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Richard Wagner
Prelude to Die Meistersinger
von Nürnberg
Die Meistersinger is Wagner's only comic opera and the
only one in which he dealt entirely with everyday human beings.
Instead of his usual roster of gods, supermen and kings, here
we are in the world of medieval guilds with their cobblers
and bakers, goldsmiths and clerks.
But even this earthy picture is not as naive as it seems. A polemic
in disguise, this opera was Wagner's vehicle for declaring the
superiority of spontaneous creativity over the pedantry of artistic
rules and conventions. In the opera, Wagner caricatured his severest
critic, the Viennese music critic Eduard Hanslick, depicting
him as the pedantic – and, as it turns out, dishonest – scoundrel
Sixtus Beckmesser (In early sketches of the opera the name was
not Beckmesser but Hans Lick.) Wagner portrayed himself as the
poet-hero Walther von Stolzing who wins a song competition over
the older and more experienced mastersingers with the hand of
his beloved Eva thrown into the bargain. The text, as in all
Wagner's operas, is his own, although based on historical persons
and facts, particularly the life of the Minnesinger Walther
von der Vogelweide. The premiere took place in Munich in June
1868.
Surprisingly, Wagner composed the Prelude first, laying out the
themes that became the Leitmotifs for the opera itself. On a
greatly reduced scale, the overture follows with themes reflecting
the order of the basic elements in the plot, It opens with the
ceremonial Meistersinger motif,  followed
by a motive representing
the love of Walther and Eva, leading
into a grand contrapuntal melee,
representing all the conflicting forces in the opera, including
artistic pedantry versus true creativity, and
finally Walther’s Prize Song. The
Prelude concludes with the March of the Meistersinger, based
on an authentic sixteenth century melody. The
brilliance of the Prelude, however, is not in the linear exposition
of the themes but the way in which Wagner weaves them together
into a grand musical fabric.
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| Johannes Brahms |
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| 1833-1897 |
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Johannes Brahms
Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 77
One of the marks of great artists is accurate self-assessment,
to know their strengths and limitations. Like Mendelssohn and
Tchaikovsky, Brahms sought the collaboration of a leading violinist
when he composed a concerto for the violin, an instrument with
which he was not intimately familiar. Brahms’s long-time
friend Joseph Joachim, a Hungarian violinist, composer and educator
who for over half a century was the world’s dominant violin
virtuoso was intimately involved in the concerto’s formation.
Needless to say, Brahms dedicated it to him. Joachim gave the
premiere on New Year’s Day, 1879.
The initial reception of the Concerto was respectful but cool.
Its technical demands deterred many violinists, who dubbed it “Concerto
against the Violin and Orchestra.” It is, like the other
Brahms concerti, a true partnership between soloist and orchestra;
virtuosity for its own sake is totally absent. Although in numerous
places Joachim attempted to have Brahms make it easier for the
soloist, the manuscript of the violin part in the State Library
in Berlin, full of Joachim’s suggestions, shows that, in
this respect at least, the violinist seldom prevailed.
The sunny mood of the concerto is close to that of the D Major
symphony, written shortly before. The opening movement is necessarily
long for the development of each of the themes Brahms employs.
While many composers choose to concentrate on developing a single
theme, Brahms decided to expand on all of them. The orchestral
first exposition introduces the main theme and
two secondary themes. & Immediately
afterwards, the soloist takes off on a flight of cadenza-like
passagework that gradually leads into the formal second exposition
propelled by little hints of the main theme in the orchestra. A
classicist in form, Brahms writes a new secondary theme for the
soloist. Joachim
wrote a large cadenza for this movement, which is still a favorite
with soloists and audiences, although many violinists have written
their own.
Brahms’s original plan was for a concerto in four movements,
including a scherzo. But he discarded the scherzo and
the original slow movement because their style did not fit with
the rest of the work. The slow movement we have today opens with
the solo oboe playing one of the most delicate and beautiful
melodies in the literature. The
violin – entering a full two minutes into the movement – then
embellishes this melody with arabesques (florid ornamentation
of a theme), continuing
to maintain a special relationship with the oboe throughout.
The middle of the movement becomes more intense and dramatic,
but Brahms never loses sight of the theme.
The fiery rondo-finale exploits the melodies and rhythms played
by itinerant Gypsy musicians in the cafés of central Europe. It
is one of the few places where Joachim’s intervention attenuated
the difficulties for the violinist. He managed to get Brahms
to moderate the movement’s tempo by adding “ ma
non troppo ” (but not too much) to the tempo indication Vivace.
Brahms employs a secondary refrain, as well as the initial rondo
theme. The episode turns
into a fiery, accelerated coda with cadenza-like passagework
for the soloist. |
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| Antoniin Dvorák |
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| 1841-1904 |
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Antoniin Dvorák
Symphony No. 8 in G major, Op. 88
Antonín Dvorák was born and raised in a small Bohemian
town, ten miles north of Prague within the German-speaking Austro-Hungarian
Empire. He was never happier than when he could work in this
simple country environment with its Czech language and customs.
It was in just such surroundings that Dvorák composed
the Symphony No.8 in a white heat in 1889. He began sketching
it on August 26, finished the orchestration on November 8 and
premiered it in Prague in February the following year. More than
his other symphonies, it reflects his love for his native culture
and is the most “national” of his nine symphonies.
By the time he composed the Eighth Symphony, Dvorák was
well known and respected, but he nevertheless had problems publishing
it. Berlin’s prestigious publisher Simrock, Dvorák’s
publisher since 1878, saw quicker profits in short piano pieces – more
Slavonic Dances, chamber music and songs – and offered
a trifling sum for the Symphony. As a result, it was known for
a long time as his “English Symphony” because it
was published by London’s Novello, who paid the composer
handsomely for larger works.
Surprisingly, the Symphony constantly shifts between major and
minor modes, yet its predominant themes feature the flute and
are reminiscent of birdsong. It opens in a minor mode with a
solemn introduction for cellos and the lower winds, not unlike
a funeral march. This
contrasts with the cheery flute melody that dominates the movement, although
the solemn introduction reappears twice, once unchanged and the
second time brighter with the full orchestra and in a higher
register. Always overflowing with melodic inspiration, Dvorák
infuses his exposition with four more themes, the most important
of them a duet for two flutes. But,
as if these six weren't enough, he adds a new flute theme in
the development section.
The slow movement, the longest and most complex of the four,
creates a particular kind of tension, both musical and emotional.
It begins with what might best be described as a recitative for
orchestra, at once brooding and tranquil. The
long opening, sometimes discursive, sometimes halting, consists
of numerous motivic fragments developed throughout the movement – including
a bird call heard first in the flute and oboe – resolving
finally into the movement’s single full-fledged melody. The
melody, which appears only twice in its entirety, is the resolution
of the tonally unstable material of the opening; it is the buildup
to it that creates the musical tension. However, Dvorák
does not linger on the sunny optimism of this melody, returning
to the more passionate, tonally unstable material in which he
further develops his expansive collection of motivic ideas. After
several more mood swings, including a passionate climax initiated
by the brasses, it
is the bird call motive – perhaps
representing the calming power of nature – that has the
final say.
The Scherzo is
a sad, waltz-like peasant dance with a nostalgic woodwind melody. After
the Trio,
a lovely waltz featuring the solo oboe, Dvorák
embellishes the scherzo melody instead of repeating it exactly.
The lovely Trio, a gentle waltz featurinjg the solo oboe, is
also used for the coda, but at double the tempo and in duple
time, something Brahms did in his Second Symphony.
The Finale continues the Symphony's tendency to shift moods.
It opens with a trumpet fanfare theme. Dvoráks
transforms it into a slow dance tune, writes
a variation then into a rousing peasant dance. The dance contains
an unusual feature, a resounding trill for the entire horn section,
a device encountered nowhere else in the 19th century repertory. Towards
the middle of the movement the tune undergoes a series of variations,
especially emphasizing the winds, in which Dvorák demonstrates
the infinite possibilities of dance variations in such a simple
melody. The movement ends in a wild and rambunctious coda. |
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