Stockport Symphony Orchestra 16 December 2018:
A Young Person's Magical Guide to the Orchestra
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) – Peter and the Wolf (1936)
After leaving amid the tumult of revolution in 1918 and achieving stardom in New York and Paris, Prokofiev returned to the Soviet Union in 1936 and was welcomed as a national hero. It was no easy time for an artist; earlier the same year, Shostakovich had been denounced in Pravda for elitist and formalistic tendencies. Perhaps with this in mind, Prokofiev readily accepted a commission from Natalya Sats, director of the Central Children's Theatre in Moscow, for a 'musical symphony' for children. Turning away from the genres of symphony, opera and ballet which defined his career, he instead produced a unique, musically-illustrated story to introduce the instruments of the orchestra. The premise is simple: each character is denoted by a theme for certain instruments, telling the tale of the young Peter (strings), who meets a duck (oboe), bird (flute) and cat (clarinet) in the woods, to the displeasure of his grandfather (bassoon). A wolf (horns) appears and is caught by Peter, before being led away to the zoo by hunters (timpani).
Under this child-friendly veneer, Prokofiev was careful to weave in a few themes to appease potential critics. The story of an idealised young Pioneer challenging and bettering the old, un-Bolshevik world of his grandfather, and of man overcoming nature, would surely have appealed to Soviet sensibilities. The animals' themes all make aesthetic sense, but the grandfather's stern bassoon theme is pompous and faintly ridiculous – and is that a whiff of the leitmotif for Wotan's spear from Wagner's Ring halfway through? Wagner uses that theme to represent rules, treaties and the old world, and in Peter and the Wolf, the grandfather is left literally and figuratively hobbling at the rear of the victory procession.
Peter and the Wolf was completed in just a fortnight, and after a disappointing première, its second outing, narrated by Sats herself, fared much better. Sats was in the Gulag by 1938, though, and Prokofiev's reputation lasted only until his denouncement alongside Shostakovich and Khachaturian ten years later. His estranged wife was sentenced to twenty yeas' hard labour, and he accrued debts of 180 000 Rubles before dying the same day as Stalin in 1953.
John Williams (1932- ), arr. Jerry Brubaker – Harry Potter Symphonic Suite (2001)
Although for many John Williams' name is inextricably linked with the Harry Potter films, it was only the first three films which the American composer scored. Music for the later sequels was provided by Patrick Doyle (No. 4), Nicholas Hooper (5 and 6) and Alexandre Desplat (7a and 7b). Williams' music is full of mystery and mischief, emphasising the innocent youthfulness of the characters in those early films, before the threats of adolescence and maniacal evil wizards darken the atmosphere. Just as the stories and themes of the later books become darker and grander in scope, the scores to the corresponding films have a soundworld of their own.
There is much to admire in the music of Doyle, Hooper and Desplat, but few fans would be able to hum Potter themes by anyone other than Williams, whose music for the first film is woven into this concert suite by Jerry Brubaker. The suite begins with the iconic 'Hedwig's Theme', which appears in all eight films in various guises, before moving on to the flighty Nimbus 2000, the noble but quirky Hogwarts, and a festive shopping trip on Diagon Alley. The menacing threat of Voldemort is rapidly banished by Quidditch, the wizarding broomstick sport, before the homely Family Portrait. Finally, Leaving Hogwarts sees the young wizards off on the train back to Platform 9 ¾ after a hectic year of heroism and schooling.
Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) – The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra (1946)
By some distance Britten's most enduringly popular work, the Young Person's Guide was written to a commission for a Ministry of Education documentary, shortly after the completion of Peter Grimes in 1945. That year had been the 250th anniversary of the death of Henry Purcell, whose music Britten greatly admired, often performing his songs with Peter Pears. In writing music for future generations, Britten turned to the past, selecting as his source material Purcell's incidental music to Abdelazer, a bloodthirsty 1676 play by the early female playwright Aphra Behn.
The narrated work is a guided tour through the orchestra, beginning with a short overture which boldly introduces the theme in imperious colours, followed by brief contributions from each section of the orchestra. 13 short variations are then heard, beginning in the woodwinds with an airy flute and piccolo (1), nostalgic oboe (2), some circus stunts on clarinet (3) and a skipping bassoon (4). The strings follow, starting with a lively Polonaise for violins (5), a beguiling elegy for viola and cello (6 and 7) and some shy offerings from the basses (8). The harp (9) is chased away by horn dramatics (10), a skittish trumpet chase (11) and a proud theme for trombones and tuba (12). Finally, the timpanist introduces his lesser-spotted colleagues in the percussion section: bass drum and cymbals, tambourine and triangle, side drum and wood block, xylophone, castanets and tam-tam, and whip.
Britten then turns again to the past in using a fugue, a form most commonly associated with Bach, to reconcile the orchestra's component parts. Out of this blazing storm emerges the original theme, now transfigured into the major key and declaimed triumphantly by the brass amid the swirling fugue.
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) – Overture ‘1812’ (1880)
One of the most popular war horses of the repertoire, the 1812 Overture tells an almost implausibly sanitised Russian narrative of the Battle of Borodino, describing in triumphantly revisionist terms what Tolstoy strove to record accurately in War and Peace. Tchaikovsky wrote it with little pride, confiding in Nadeja von Meck that “The overture will be very loud and noisy... I wrote it with no warm feeling of love, and so it will have no artistic merits at all.” The overture was written to a commission celebrating the 25th anniversary of Alexander II’s coronation, the Moscow Exhibition of Industry and Arts, and the completion of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, itself built to commemorate the Franco-Russian wars of 1812. The 'victory' of that year was pyrrhic at best: although the French sustained huge losses, the Russians retreated from the Battle of Borodino, abandoning Moscow and burning it on their way out. In writing such an abridged and altered version of history, Tchaikovsky stretches disbelief and artistic licence to the limits of credulity. Even the 'authentic' themes he quotes in the overture are anachronistic: La Marseillaise was banned by Napoleon in 1805, and God Save the Tsar was not written until 1833.
The plaintive Eastern Orthodox hymn God Preserve Thy People opens the overture in a reverentially hushed setting for four cellos and two violas. Tensions grow out of the hymn, woodwinds and strings calling to each other before the music reaches a brassy climax. The overture's famous horn theme then makes its first appearance, accompanied by soft but unmistakeably militant side drum. A frenetic passage of string scrubbing ensues, out of which emerge martial snippets of La Marseillaise. Even at this early stage, the French themes feel insincere and insubstantial in comparison to the lusciously scored Russian tunes which follow. Another folk tune, the bucolic At the Gate, precedes a return of the unsettled martial themes. Further Marseillaise quotations appear, accompanied by a flighty descending figure for strings, and the Russian pastoral and folk themes are reprised.
Finally, the turning point of the battle is reached – five cannon shots ring out, and, after the strings' descending figure unmistakeably describes the French retreat, God Preserve Thy People returns in triumphant, brassy colours. A final rude gesture is flicked towards the French, and the overture thunders through its last pages with the galloping 1812 theme accompanied by God Save the Tsar in the low brass, more cannon fire, and, as the composer wished, “All the churchbells in Moscow”.
Leroy Anderson (1908-1975) – Sleigh Ride (1948) and A Christmas Festival (1950)
Most famed for his large catalogue of easy-on-the-ear light orchestral music, Leroy Anderson was born to Swedish parents in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and studied Scandinavian languages at Harvard. Alongside a successful career in military intelligence and linguistics, publishing on Icelandic grammar among other subjects, he developed a strong relationship with the Boston Pops Orchestra and its conductor, Arthur Fiedler.
Several composers wrote Sleigh Rides, including Mozart and Delius, though Anderson's remains the most popular, its jolly themes graphically punctuated by sleigh bells, clip-clopping hooves and a sprinkling of festive whip cracks. Anderson began work on his Sleigh Ride for Fiedler amid a heatwave in the summer of 1946 but took an uncharacteristic two years to complete it, with lyrics later added by Mitchell Parish.
A staple of the Christmas repertoire, Anderson's Christmas Festival is one of the most popular medleys of seasonal tunes. In its original format the work consisted of 9 carols In rapid succession, though Anderson later arranged a trimmed-down version at the expense of an attractive brass chorale on The First Noel. The festival begins with a proud setting of Joy to the World, followed by Deck the Halls, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and Good King Wenceslas. After Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, a distant churchbell punctuates Silent Night. Jingle Bells then sparks into life in cat-and-mouse style before erupting into a noisy march. Out of this, O Come All Ye Faithful blazes out from the low brass, driving the music excitably towards its grand close.