Overture to the Creatures of Prometheus, Op. 43

1802, was a year of crisis for Ludwig Van Beethoven.  Only 32 years old, he realized the impaired hearing (of which he had noticed for some time) was incurable and sure to worsen. That autumn, at a village outside Vienna, Heiligenstadt, he wrote a will-like document, addressed to his two brothers—describing his bitter unhappiness over his affliction—and in no certain terms, suggested that he thought death was near. But he came through this period with his determination strengthened and entered a new creative phase, generally called his "middle period." It is characterized by a heroic tone, and an arousal of sensing expectation. 

Our first work on tonight’s program was written during this heroic phase, or Beethoven’s “Middle Period.”  Tonight we hear the symphony perform the overture to Beethoven’s only full-length ballet, The Creatures of Prometheus, Op. 43.  This ballet was commissioned from the Imperial Court Theater and must have been quite a pleasant surprise for the composer, as 1) ballet was a very popular venue in Vienna at the turn of the 19th century, plus 2) Beethoven was known not for writing ballet music, but rather at this point, for chamber works, one symphony and two piano concerti.  Did I mention that this work was his only full-length ballet?

There must have been many interests for Beethoven regarding this project.  He would have worked with the Italian dancer and choreographer Salvatore Viganó, who also happened to be educated in music as well as being one of the most admired directors of ballet.  Viganó studied composition with the famous Italian composer Luigi Boccherini and hungered to combine impassioned, dramatic music to large-movement and dramatic dance.  One can see why Beethoven would have wanted to collaborate with this gentleman for his first ballet.     

The plot line must have also intrigued Beethoven, as it showed the Greek mythological god Prometheus assisting human beings toward understanding life and the arts.

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In Greek mythology, Prometheus was the creator of mankind. (CLICK) The goddess Athena taught him architecture, astronomy, mathematics, navigation, medicine, metallurgy, and music and he in turn taught these things to humans. Zeus, (CLICK) the chief of the Greek gods, became angry at Prometheus for making people powerful by teaching them all these useful skills.

 

When the gods chose Prometheus as moderator in a dispute, he fooled the gullible Zeus into picking the worst parts of the sacrificial bull by hiding them under a rich layer of fat. To punish Prometheus, Zeus withheld fire from men. "Let them eat their flesh raw," he declared. In response, Prometheus, snuck up to Mount Olympus, lit a torch from the sun, and hid a burning piece of charcoal in a hollow stalk of the torch.  He slipped away with it and thus delivered fire to mankind.

 

Zeus, as revenge, tried unsuccessfully to trick Prometheus' brother, Epimetheus, into accepting the beautiful but mischievous Pandora as a gift. Epimetheus, mindful of earlier advice from his brother about Zeus, refused. (CLICK) Even madder now, Zeus had Prometheus chained to a pillar in the mountains. A vulture ate at Prometheus' liver all day long. During the bitter cold of the mountain night, the liver became whole again.

 

(CLICK) So it went day after day, year after year. Epimetheus married Pandora in an effort to free his brother. (CLICK) Pandora -- as devilish as she was beautiful -- opened the famous box in which Prometheus had shut up all the evils that might plague mankind – envy, spite, revenge, sickness, insanity, vice and all that is disgusting.

 

Only years later, at the request of Hercules did Zeus free Prometheus.

 

(CLICK) One usually sees Prometheus portrayed as a muscular and strong hero, enduring hardship and bringing the finer things of life to humans.  (CLICK) This image somehow seems to fit into Beethoven’s new outlook on life during this middle period, or heroic period.  You all can decide for yourselves tonight if you think there is a correlation between our two heros.  Whatever you decide, Beethoven’s Prometheus consisted of an overture and seventeen further numbers.  Although the ballet is rarely staged, the overture has remained a staple of the symphonic repertoire.  After the chordal and declamatory introduction, which sets the stage of Mount Olympus and the grandeur of the Mythical gods, you will hear lush melody and harmony throughout the entire orchestra which includes 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani and strings.  

 

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Following this lyrical singing section, the energy and drive of Prometheus—determined to bring all that is good to human beings—can be heard in the driving rhythm of the strings, and in the pulsating and syncopated rhythms of the winds and timpani.  Sudden bursts of louder dynamics also offer a feeling of excitement and excitement.

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Beethoven re-used this material from the Creatures of Prometheus no less than three times: in a set of contradances, as the theme for his Variations for Piano, Op. 35 and as the finale for the Third Symphony, entitled Eroica.

Let’s move from Mount Olympus to the country of Italy in our concert of Orchestral Portraits. (CLICK)

In the South is a substantial tone poem that should appeal to anyone who likes the romantic portrayal of images through music.  The "south" of the title is Italy: Alassio is a town in Italy on the Mediterranean between Monaco and Génoa. The work is a result of a vacation that Edward Elgar took to Italy, depicting the scenes and spirit of the south.

Just a bit about Elgar.  He was born near Worcester (Wooster) England, the fourth of seven children.  His father William was a piano tuner and music dealer and owned a music shop.   Son Edward and his family were constantly surrounded by music.  Although Edward had no formal music education per say, his expertise of music seemed almost pre-determined.  He had a familiarity of the creation, performance and education of music that contributed to his success as a composer.  He became one of the greatest composers of symphonic works, writing such masterpieces as the Enigma Variations and the Concerti for Violin and Cello.  

Another great piece is In the South.  In her program notes, Dr. Marcia Fountain describes how Elgar literally stumbled across the idea for the work.   She describes the setting, speaking about a hike that Elgar was taking with a friend while vacation in the south of Italy.  "We had climbed one of the salitas and came suddenly upon a little chapel by a group of pine trees. Classical in style, like a temple, it was falling into ruin and the sudden impact of its beauty silenced us. 'It really only needs a shepherd with his pipe to make the picture complete,' I said. At that moment to our amazement a shepherd did in fact appear from behind the chapel. He was dressed in a sheepskin, and unconcernedly drove his flock along the path and out of sight." Elgar was very conscious of walking where the Romans had walked, using Roman bridges and roads still in existence. He wrote: "In a flash it all came to me — the conflict of the armies on that very spot long ago, where now I stood — the contrast of the ruin and the shepherd — and then, all of a sudden, I came back to reality. In that time I had composed the overture — the rest was merely writing it down."

By 1903, Elgar had written the symphonic tone poem.  Elgar's Italians are certainly a noisy bunch with exuberance and boisterousness at the opening of the piece.  He uses a large, brassy orchestra to gush forth torrents of sound.  You’ll also hear fast flourishes in the winds, a heavy reliance upon percussion and figures in the strings which make me think of traveling.  The beginning section is adventuresome, defiant, energetic, sunny and incredibly romantic.  Who wouldn’t want to travel to see this Alassio?? (CLICK)

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After a transition section from the winds and strings—where one can predominantly hear the clarinet, Elgar slows the tempo to give a sense of romantic nostalgia.  He portrays the remembrances of the past or perhaps simple contemplations of Alassio’s past and present serenity through writing for the winds and the strings

 

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This escape, serene and romantic, is interrupted, as perhaps one’s mind travels to more troubled times of Alassio’s past.  A heavy, thudding section depicts the ancient Roman Empire and the mighty calls for sharp war-like brass statements, along with cymbals crashing and bass drum and timpani thundering perhaps portray the explosions of war.  One hears heavy military marching.

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At the center of the piece, there's an exquisite solo viola melody that Elgar later turned into a short piece of its own called "Canto Popolare" or "popular song." This section has a charming quality about it; flute, harp and strings providing a sweet accompaniment for the soloist.  To my ear and my mind, I imagine a sleepy little village, perhaps a cottage like the one portrayed by the seven dwarfs and Snow White or of that mystical village of Brigadoon...

 

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The conclusion of the piece softly creeps in the strings and, over the course of several minutes, builds to an exuberant crescendo that leads to a rollicking conclusion.  Indeed the last image Elgar gives of Alassio is one of happiness.

 

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Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition

 

The death in 1873 of Russian composer (CLICK) Modeste Mussorgsky's friend Victor Hartmann was the stimulus for the initial creation of what was to become one of the most vividly colorful works in the orchestral repertoire. Hartmann (CLICK) was a talented artist, architect and stage designer, and after his death at the age of only 39 years, another friend Vladimir Stassov, (CLICK) organized a commemorative exhibition in 1894, displaying Hartmann's sketches, paintings and designs.

Profoundly saddened at the death of his friend, Mussorgsky was incredibly moved by the exhibition and was immediately inspired to compose a personal survey of favorites among the displayed exhibits.  He finished the work in three weeks.  One of the unique, special musical aspects about this piece is Mussorgsky’s ingenious idea of linking the musical images with a Promenade theme, representing his own involvement there at the exhibition: representing someone wandering throughout an incredible display of art.    (elaborate)

 

The music was first conceived for solo piano, and Pictures at an Exhibition had to wait until 1922 before its creative orchestration by Maurice Ravel gave yet another coloristic depth to the work. It transforms the piano original into a brilliantly descriptive orchestral masterpiece.

 

The reason for the computer tonight, is actually due to the Pictures at an Exhibition.   I wanted to share with you some of the drawing and sketches that Mussorgsky saw as he wandered through the exhibit that day in 1894.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t find all of them, but you’ll at least have some idea of Hartmann’s style.  I am also going to share fragments of musical examples with you: however, I will be using a recording of the pianist Philippe Entremont playing the solo piano version.  You’ll be truly amazed tonight at the difference the orchestra makes for these pieces.

 

There are 10 major sections, many of which are connected by interludes, or the promenade theme. 

 

Promenade, which launches the suite, portrays Mussorgsky walking idly through the exhibit.  According to Stasov, with whom the composer discussed the work, Mussorgsky’s “joyous appearance is dampened when he thinks in sadness of his dead friend.”  In Ravel’s transcription, the stately opener is given to the solo trumpet. 

 

(play promenade)

 

(CLICK) Next comes a grotesque Gnomus, a portrait of a crooked-legged dwarf. This drawing was a model for a toy carved, wooden nut-cracker.

 

(opening phrase of Gnomus)

 

Maestro Aykal would say in rehearsal, “Ugly, Ugly.”

 

A rather melancholy version of the Promenade, which represents Mussorgsky strolling further throughout the exhibition, sets the scene for The Old Castle, with its suggestion of a wistful medieval troubadour's singing before the ancient Italian fortress, given primarily to the saxophone.

 

(opening phrase of the old castle)

 

The mood brightens as the trumpet leads another Promenade to The Tuileries, subtitled Dispute of the Children after Play, an engaging picture of the Parisian parks, crowded by playing children and their babysitters.  Ravel relies upon the fast technique of the woodwinds to offer this active and chipper scene.

 

Bydlo, the polish word for cattle, introduces the passing of a cumbersome Polish ox wagon with huge wheels -effectively portrayed by the solo tuba.  This piece was inspired by a watercolor that was created by Hartmann during a trip to Poland.

 

(CLICK) A complete contrast comes with the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks, cheeping merrily on the woodwinds.  This Battle of the Chicks in their Shells is based on a costume-sketch for a ballet.  The illustration is one of several, depicting dancing children with their heads, arms and legs poking through large, chicken eggshells.

 

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(CLICK) The following section Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle, was nicknamed Two Jews; one rich, the other poor.  The rich one is depicted by confident strings striding in unison, the other one begging pathetically is represented on the muted trumpet.  The movement is based on two pictures given to Mussorgsky by the artist.  Mussorgsky loaned the pictures to the exhibit, but they disappeared shortly thereafter.

 

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(CLICK) There is more noise, chatter and bustle at Limoges Market, which portrays a group of French market-women engaged in lively conversation by their pushcarts before the mood suddenly becomes somber as awesome brass chords set the scene of the Roman Catacombs of Paris, where, in the following section Cum mortuis in lingua mortua, Mussorgsky laments his dead friend by quoting the Promenade theme in melancholic fashion.

 

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(CLICK) The Hut on Fowl's Legs outdoes the grotesque mood of Gnomus (with which it has something, musically, in common): it is pretty scary.  The hut is in the shape of a clock and the witch, Baba Yaga, lives inside.  In Russian mythology, Baba-Yaga, a witch, lures lost people to her hut in the woods and eats them.  The house is built on chicken’s claws so it can quickly turn to greet newcomers.  Baba-Yaga’s presence is very much in evident in the orchestral writing as Mussorgsky suggests her wild flight though the sky during a fiery coda, which leads to the suite’s final movement.

 

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(CLICK) Finally comes the striking Great Gate of Kiev, a sketch-design of Hartmann's Project for a City Gate which was never realized;   Hartmann entered his sketch in a competition for a gate to be erected at Kiev to commemorate Czar Alexander II.  Highlighted by an immense cupola in the shape of an ancient Russian helmet, the design is majestic and heroic.  Mussorgsky's conception alternates the element of spectacle with the evocation of a solemn procession, as the prancing horses and silhouetted figures outside the gate probably inspired Mussorgsky while the grandeur of the closing pages is overwhelming.

 

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This concludes tonight’s lecture, Orchestral Portraits.  I hope you enjoy tonight’s performance as you lose yourself in the music and allow your mind to not only recreate these images we’ve seen tonight on the wall here, but also to create new images as you listen to the music. 

 

Thank you.