Charles Griffes (1884-1920):

"The White Peacock" (1919)

Charles Griffes was one of the leading American composers of his day. His early death cut short what promised to be a very successful career. He was born in NY state and, apart from four years studying in Berlin, he never strayed far from his birthplace.

He was a gifted pianist and went to Berlin to improve his prospects as a concert soloist. While there, however, he found, with the help of teachers such as Humperdinck, that he actually like composition most. For several years after his return, his music reflected the German style. He took up a teaching position in the country and, perhaps because of his shy, sensitive and modest manner, never really aspired to the bright lights of New York or other Eastern cultural centers. He also enjoyed painting water colors.

His style progressed through impressionistic and orientalist (some elements of both styles appearing in this piece), towards atonality. The White Peacock, a solo ballet, is one of his last works.

Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921):

Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, op 61

Allegro non troppo

Andantino quasi allegretto

Molto moderato e maestoso

Those of you who are fans of Saint-Saëns, or perhaps heard our performance of his "Organ" symphony last year, will be well aware that he wrote a great deal of good music in addition to Danse Macabre andCarnival of the Animals. Indeed, he would be appalled to know that these, especially the latter which he refused to have published in his lifetime, are his best-known works!

Camille Saint-Saëns was, in a word, a genius. As a child, he was one of the great prodigies as both performer and composer (his careers in both these spheres were well advanced at three-and-a-half!). His ability to play from memory was phenomenal - when he gave his formal piano debut at the relatively advanced age of ten, he offered, as an encore, to play any of Beethoven's thirty-two sonatas from memory. As an adult, he was what we would now call a "renaissance" man: as well as being a successful composer and the leading organist of his day, he was adept in astronomy, archeology, poetry and playwriting, and loved philosophy and all the sciences. Berlioz (who was later one of his few friends) said of him "He knows everything but lacks inexperience". He was also an avid traveler, especially to North Africa (where he died) but also Russia (where he met and liked Tchaikovsky), America and many trips to England.

His rather serious, bookish nature combined with his beak-like nose and piercing eyes made it hard for him to make close friends and during his long life he stirred up quite a bit of envy and resentment from his fellows. In fact, his reputation today is due more to his English and American admirers than the French! He had rather narrow views on music, especially in his latter years, and for some reason waged a vendetta against Debussy. His reaction to Rite of Spring was speechless horror!

This, his last and best-loved violin concerto, was written in 1880 and although unquestionably a virtuoso's showcase, it is lyrical, warm and full of beauty. The middle movement is a lilting barcarolle. The brilliant finale is full of vitality.

Antonín Dvoÿrák (1841-1904):

Symphony No. 7 in D minor, Op. 70

Allegro maestoso

Poco adagio

Scherzo: vivace - poco meno mosso

Finale: allegro

Dvoÿrák has become one of Symphony Pro Musica's favorite composers, the orchestra having recently played the Violin Concerto, the ninth symphony ("New World") and some of the Slavonic dances. There is no doubt that his music is a joy for audiences and performers alike. The seventh symphony is a little more serious than some of the others, and is typically contrasted with the D major symphony which preceded it. But to the ordinary listener, the typical exuberance of the composer is never far away and the work contains some of his most beautiful music.

Dvoÿrák was born in 1841 in rural Bohemia (the western half of what is now the Czech Republic), about twenty miles from Prague. Unlike so many other composers, he came from very humble origins and, but for some very lucky circumstances, he might never have made it as a composer and most probably would have spent his life, like his father, serving the region's famous beer and butchering meat.

His first break came when his wise parents sent him to Zlonice, to learn German since Bohemia was controlled by Austria, and the ability to speak German was essential for anyone to rise above peasant status. He proved to be only a passable linguist but his teacher discovered his true talent: music. The next major step in his career took him to the capital, Prague.

Although he did fairly well at the Organ school, he graduated into as much obscurity as he had known before. The next ten years were a hard struggle for him - he scraped (literally) a meager living as a violinist/violist in an orchestra, and spent his scant free time studying scores. It was during this period of playing in the pit, that his love of opera really developed. Yes, we think of Dvoÿrák as a writer mainly of symphonic music - but he considered himself an opera composer! Sadly only one of his operas, Rusalka, is ever played these days, and that rarely.

Recognition for Dvoÿrák came slowly. By the time he was forty, he had a well-deserved reputation, at least in central Europe. A few years later he started on his international career, first with several visits to England, where he was very popular. Compared with a century before when Mozart journeyed to London, Dvoÿrák was able to ride in one of his beloved trains in comparable comfort. It was for one of these visits (a commission from the Philharmonic Society), that in 1884-5 he wrote this symphony.

The rather sombre mood is set by the opening theme, but the mood is dispelled quite quickly (though the subject returns several times) by a horn/oboe duet and later a beautiful waltz-like melody which vies for supremacy with the main theme (the latter gets the last word). The second movement is a jewel. It opens with a tranquil hymn-like passage in the woodwinds and builds up to a pair of ecstatic climaxes, after which it ends as quietly and peacefully as it began. It is one of the composer's finest creations.

The scherzo is a superb "furiant" with its characteristic juxtaposition of duple and triple time - listen, for example, to the two simultaneous themes of the opening. After another gloomy opening, the finale alternates drama and levity, finally ending with an uplifting major-key version of the opening.