Grammy, and in 1999 he was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE), a knight.

French composer Maurice Jarre (1924-2009) is best known for his work on films, particularly on those directed by David Lean (i.e. Lawrence of Arabia and A Passage to India).  His "Lara's Theme", from Dr. Zhivago (1964) was transformed into “Somewhere My Love, “with lyrics by Paul Francis Webster.  Performed by the Mike Sammes Singers, it spent 38 weeks on the billboards chart, reaching a high of No. 14.

Los Angeles native James Horner (1953-2015) had a fantastic career as a film composer before his life was cut short in a tragic single-engine plane crash (of which he was the pilot) in the Los Padres National Forest.  From humble career beginnings, writing music for Roger Corman “B” movies, he ascended quickly to become perhaps the greatest film composer of his generation.  He won two Academy Awards--one for Best Original Score, the other one shared with lyricist Will Jennings for  Best Original Song ("My Heart Will Go On”)—both for James Cameron’s Titanic (1997); it became the best-selling orchestral film soundtrack of all time.

Italian Ennio Morricone (1928-2020) was an eclectic composer, at home with just about any musical ensemble, from heavy metal bands to full orchestra.  He is best known for his collaboration with director Sergio Leone on the Spaghetti Western’s “Man with No Name” trilogy.  His score to The Mission (1986), a drama about Spanish Jesuit priests and territorial rights in South America, over three million copies.

Massachusetts native Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) is forever remembered as the conductor of the New York Philharmonic (or, in musical circles, as “The Man who Tamed the New York Philharmonic”) even though he served in that capacity for only eleven years.  A “triple-threat” (equally adoit as a composer, pianist and conductor), Bernstein’s greatest stage and screen success is his West Side Story (stage—1957, film—1961).  He was not happy with the scoring of the film by Sid Ramin and Irwin Kostel, for it tripled the size of the thirty-person orchestra used for the show.  Nor was he pleased with the singing, and several years later he re-recorded the music with singers of his own choosing.  It is not known what Bernstein would have thought of Steven Spielberg’s (some would say unnecessary and unfortunate) 2021 updating of the film.

It is a fitting tribute that the last collection of film music heard tonight is from the movie that is, perhaps, most associated with film music, Star Wars (1977).  Many times John Williams has graciously acknowledged his debt to the great film composers of the 1930’s and 1940’s.  It is no secret then, in fact a tribute, that the first five tones of the main Star Wars theme are the same ones employed more than three decades earlier by Erich Wolfgang von Korngold for his theme for King’s Row (1942)!

Program Notes for Saturday, March 9, 2024 “Latin Salsa Buffet”

“Buffet” is a more-than-appropriate term to describe what “Latin” music offers, for there is such a variety of music and so many different creations to consider. “Latin” music itself is difficult to define for there are a plethora of dances, beats, tonal palettes, etc.  The spectrum is very broad and one often thinks of “Latin” music in popular terms, from Desi Arnaz to Santana, or from Carmen Miranda to bandleader Xavier Cugat and his flamboyant wife Charo.  In regard to classical music, however, much of the beloved “Latin” musical works with which we are most familiar—for example, Debussy’s Iberia, Chabrier’s España, or “Mambo” from Bernstein’s West Side Story--were not composed by “Latin” composers.  Such is the case of the first three works performed on tonight’s concert.

The late 1880’s were an especially prolific period for Russian composer Nicholai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908).  Works produced by him during this period include Scheherazade, Russian Easter Overture, the opera Mladi and Capriccio Espagnol, heard this evening. .  A member of “The Mighty Five” (which included his mentor Mily Balakirev, Modeste Mussorgsky, Alexander Borodin, and Cesar Cui),  Rimsky-Korsakov’s compositions are brilliantly orchestrated yet exhibit a solid craftsmanship, perhaps leading back to the discipline acquired during his recent civilian post as Inspector of the Russian Naval Bands. 

Capriccio Espagnol, Op. 34 (1887) is in five parts, played without intervening pauses:

            I.          Alborada. Vivo e strepitoso

            II.        Variations.  Andante con moto

            III.       Alborada.  Vivo e strepitoso

            IV.       Scene and Gypsy Song.  Allegro [a series of five cadenzas]

            V.        Fandango of the Asturias.  Fandango-Alborada-Coda

The composer wrote the following in his Autobiography:

The opinion formed by both critics and public, that the capriccio is a magnificently           orchestrated piece, is wrong.  The capriccio is a brilliant composition for the orchestra.              The change of timbres, the felicitous choice of melodic designs and figurative patterns,           exactly suiting each instrument, brief virtuoso cadenzas for instrument solo, the rhythm            of the percussion instruments, etc. constitute here the very essence of the composition              and not its garb or orchestration.  All in all, the capriccio is a purely external piece, but             vividly brilliant for all that.

Capriccio Espagnol was premiered at a Russian Symphony concert in St. Petersburg on October 31, 1887, with the composer conducting.

American composer George Gershwin (1898-1937) is perhaps best remembered for combining elements of jazz into classical music.  A New Yorker, born in Brooklyn, he started out his career as a “song plugger” in Tin Pan Alley before producing his first hit song, “Swanee,” in 1919.  His first major work, Rhapsody in Blue, for piano and jazz orchestra, appeared in 1924.   Teaming up with his brother Ira, a lyricist, he composed the music for a string of highly successful musical comedies.  A Second Rhapsody, for piano and orchestra appeared in 1931, though it was not successful at the time.  Perhaps partly because of its failure, Gershwin took a two-week vacation to Havana in February, 1932.  A byproduct of this trip was his Cuban Overture, composed during the following summer.  Originally titled Rumba, the work features a variety of Latin American percussion and, of course, Cuban (Caribbean) rhythms.   Cuban Overture was premiered by Albert Coates and the New York Philharmonic at Lewisohn Stadium August 16, 1932 before a crowd of more than 17,000 people.

Fellow Brooklynite Aaron Copland (1900-1990) was known as the “Dean” of American composers during his lifetime.  In 1924 he studied at the Fontainebleau School of Music near Paris with composer Nadia Boulanger, who encouraged him to seek out his own path.  Upon returning to the United States, for the next decade Copland wrote compositions that, while containing jazz elements, were for the most part very dissonant and not well-received.  As a result, after some soul-searching, he changed to a broader, less complex style that essentially became his trademark.  A trip to Mexico and the friendship of composer Carlos Chavez there inspired him to compose the symphonic poem   El Salón Mexico (1936).  The title is that of an actual place (closed in 1960) in Mexico City, which was at that time the dancing capital of Mexico.  Copland described in in his Autobiography:

Perhaps my piece might never have been written if it hadn't been for the existence of the Salón México. I remember reading about it for the first time in a tourist guide book: "Harlem-type nightclub for the people, grand Cuban orchestra. Three halls: one for   people dressed in your way, one for people dressed in overalls but shod, and one for the  barefoot." When I got there, I also found a sign on the wall which said: "Please don't throw lighted cigarette butts on the floor so the ladies don't burn their feet."

Arturo Márquez (b. 1950) is one of the leading Mexican composers of his generation.  Originally schooled in California, he studied piano and composition at Conservatorio Nacional de Música in Mexico City (1970-75) and, later, private composition studies with Federico Ibarra, Joaquín Gutiérrez Heras, and Héctor Quintanar.  Later, in the United States he was the recipient of a Fulbright Scholarship and holds the Master of Fines Arts in Composition degree from California Institute of the Arts in Valencia, California. 

The recipient of many awards, Márquez remained virtually unknown outside his native Mexico until the 1990s when, inspired by the ballroon dancing in Veracruz, he composed his Danzonas. Danzón No. 2 (1994), his most famous work, became famous when Gustavo Dudamel programmed it on the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra’s 2007 tour of the United States and Europe. 

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco (1895-1968) was born in Florence, Tuscany, Italy.  He was already known as a composer of musical works, particularly those associated with literary topics, when he met the Spanish guitarist Andrés Segovia (1893-1987) at the International Society for Contemporary Music conference held in Venice in 1932.  From that point forward, he had a real affinity for the instrument, composing over 100 works for the instrument.  In 1938, being a Jew, he felt compelled to leave Mussolini’s Italy and, through the work of conductor Arturo Toscanini and violinist Jascha Heifetz, came to the United States.  In 1946 he became a U.S. citizen.

The Concerto for Guitar and Orchestra No. 1 , the last work of Castelnuovo Tedesco composed in Europe, was premiered by Segovia in October, 1939.  It was the first performance of a guitar concerto in the twentieth century. The work itself is in the traditional three movements (Allegretto, Andantino alla romanza, and Ritmico e cavalleresco-Quasi andante-Tempo Io), with the guitarist accompanied by a small orchestra.  The composer said of the work, “Strangely enough, although it was written at the most tragic period of my life, it is one of my most serene compositions.”

Claflin Hill Symphony Orchestra Notes for December 9, 2023

From all seasons to one season, and back again:

It is interesting to note how much of the music of “The Holiday Season”—some of it performed at the Claflin Hill Holiday Pops concert this year—was either composed during different times of the year or originally intended for non-seasonal performances.

Before going into detail about selected carols and other pieces, The Holiday Season itself is difficult, if not impossible to define.  A century ago, the “Christmas Buying Season” started on the day after Thanksgiving (today known as Black Friday).  The crowds on that first day, whether at State and Madison in Chicago or in front of Macy’s in New York, were enormous.  Thanksgiving itself had been celebrated in many states on the last Thursday of November when, on December 26, 1941 Congress enacted a law making Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday of November, whether it occurred on the last Thursday of the month or not.  Merchants have since expanded the season back, first to Veterans’ Day and then all the way back to Halloween.  

And it gets even worse. The Hallmark Channel starts showing Holiday movies in September and, perhaps in a satirically defiant vein, Turner Classic Movies (TCM) showed an evening of vintage Christmas movies this past July.  Thus the terms “in season” or “out of season” have nearly lost their meanings.

Going back in history to the late Baroque era (ca. 1600-1750) we find the “Hallelujah Chorus,” from the pen of Georg Friedrich Händel (1685-1759) performed today in a variety of different guises--by itself at Pops concerts, at the end of abbreviated Messiah sing-alongs (where it wasn’t intended to be), or in its proper place at the end of Part II of the oratorio in a performance of featuring all three parts.  Part I of Messiah is the Christmas part, Part II is the Passion part and Part II is the Easter part.  Händel actually composed Messiah in a few short weeks during July and August, 1741—a miracle, so to speak, although he did borrow a number of love songs he had composed previously (the “Hallelujah Chorus” not being one of them).  The premiere of Messiah took place not at Christmastime, but at Easter, on April 13, 1742 in Dublin, Ireland, as a charity event in support of the mayor’s fund.

“Sleigh Ride” is another seasonal piece composed entirely out-of-season.  Leroy Anderson (1908-1975), a good friend of Arthur Fiedler, was the official Boston Pops composer when he composed the winter classic at his Connecticut home during a heat wave in the summer of 1948!  

“Winter Wonderland” is an example of a song that was never intended to be a Christmas song, but gradually became accepted as such.  The music is by the American composer Felix William Bernard (1897-1944), a Jew, and the lyrics by Richard Bernhard Smith (1901-1935), an Episcopalian, written while he was being treated for tuberculosis.  The song was first recorded by RCA in 1934.  Tragically, Smith died the following year.  There is no mention of Christmas in the lyrics.  One internet source states that the song was not associated with Christmas until Doris Day’s 1964 Christmas Album.  That simply isn’t true.  I recall it being sung at Christmastime long before that.

Just as the beginning of The Holiday Season has become difficult to define, so has its end.  Most Americans assume a “back to work” mentality on January 2nd, though the “12 Days of Christmas” would place the season’s end on January 6th, Epiphany, the “12th Day of Christmas.”  In Latin America “Three Kings Day” is when children receive presents, not so much on Christmas Day.  With that in mind, there are three “Epiphany” works that were actually composed as “Christmas” pieces.  Thus, while the first three works mentioned can be seen as tending toward an expansion of The Holiday Season, the next three lean to a contraction of two seasons, placing Epiphany into Christmas, just as most Nativity sets do.

The music for “Three Great Kings” was inserted by French composer Georges Bizet (1838-1875) into his incidental music for the play L'Arlésienne, by Alphonse Daudet.  It appears in the “Farandole” finale of the composer’s L'Arlésienne Suite No. 2.   To say that Bizet composed the music isn’t quite right.  It was already well-known as a Provençal Christmas carol from Avignon celebrating the Epiphany and the Three Kings.  It also has surfaced as the “Marche de Turenne,” attributed to French Baroque composer Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632-1687).

On the other hand, “We Three Kings (of Orient Are)” is entirely American.  Pittsburgh-born John Henry Hopkins, Jr. (1820-1891), was a clergyman and a graduate of the General Theological Seminary in New York City, where he became an instructor.  He had many talents, playing flute and bugle as well as designing stained glass windows.  He composed both the words and music to “We Three Kings” in 1857 for a Christmas pageant held at the seminary.  It was published in 1863 in his Carols, Hymns, and Songs.

Italian-American Gian Carlo Menotti (1911-2007) was a composer of high standing, marked by his operas The Medium and The Telephone and for his founding and administering of the Festival of Two Worlds in Spoleto, Italy, and the Spoleto Festival USA in Charleston, South Carolina.  On December 24, 1951, Christmas Eve, his Amahl and the Night Visitors, an Epiphany opera, was broadcast on NBC.  It was the first opera ever written for television.

Finally, as a Coda to the above, the secular song most often identified with The Holiday Season, was first published in 1857 as “The One-horse Open Sleigh.”  James Lord Pierpont (1822-1893) composed the song at Simpson Tavern in Medford, Massachusetts, in 1850.  A plaque there states that the song tells of the sleigh races held on Salem Street.  According to most sources, though dedicated to John P. Ordway, the head of a minstrel show, the song was written either as a drinking song or to be sung by a Sunday school choir for—ready for it—THANKSGIVING!

Happy Holidays,

Jon Ceander Mitchell