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Carlos Simon (b. 1986): Fate Now Conquers
Instrumentation: Scored for flute, piccolo, pairs of oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings
Composed: 2020
Duration: 5 minutes

Given his southern roots, and the fact that his father wanted him to be a preacher, it comes as no surprise that Atlanta native, composer and activist Carlos Simon, has found inspiration in the musical worlds of gospel and jazz. But the impressive portfolio of this Kennedy Center composer-in-residence also displays a far broader arc, with works that also draw upon contemporary electronic, neo-romantic, and classical sources. It is the latter that served as the stimulus for his orchestral work heard tonight. Premiered in 2020, Fate Now Conquers references Beethoven, specifically the harmonic underpinnings of the Allegretto from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7.

To understand the true inspiration behind the music, we need to go back to book 22 of Homer’s Iliad (wherein Hector is slain by mighty Achilles). Beethoven quoted these words in his 1815 diary and Simon subsequently found them particularly meaningful:

But now Fate catches me!
Let me not sink into the dust unresisting and inglorious,
But first accomplish great things,
of which future generations too shall hear!

Rather than the above quotation, however, Simon has chosen a different translation (one heretofore unidentifiable by this author) that begins “But fate now conquers…”. To complicate matters, the 1815 diary of Beethoven has long disappeared, though two manuscript copies, made shortly following Beethoven’s death, have survived. The eminent Beethoven scholar Maynard Solomon compared both versions and the above quote is drawn from his article on the subject. Whatever the source, Simon’s Fate Now Conquers makes for a dramatic title and one reflective of Beethoven’s defiant spirit. (It might be added that Beethoven was likely aware of the Homer quotation long before his 1815 citation, since such sentiments are already captured in the composer’s Heiligenstadt Testament—a suicide note of sorts—from 1802. See Symphony No. 2, below).

Simon’s five-minute work certainly breathes the air of Beethoven, particularly in its reliance on motoric rhythms, evident from the very outset and which the composer refers to as “an agitated groove,” coupled with “jolting stabs.” Don’t search for a singable melody, for that is something Beethoven himself often did away with. Rather, keep an ear out for Simon’s brilliant orchestral colors, extreme dynamic range and dramatic flair, all of which effectively capture the Beethovenian spirit and, in Simon’s words, “the uncertainty of life that hovers over us.”

Max Bruch (1838-1920): Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor
Instrumentation: Scored for solo violin, pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons and trumpets, four horns, timpani and strings.
Composed: 1866
Duration: 24 minutes

Despite living well into the twentieth century, the musical language of Max Bruch was steeped in the century of his birth. His first composition, a song for his mother’s birthday, was written at the age of nine, and his last, a work for chorus and orchestra, was composed shortly before his death at age 83. In between, the Cologne-born composer amassed some two hundred works, including orchestra suites and symphonies, choral and chamber music, and works for soloists and orchestra. Throughout, Bruch’s unwavering craftsmanship and flair for melody is manifest. Curiously, the composer feared for his music’s future; for all his ability, he felt he lacked that spark of genius possessed by, say, Johannes Brahms, among his German-speaking contemporaries: “I predict that, as time goes on, he [Brahms] will be more appreciated, while most of my works will be more and more neglected.” Bruch’s concerns proved prescient—Brahms’ masterworks soon took their rightful place in the classical canon, where they remain today, while the majority of Bruch’s compositions quickly faded from concert life. The latter’s First Violin Concerto is one of the few exceptions and remains a beloved staple of the repertoire (Bruch’s two other violin concertos, meanwhile, are virtually unknown).

The G minor Concerto was written for the famous virtuoso Joseph Joachim, who offered valuable advice to the composer during the composition process. Even the “concerto” title was apparently Joachim’s—Bruch wanted to label the work a “fantasy” rather than a concerto, on account of the informal nature of the first movement. Rather than launch his concerto with a traditional orchestral introduction, Bruch opens with a Prelude that features a pair of unaccompanied cadenzas near the outset before dramatically setting the violin over a hushed orchestral heartbeat. Thus is the rhapsodic nature of Bruch’s work set in motion. The extended Prelude also includes a soulful violin line that the composer underscores with the horn, illustrating his striking flair for orchestration. As the violin is put through its virtuosic paces, the tempo accelerates, eventually ushering in the long-awaited, albeit brief, Allegro moderato, featuring the orchestra alone. Indeed, it may be noted that the concerto as a whole lacks any true dialogue between orchestra and soloist, another clue to Bruch’s initial “fantasy” conception.

Following a return of the opening cadenza, the movement dovetails directly into a loving Adagio revealing Bruch’s penchant for lush harmony, colorful orchestration, and tender melodies, including a noble second theme that ushers in a series of violin arabesques. The finale, marked Allegro energico, opens with a mysterious, murmuring accompaniment that sets the stage for the first theme of the movement, a Romani-inspired melody that the violinist harmonizes with impressive double-stopping. The movement features virtuosic violin writing and dramatic orchestral scoring, including a broad, impassioned second theme, the first phrase of which is stated by the orchestra before being taken up by the soloist. Among the concerto’s most hair-raising passages are those found in quick succession towards the movement’s conclusion, where a pair of orchestral climaxes give way to deceptive resolutions. The coda thus attained, the music rushes with breathless gusto to the triumphant final bars.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827): Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 36
Instrumentation: Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings
Composed: 1802
Duration: 32 minutes

Though probably begun at the end of 1800, the bulk of the work on the Second Symphony occupied Beethoven during the summer of 1802, a period that proved among the composer’s most consequential. Some four years earlier, the 26-year-old Beethoven had begun to experience fluctuating hearing loss. Now, upon the advice of his physician, Beethoven left the bustle and noise of his adopted home of Vienna to summer in the far more tranquil town of nearby Heiligenstadt. But his spirits soon spiraled downward, as he faced the inevitability of deafness. This was the summer of the famed Heiligenstadt Testament, in effect Beethoven’s last will and testament, a heart-rending suicide note from a composer who saw no way forward without the ability to hear. The summer did not end in suicide, fortunately, and the Testament would only be discovered years later, following Beethoven’s death. Refusing to succumb to despair, Beethoven instead marshaled his reserves and lived for another twenty-five years. The act of turning inward proved pivotal, for by doing so Beethoven mined previously untapped creative urges. The results of these efforts are generally regarded as among the most profound artistic achievements of the Western world.

The grand opening of the Second Symphony requires nearly three minutes to unfold. The score then slides effortlessly into the Allegro con brio, but instead of assigning the melody to a single instrument or group, Beethoven divides up his material between the lower strings and the winds, while the violins are left to momentarily take up the role of accompanist. Take note of this opening’s components: the clipped, energetic sixteenth-notes and the evenly-paced eighth-notes that follow provide the means for rich development later.

In the A major Larghetto the composer experiments with new colors and effects, techniques that would later become part of the romantic musical vocabulary. Constructed in large-scale sonata form, the movement has been accurately described as both childlike and innocent, characteristics certainly at odds with the circumstances under which the music was composed. The rambunctious Scherzo (Allegro) is rife with explosive dynamic changes, designed for shock value, and countered by the lovely folk-inspired wind writing at its center. Traditionally, symphonic finales tend to be somewhat lighthearted, allowing the audience to depart in high spirits, and sure enough, this Allegro molto is a joyous Haydnesque romp, full of good humor and unexpected starts and stops.

The Second Symphony was premiered at the Theater an der Wien in April of 1803, under Beethoven’s baton, on a massive program that also featured his recently composed Third Piano Concerto, the oratorio Christ on the Mount of Olives, and the First Symphony from several years prior. Not surprisingly, Beethoven’s explosive gestures and wide-ranging harmonic palette unnerved his critics, one deeming the symphony “a crass monster, a hideously writhing wounded dragon, that refuses to expire…” It was a scenario that was to play out repeatedly over the course of Beethoven’s lifetime. Sometimes his audiences rallied around him, at other times he left his listeners bewildered, but Beethoven was never to be swayed from his course. The musical world has been monumentally enriched as a result, not only on account of his defiance and musical genius but by his deafness as well.

© Marc Moskovitz
www.marcmoskovitz.com