Season Schedule

About the Music

Andy Akiho (b. 1979)
Following his highly successful ProMusica 2023 debut, trailblazing composer and steel pannist Andy Akiho returns to the Southern Theatre for a pair of concertos, the first for steel pan and the second, a new Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, among his most recent works. Though only in his mid-40s, Akiho has already amassed an impressive vitae, including his nomination as a Pulitzer finalist, Grammy nominations, and a handful of significant prizes, among them the Rome Prize and an award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Recent engagements include those from the New York Philharmonic, the Oregon Symphony and the National Symphony Orchestra.

Concerto for Steel Pans & Orchestra
Instrumentation: Scored for flute, piccolo, pairs of oboes and clarinets, bass clarinet, bassoon, contrabassoon, pairs of horns and trumpets, trombone, tuba, timpani, percussion, piano, harp and strings
Composed: 2011
Duration: 12 minutes

Akiho’s single-movement Concerto for Steel Pans and Orchestra, from 2011, launches out of the gate like an explosive thoroughbred. We are immediately presented with the building blocks of this exciting score, including a blistering unison riff shared by the steel pan and snare drum, and a battery of ostinato (repeating) patterns heard throughout the large orchestra, underscoring the opening percussive drive. The marked violin theme that follows will prove among the longest-hewn ideas of the concerto, much of which capitalizes on short bursts of energy.

A pair of contrasting ostinati quickly follows, a give and take between the slow-moving low brass and rapid-fire steel pan. This, in turn, gives way to a relaxed four-note cell played by the soloist alone, and it is this idea, along with its various transformations, that serves as the basis for much of the composition. It is worth noting that, while the concept of the ostinato, whether energetic or slow and supportive, betrays the influence of minimalist composers like John Adams and Phillip Glass, Akiho’s use of orchestral color, not to mention the stunning palette offered by the steel pans, is highly unique.

The second half of the score is marked by an extended solo cadenza, the end of which relies on the four-note cell, now at increasingly higher pitch levels. With the orchestra’s return, Akiho looks to the ensemble as an extension of the pans, whether rhythmically or melodically, to brilliant effect. Having regained the energy from the start, the concerto then drives to a quick, relentless conclusion.

Notes by Michael Cirigliano for the Oregon Symphony:
Nisei for Cello and String Orchestra
Instrumentation: Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes (oboe and English horn), clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, tuba, and strings
Composed: 2024
Duration: 25 minutes

Throughout his career, Akiho has written concertos featuring steel pans, ceramic sculptures, and even a pair of ping-pong players. So did it feel conservative to write a concerto for a standard orchestral instrument like the cello? Not at all, the composer says.

“For me, nothing I write is standard. Writing for the cello was new territory to me, but every piece I write feels like that. I just approach it like a kid, trying to learn as much as I can about the instrument.”

The inspiration behind Akiho’s latest work is Jeffrey Zeigler, his close friend and collaborator for 11 years. A cellist known for breaking down boundaries between classical and pop music, Zeigler has performed countless world premieres, toured the world as a member of the cutting-edge Kronos Quartet, and played in rock bands and contemporary music ensembles. But Akiho wasn’t looking to incorporate any of those avant-garde aspects of Zeigler’s world into his concerto.

“Jeffrey is so innovative in his music-making, using pedals and incorporating electronics, but I wanted us to create a super old-school, OG sound and really focus on the transparency of the music and his incredible playing. I wanted to go somewhere people wouldn’t expect either
of us to go.”

The range of characters we’ll encounter in Akiho’s new concerto mirrors the versatility Zeigler brings to his work — from executing driving, “super minimalist” rhythms in the first movement to delivering moments of sublime operatic expression in the central movement, which Akiho likens to “the ballad on a rock album.”

While Akiho and Zeigler’s collaborative friendship provided fuel for the composer’s concerto, so did notions of memory, nostalgia, and their shared heritage as second-generation Japanese Americans, which the pair didn’t discover until years into their friendship.

“The piece represents the strength we’ve built as two musicians growing and learning from each other and creating music together. I didn’t want to take these connections to Japanese culture literally or mimic a particular sound, but they did become a source of subconscious inspiration.

The shared heritage between Akiho and Zeigler did provide literal inspiration in one regard: the concerto’s title, Nisei, is the Japanese term for “second generation.”

© Michael Cirigliano II
Michael Cirigliano II is a freelance writer who has worked with the Cleveland Orchestra, Oregon Symphony, LA Phil, National Arts Centre Orchestra, Minnesota Orchestra, and Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827): Symphony No. 4 in B-flat Major
Instrumentation: Scored for flute, pairs of oboes, clarinets, bassoons, trumpets and horns, timpani, and strings
Composed: 1806
Duration: 34 minutes

In the summer of 1806, having recently completed his opera Leonore and the three magisterial “Razumovsky” string quartets, Beethoven traveled to the summer castle of Prince Lichnowsky, one of Beethoven’s most steadfast patrons. The estate was located northwest of Austria, in Silesia, near the contemporary borders of the Czech Republic and Poland. Here Beethoven set to work on what would become his Fourth Symphony. The weeks spent in Lichnowsky’s company were fruitful ones, albeit Beethoven’s visit coming to an abrupt and unexpected end. One evening, the prince invited guests, possibly including French officers, to his residence, and requested Beethoven perform for them. Despite Lichnowsky’s repeated pleas, Beethoven refused. When the prince jokingly threatened Beethoven with house arrest, his guest, who believed he was about to be treated like a performing monkey, stormed out into the pouring rain and spent the night at the home of Lichnowsky’s physician.

Before returning to Vienna the following day, Beethoven dispatched the following note:

Prince!

What you are, you are through the accident of birth. What I am, I am through my own efforts. There have been thousands of princes and there will be hundreds more. But there is only one Beethoven!

The episode concluded with Beethoven’s arrival at his apartment in Vienna, where he seized a bust of Prince Lichnowsky and smashed it into a hundred pieces.

The monumental “Eroica” Symphony was now three years behind him, a symphonic offering that Beethoven had no intention of replicating, much less trying to outdo. Indeed, by now a symphonic pattern had begun to emerge—those created on a large scale, whether size or scope, were followed by scores that dialed back the size of the forces involved, were significantly shorter, or simply didn’t deliver the intense emotional punch of that which preceded it. The “Pastoral,” folk-inspired Sixth Symphony, for instance, followed the tumultuous C minor Fifth, and a half year after the dramatic Seventh, with its brooding funeral march and expanded contours, came the charming and witty, Haydnesque Eighth Symphony. Now, in the summer and fall of 1806, at the close of what would prove the most productive period of Beethoven’s lifetime, the famed composer gave himself over to a tight, compact symphony of classical design, a work devoid of any personal or extra-musical subject matter. Yet despite what would appear a “limited” framework within a well-worn genre, the Fourth is the product of a genius at the height of his compositional powers, who had come to regard each new symphony as a unique musical event, an opportunity to reveal new musical truths and a level of expression unequaled before or since.

The Fourth opens mysteriously, with violins playing a descending pattern over sustained winds, pensively hovering in the world of B-flat minor, which it seems reluctant to abandon. Beethoven builds tension with small gestures yet with no actual theme. The music soon drifts to the yet more distant keys before a dramatic explosion of sound sets up the home key of B-flat major for the Allegro vivace. The music is propelled forward by the violins, which are momentarily checked by a descending wind scale before the entire orchestra launches into action. Beethoven creates tremendous “spin,” to quote Sir Donald Tovey, with nothing but arpeggios (bassoon, for example), sustained wind chords, driving eighth notes in the lower strings, dramatic timpani rolls and the simplest of fragments in the violins!

Beethoven’s recapitulations are typically major events—listen to how the tension mounts as the action slows, until only the timpani is left to fill the silence. This moment, though subtle, is among the most harmonically thrilling symphonic passages Beethoven ever conceived: against the pianissimo B-flat timpani roll Beethoven juxtaposes a jarring F-sharp major chord, a grating harmony that is resolved as the bass moves down a half-step, from G-flat to F. Thus is the dominant of B-flat, the home key, achieved, a subtle yet breathtaking coup! The movement’s coda is one of raw power, as Beethoven drives to the double bar with syncopated violins, offbeat accents, the return of the scale material, and a final, hair-raising push from pianissimo to the tremendous fortissimo at its close.

We are in the heart of Beethoven’s so-called “second” or “heroic” period, an era that witnessed some of the most achingly beautiful melodies he ever produced and whose language presaged the Romantic age. The Adagio of the Fourth Symphony is a sublime example; set to a simple, rocking second violin accompaniment that will thread its way throughout the movement, the cantabile theme unfolds in the first violins, soon to be taken up in the winds’ upper registers. The recognizable rondo theme at the start will return several times, anchoring the movement. Interspersed are contrasting episodes, such as the brass-dominated response, the poignant clarinet solo, and the ensuing transitions, ranging from stormy to atmospheric, that lead us back to embellished versions of the rondo theme.

With sheer speed and syncopated phrasing of the Allegro vivace, Beethoven placed great distance between himself and his classical predecessors; the proper Minuets of Mozart’s time have been left in the dust. Even the contours of the movement have been radically expanded, as Beethoven twice repeats both the scherzo proper and the wind-dominated trio. The latter marked Un poco meno Allegro (“a little less fast”), exhibits a peasant-like quality with its drone bass scoring and repetitive gestures, which some in our audience might liken to Sixth Symphony’s folksy flair.

The image that has come down to us of Beethoven as a towering, yet maligned and misunderstood genius, is in many ways spot on, as aptly demonstrated in the aforementioned anecdote. Chronically poor health, deafness, an inability to find love, and his unwillingness to temper his progressive musical ideals all resulted in his turning ever more inward. Only when caught up in the act of creation or surrounded by nature did Beethoven find pure solace. Yet when his spirits allowed, Beethoven could also exude childish charm, someone capable of puns and practical jokes. This is the side of Beethoven we experience in the concluding Allegro ma non troppo. Almost from start to finish, this exuberant perpetuum mobile, established by the opening flurry of sixteenth notes, delivers joy and delight.

Yet, beneath the playful surface lies the essence of Beethoven’s art, drawn from the full human experience: the stormy offbeat chords that enter suddenly and disappear just as quickly; the unbridled joy of the second theme, introduced by the winds with its rollicking, triplet accompaniment; the miraculous development, constructed of minimal material but which in less than thirty seconds moves from despair to nightmarish intensity; and the thrilling coda, with its playful starts and stops and its manic rush to the close. In a mere 355 bars of music, Beethoven takes us on an emotional journey and despite being intensely private, has opened his heart fully. If we listen carefully, we’ll hear all we need to know.

© Marc Moskovitz
marcmoskovitz.org