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About the Music

Jesse Montgomery (b. 1981): Strum
Instrumentation: Scored for string orchestra
Composed: 2006, rev. 2012
Duration: 8 minutes

Raised in New York City’s Lower East Side, composer Jesse Montgomery got her start as a violinist and continued her studies at Juilliard, where she took a bachelor’s degree. By 2012, however, her interest had swung toward composition and her subsequent trajectory as a composer has been nothing less than meteoric. Commissioning institutions include the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, and the Sphinx Organization. She has received grants from the ASCAP Foundation, Chamber Music America, and the American Composers Orchestra, among other organizations, and her work has been performed by such prominent ensembles as the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, the Philharmonia Orchestra, Atlanta Symphony, Dallas Symphony, and the San Francisco Symphony. In short, Montgomery has become one of America’s most prominent living composers.

Jesse describes Strum as follows:

“Originally conceived for the formation of a cello quintet, the voicing is often spread wide over the ensemble, giving the music an expansive quality of sound. Within Strum I utilized texture motives, layers of rhythmic or harmonic ostinati that string together to form a bed of sound for melodies to weave in and out. The strumming pizzicato serves as a texture motive and the primary driving rhythmic underpinning of the piece. Drawing on American folk idioms and the spirit of dance and movement, the piece has a kind of narrative that begins with fleeting nostalgia and transforms into ecstatic celebration.”

Montgomery arranged Strum for string quartet in 2008. It has since become one of her most frequently heard compositions. The version heard tonight, for string orchestra, incorporates double bass.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827): Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat Major, Op. 73, “Emperor”
Instrumentation: Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, and trumpets, timpani, and strings
Composed: 1809
Duration: 38 minutes

Ludwig van Beethoven harbored a complicated, lifelong, love-hate relationship with the nobility. On the one hand, he disdained much of what the aristocracy stood for (domination over the commoner), though he also harbored the erroneous belief that he sprang from noble stock. Beethoven also maintained that his artistry placed him on equal footing—or higher still—as those born with aristocratic titles. Yet as a workaday composer, he was also dependent upon the goodwill and financial support of the nobility; unlike earlier generations of composers who took orders from or worked for the aristocracy or the church, Beethoven broke free of this mold, believing—and largely succeeding—that he should be in control of his destiny, yet supported by others. It was a needle nearly impossible to thread yet somehow Beethoven pulled it off.

This push and pull with the Austrian elite came to a head in the year 1809, when Beethoven, one of Europe’s greatest pianists and composers, threatened to leave Austria for Kassel, the capital of Westphalia where Napoleon had installed his brother Jérôme as king. In January of that year, the thirty-nine-year-old Beethoven accepted an offer from Jérôme to serve as his city’s Kapellmeister or director of music. But shortly thereafter, Beethoven commenced negotiations with several Viennese patrons, hoping to remain in Vienna.

Once the annuity was established, Beethoven got down to business, and in or around April, he brought work on the E-flat concerto to completion. Unfortunately, around the time Beethoven was putting the final touches on his manuscript, Austria declared war on France. Within a month the French army had Vienna surrounded and began bombarding the capital. Beethoven took refuge in his brother’s basement, writing to his publisher that there was “nothing but drums, cannons, men, misery of all sorts” around him. He covered his head with pillows to preserve what little was left of his hearing.

Beethoven dedicated his 73rd opus to Archduke Rudolph, among the composer’s staunchest and most steadfast benefactors. Besides the concerto, Beethoven ultimately dedicated 14 compositions to Rudolph, including the Archduke Trio, the Hammerklavier Sonata, the Missa Solemnis, and his Piano Sonata No. 26, Les Adieux or “Farewell,” a work written to mark Rudolph’s departure from Vienna during the bombardment. Unfortunately, it would be another two years before the concerto received its premiere, by which time Beethoven could no longer hear well enough to perform the work himself.

While there is no consensus regarding the origins of the epithet, “Emperor,” there is no disagreement about the composition’s magisterial character. It is cast in Beethoven’s “heroic” key of E-flat and possesses a martial quality and breadth (the first movement is the longest of any of his piano concertos). True to Beethoven’s revolutionary traits, the concerto also blazes a progressive path, one that signaled the coming of the Romantic age. The concerto opens, for instance, with a series of three triumphant orchestral chords, each answered in turn by a solo cadenza. Not only has the expected orchestral introduction been pushed off, creating tremendous drama and expectation, but by doing so Beethoven broke with a tradition that he inherited himself, for he explicitly forbade his soloists from improvising these cadenzas (and which he controlled by writing it all out for all subsequent soloists). Only after the pianist has established the role as the unbridled hero do matters get underway, which they finally do with the Allegro’s propulsive first theme.

The second movement, a nocturne, is among Beethoven’s most moving creations. We often imagine Beethoven as the quintessential temperamental musician, attacking the keyboard, creating tempestuous, explosive music, and refusing to take orders from his superiors. But listening to Beethoven’s muted strings and heartbreaking piano writing, we can also appreciate his passionate, compassionate side; like so much surrounding this musical giant, he was a man of complex contradictions. Yet all too soon, this poignant slow movement seems to descend into another world: Beethoven is preparing to slip into the finale without pause, another signal that he is single-handedly heralding a new age.

For all his radical music-making, Beethoven also held tight to many traditions that made Vienna the musical capital of the Western world. Indeed, Beethoven concludes his concerto with a Rondo (framed by literal or nearly literal repetition of the opening material), a form to which Mozart, among others, held tight. Beethoven spins out something that, on paper, can be reduced to A-B-A-C-A-B-A, though such a description hardly does justice to the overwhelming power of what transpires. Again, the start of the movement tells us much of what we need to know: the mysterious opening bars of the segue, a heroic piano theme that ushers in the movement proper, and finally, the martial orchestral answer that sets the tone for the robust finale. Beethoven may not have been at the keyboard for the work’s premiere, but his undeniable power, sensitivity, and spirit were—and remain—evident throughout.

Franz Schubert (1797-1828): Symphony No. 8 in B Minor, D. 759, “Unfinished”
Instrumentation: Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, trumpets, and horns, three trombones, timpani, and strings
Composed: 1822
Duration: 38 minutes

Few works in the symphonic literature have evoked as much mystery as Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony. Having completed two movements, Schubert sketched out ideas on the piano for a third, a scherzo, but never followed through. Neither did he pursue a fourth. Is it possible that having dispatched two miraculous movements, Schubert did not believe additional music would rise to the same level? It seems a ridiculous notion, given that Schubert dispatched some of his greatest music in the six years he still had to live. More likely, he became consumed with other compositional pursuits or simply felt following two triple-time movements with yet another, as would be typical of a minuet or scherzo, would be one ¾ time movement too many.

Work on the B minor Symphony progressed during the year 1822, a period marking the start of Schubert’s real musical maturity. The previous year, having long labored for recognition within Vienna’s musical community, he was finally granted admission into the Gesellschaft Der Musikfreunde, The Society for the Friends of Music of Vienna, arguably Europe’s foremost society dedicated to musical performance. This meant Schubert’s music could now be performed by professional players and garner official reviews. For the twenty-five-year-old composer, that also meant acceptance and publicity. Indeed, a year later he was awarded an honorary diploma from the Graz Music Society. In gratitude, he sent the Society the two movements of a B minor Symphony. It is unknown, however, whether this music was composed specifically for Graz or merely lay completed on his writing table.

Regardless of the circumstances, what the Graz organization received reflected the start of the Romantic music tradition. This included Schubert’s preference for long, spun-out melodies, rather than the development of small musical motives, as practiced by his Viennese predecessors Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. And rather than relying so heavily on the violins, as earlier composers often did, Schubert assigned his material to a wide variety of instruments, thus enriching his orchestral palette.

We can almost hear the approach to the symphony orchestra change within the Allegro moderato’s opening bars, as the hushed principal theme is ushered in by the celli and bassi alone. Only after a completed statement do the violins enter, albeit not with a melody but rather a stirring accompaniment. The second theme, among Schubert’s most well-known melodies, will again be given over to the celli. In other words, Schubert is searching for new colors, rather than turning de facto to the fiddles, as he had done in his earlier symphonies.

The sonata-form first movement is followed by a sonatina, that is sonata form minus the development section at its center. Again, we hear Schubert’s search for warmth in the Andante con moto, with its beautiful reliance on horns, clarinets, and celli. Keep an ear out for Schubert’s equally breathtaking accompaniments—as one of the world’s greatest song composers, Schubert had a natural flair for striking the perfect balance between inspired melody and an equally evocative counterpart.

For all the ink that has been spilled concerning the sole existence of two movements, it seems eerily fitting that Schubert concluded his B minor Symphony as he did, given his tragically brief thirty-one years of life. We might naturally wish to have had still more music from this undeniable genius but by the time we reach the closing bar of his poignant B minor Symphony, we might just as easily come away feeling that Schubert had said all there was to say.

Johann Strauss Jr. (1825-1899): Emperor Waltz, Op. 437
Instrumentation: Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, trumpets, four horns, three trombones, timpani, percussion harp, and strings
Composed: 1889
Duration: 10 minutes

Admittedly, classical music is a relatively competitive field, but it has rarely appeared as threatening as in mid-19th century Vienna, where the battle between Johann Strauss Senior and Junior played out. Johann Strauss Sr., among the most beloved musical figures of his day, did everything he could to dissuade his son from pursuing a path similar to his own (he had designs on the boy eventually becoming a banker), so when he caught him practicing the violin, he literally attempted to beat all musical passion out of him. The whipping did not take. Years later, when Strauss Jr. sought to start a rival orchestra, many were reluctant to become involved, fearing angering the old man. Finally, during the 1848 uprising, the public rivalry came to a head: the father sided with the monarchy, the son with the revolutionaries. Consequently, when the Habsburgs were once again on solid footing, Strauss Jr. was denied propitious professional advancement. It was only with his father’s death of scarlet fever that the young man’s fortunes truly began to change. He merged both orchestras, began touring, and composed patriotic works to honor the emperor. Though plagued by ill health (phobias, hypochondria, and physical exhaustion), Johann Junior’s fame soon eclipsed that of his father, thus earning him the sobriquet, “The Waltz King.”

Unlike Beethoven’s “Emperor” Concerto, Strauss’ Emperor Waltz, or Kaiser-Waltzer, is linked not simply to the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph I, but to his Prussian counterpart Emperor Wilhelm II, and was intended as a symbolic “friendship toast” between the two rulers. Curiously, the work begins not as a waltz at all but as a gentle march. The brief introduction concludes with a lyrical cello cadenza, after which a string of waltzes follow one after another, some tender, others full-blooded but all capturing the sparkling chandeliers and dizzying spins of the 19th-century Viennese ballroom.

© Marc Moskovitz
marcmoskovitz.org