Carlos Chávez (1899-1978)
Symphony No. 2, "Sinfonía india"
11 minutes
Composer: Carlos Chávez (Born in Mexico City in 1899; Died in Mexico City in 1978)
Work composed: 1935-1936
World premiere: The first premiere took place via radio broadcast by the Columbia Broadcasting Orchestra on January 23, 1936, with Chávez conducting. The first public performance was given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra April 10, 1936, again with Chávez leading the orchestra. The Sinfonía finally came to Mexico City and was premiered there on July 31, 1936, with Chávez conducting.
Instrumentation: : piccolo, 2 flutes, 3 oboes, E-flat clarinet, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 2 trombones, timpani, percussion* (Indian (generic) drum, bass drum, claves, large shaker, guiro, maracas, metal rattle, rasping stick, snare drum, suspended cymbal, soft rattle, tenor drum, water gourd, xylophone), harp, strings
*The percussion instruments noted here are the more modern equivalents of what Chávez scored. Though he realized that the traditional folk percussion instruments he initially had in mind would be difficult to find for most orchestras outside of Mexico City, Chávez authorized substitutions, but he asked that, whenever possible, the original instruments be used if available.
Here is a list (and description) of the indigenous percussion instruments that Chávez originally scored for in his Symphony No. 2, “Sinfonía india,” (played alongside more modern percussion instruments, such as the timpani and suspended cymbal, etc.):
tenabari – an instrument of the Yaqui tribe, an indigenous Mexican tribe who resisted Spanish colonization and cultivated and thrived in the northwestern area of Mexico (the state of Sonora). It’s a string of actual butterfly cocoons hardened with shellack and filled with anthill (small) stones. The cocoons are sewn to a rope that is tied around the ankle of a dancer. The instrument makes a soft rattling sound.
cascabeles – in Ancient Aztec culture, these were a set of small metal bells – like sleigh bells – meant to be worn around the knees or ankles for dancing. On occasion, the term was also used to denote a clay rattle, which has a very bright rattling sound – it’s not entirely clear now which instrument Chávez meant, but the part is typically played by a very brittle/bright sounding shaker or rattle, like a sharply pitched maraca.
Yaqui drum – traditional all-purpose drum used specifically by the Yaqui people – the closest instrumental equivalent in Western music is a tenor drum, or military field drum without snares.
Yaqui metal rattle – a rattle made of metal and filled with hard, usually metal, beads or pellets.
jicara de agua (water gourd) – the setup is a medium-size-bowl of water, over which a half of a gourd is placed, open-side downwards, floating on top of the water. The percussionist strikes the surface of the gourd above the waterline with hands or mallets. This produces a lovely deep and resonant sound but does not typically produce a splashing sound.
tenponaxtle(s) – folk xylophones, sometimes referred to as “horizontal drums” – although they aren’t much like a modern xylophone. Tenponaxtles sound more like pitched, wooden bongos and usually offer only two pitches to play on (but occasionally more) – and indeed, the tenponaxtle part in the Symphony is written for only two pitches at a time; presumably one tenponaxtle to play the pitches D and B-flat in the slow middle movement, and a second to play the pitches D and F# near the ending of the Symphony. Nonetheless, when played on a modern xylophone, the result is still very effective.
grijutian – a string of deer hooves – 8 or so hoof fragments are individually hung from strings and attached to a thick stick. When dangled and rattled,they make a soft, hollow, clacking sound.
tlapan huehuetl – bass, or big barrel drum – similar to a large congo drum but tuned much lower and with greater resonance.
raspador Yaqui – a wooden rasp, similar to a guiro – a raspador Yaqui is a thin, foot-long piece of wood carved with many grooves. One end of the wooden rasp is held in the hand and the other end is propped on a hollow gourd; the percussionist’s free hand strums the rasp across its grooves with a long round stick. The gourd helps to create resonance and volume.
Symphony No. 2, “Sinfonía india”
Mexican composer Carlos Chávez was the moving force behind the creation of both modern Mexican music and his country’s musical institutions in the years following the 1910-1920 Mexican Revolution. Given all the roles that he played in his new government’s social aspirations, it’s extraordinary that Chávez ever had time to compose his more than 200 works. He came of age just at the end of the Revolution, at the beginning of a new civic socialism where the arts were given high priority and were to be made as widely available as possible. He held several government posts as an arts administrator during his lifetime, wrote tirelessly for national journals on the arts, helped found (and was the Director of) two of Mexico’s new Symphony Orchestras, and was the extremely influential Director of Mexico’s National Music Conservatory. In addition to all this, he organized countless concerts around Mexico. And amidst this continuous flurry of government duty, journalism, conducting, and music organizing, Chávez wrote an astounding body of music.
Chávez’s musical aesthetics morphed several times in his long career, but early on (in the 1920s and 30s) he saturated himself with pre-Conquest “Mexicanism” (that is, the music of the indigenous First Peoples of Central America/Mexico, such as the Mayans, Aztecs and Yaquis) as well as more modern folksong. His most enduring and popular work from this period is undoubtedly his Symphony No. 2 written in 1935- 36 – a short, one movement piece of distilled potency. Chávez subtitled it “Sinfonía india” to indicate its indigenous musical roots and populated his orchestration with native percussion instruments. Although these indigenous percussion instruments are now usually substituted with modern sonic equivalents, a performance of the Sinfonía india is always a visual as well as aural delight.
Sinfonía india is one of Chávez’s most overt incorporations of folk songs and their melodic fragments, although he infuses them with his own typically relentless rhythmic drive. Chávez balances these sections with some lovely maestoso lyricism, but throughout, whether they are driving the tempo or adding colorful accompaniment, the rhythms are nearly ceaseless. The Sinfonía is one of the 20th Century’s most hypnotic and visceral masterpieces, and Chávez described its musical gestalt, and his other similar works, this way:
“The idea of repetition and variation can be replaced by the notion of constant rebirth, of true derivation: a stream that never comes back to its source; a stream in eternal development, like a spiral …”
The very first bars, in fact, establish Chávez’s use of repetition, but not in the typical sense. Most of the winds and strings begin with a soft, constant pattern of short eighth notes played in brief groupings – three notes, followed by two, then two, then two – in an almost minimalist repetitive pattern. In the midst of this incessant pattering, other winds, then strings, and then brass, add longer held notes. The meter changes consistently: 5/8, 2/4, 5/8, 3/4, etc. – which adds the feeling of being continually in flux. In a short time, Chávez adds almost all of the symphonic forces to create a wonderful effect – an ever-changing, perpetually moving, motoric hum of an orchestral beehive. It’s both hypnotic and yet simmering with energy, which increases with additional instruments and volume, and a recurring lyrical line in the trumpet. The addition of a host of percussive instruments adds to the energy and kicks the music into a quicker, higher gear.
Sinfonía is cast as one continuous piece without pauses, but Chávez nonetheless creates the feeling of different movements by using big tempo changes. This first happens a little after two minutes into the work, when the tempo slows down, marked Allegro cantabile (fast and in a singing manner.) The E-flat clarinet plays a simple and tuneful folksong, in duet with a second clarinet. The E-flat clarinet’s timbre – almost squeaky and plaintive – makes this lyrical tune more vulnerable and tender. Soft drums, namely a rattle and a rasp (a percussion instrument that requires scraping two pieces of wood or metal together to make a grating sound) join the duet, followed by a soaring flute, and a luscious accompanying cello with its own series of slow, falling motives.
Soon, the music and instruments build again, adding more instrumental colors and energy and high-octane rhythms – an intriguing color is the addition of a xylophone at about four minutes after the start of the cantabile, which creates a delightful soundscape. Eventually, the Sinfonía works itself up into its final movement marked Vivo (very fast) three minutes later. The constant rhythms here are pulsing at high speed, and the piercing pitches of a piccolo drive the energy relentlessly towards the final bars. Contrasting rhythms begin to collide against each other, percussion instruments are added one by one, and glissandos (sliding between pitches) begin to appear from the brass and winds – these effects become increasingly dazzling and exciting. The last two minutes of Sinfonía then erupt into a rapid-fire, repeating strain – at high volume and high momentum – inexorably hurtling to a final, spine tingling last strike from the entire percussion section.
José White Lafitte (1836-1918)
Violin Concerto in F-sharp minor
22 minutes
Composer: : José White Lafitte (Born in Matanzas, Cuba in 1836; Died in Paris, France in 1918)
Work composed: 1864
World premiere: The premiere took place in Paris in 1867, with White himself performing the solo violin part. Though White performed several concerts in the US in 1875, it appears that his Concerto was not performed then. Its US premiere occurred in 1974, with the great violin virtuoso Ruggiero Ricci performing the solo part, in Avery Fisher Hall in New York City with the Symphony of the New World conducted by Kermit Moore.
Instrumentation: solo violin, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, strings
Violin Concerto in F-sharp minor
I. Allegro
II. Adagio ma non troppo
III. Allegro moderato
José White Lafitte, who during his professional career became better known as “José White,” was born in what was then the Spanish colony of Cuba in 1836 to a Spanish Don and an Afro-Cuban mother. He was born in Matanzas, a town known for its poets and artists, and he showed musical talents, particularly on the violin. He made his debut in a recital at age 18, accompanied by the renowned New Orleans-born American pianist and composer Louis Moreau Gottschalk (1829-1869), who was then on a world-wide concert tour. Gottschalk saw great promise in the young virtuoso and strongly encouraged him to study at the Paris Conservatory. Gottschalk even fund-raised for his travel and boarding. White went to Paris, auditioned, and was immediately accepted into the city’s most prestigious music school. There, he made great strides as a soloist and composer. White’s musical education flourished extraordinarily, and he was quickly regarded as one of the great violin virtuosos in a city teeming with virtuosos. In 1856, after just one year, White won the very coveted First Grand Prize, the Conservatory’s highest award for violin playing.
White then began an almost 20-year career as a performing virtuoso in Paris. He was particularly celebrated for his many performances of Mendelssohn’s masterpiece Violin Concerto, as well as for his pioneering introductions to Parisian audiences of Robert Schumann’s chamber works for violin. White also grew a reputation as a teacher and as a composer, especially his Concerto for Violin in F# minor, in 1864 – a work that has become increasingly popular in recent years – and specifically with his Six Etudes for Violin (ca. 1868) which he wrote as a graduation exercise for his Conservatory diploma. In 1875, White left Paris to tour the United States, where he performed with the New York Philharmonic and other American orchestras to great acclaim. In 1877, he was invited to become the director of the Imperial Conservatory in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where he directed, taught, and performed for more than a decade as a court musician for the Brazilian-Portuguese Emperor Pedro II. Upon retiring in 1889 from his duties in Brazil, White returned to Paris to live out the rest of his years.
But White’s legacy faded from musical history – in part because Paris seemed to have forgotten him during his decade-long absence, but more likely because history has not been kind to musicians of color. For almost a century, few of his achievements were memorialized in music history books, nor were his works performed (save for a very attractive short violin piece called La Bella Cubana), until recently, when in 1974 his Violin Concerto was resurrected and edited by two musical scholars, Paul Glass and Kermit Moore. Soon after, the Concerto’s American premiere was given by the famous violinist Ruggiero Ricci, achieving considerable praise. White’s reputation has been rising ever since, as more research into his extraordinary life and talents continue, and his excellent Violin Concerto is increasingly performed and appreciated.
The first movement Allegro dances between lyricism and virtuosity. The delightfully breezy and lyrical piece opens with a first theme in the orchestral strings. A second theme follows thereafter by the clarinet, a lofty and melodic tune that truly deserves to be sung. The soloist then enters and quickly takes center stage with extremely challenging double-stops (two notes played simultaneously). The music soon returns to lyricism as the soloist takes up the clarinet’s theme, which now sounds like a yearning aria straight out of the opera hall. Then, at about six-and-a-half minutes into the movement, the orchestral strings all coalesce into a shimmering tremolo, while overtop, the soloist launches into lyrical and virtuosic flourishes, marked to be played in the style of a Recitative. The movement concludes with a recap of the themes, with more pyrotechnics from the soloist, until the ending bars sink directly into the second movement Adagio without a pause.
The middle movement Adagio ma non troppo (slowly, but not too much) is sweetly lyrical without being sentimental. The soloist plays a rhythmically active main theme filled with wide leaps – a kind of virtuosic song delivered in slow motion. A wonderful moment occurs at about two-and-a-half minutes into this Adagio, when the soloist plays the main theme but without any adornments, while the orchestral strings pulse quietly below and the winds burble softly upwards and downwards in arpeggios. A brief cadenza by the soloist then leads into the ending section – as the solo violin soars ever higher and holds a long, high note, the orchestra, marked calando (gradually fading away), brings the movement to its gentle close.
The final movement, Allegro moderato (moderately fast), is dance music starring the soloist. The first, main theme sounds very much like a polacca (or, polonaise – a lively Polish folk-dance form that was all the rage in mid-19th Century Western Europe.) White may have used this polacca as a nod, or more likely a musical challenge, to his contemporary, the violin virtuoso Henryk Wieniawski (1835–1880). Wieniawski was Polish and studied at the Paris Conservatory just before White was there, and was considered by many to be the greatest violinist in the world. Contemporary audiences constantly compared White and Wieniawski, and apparently White relished the competition. White’s polacca in this movement is edgy and filled with energy, and when the solo violin enters, it springs into virtuosity – double-stops and octaves, with devilishly difficult harmonics slipped in with the utmost nonchalance. Throughout the virtuosic brilliance, White retains his innate talent for lyrical moments. One such delight happens at about two minutes, when the soloist is again playing the polacca theme, while underneath, a solo bassoon adds a lovely little counter melody, creating a tender and gently comic effect. The finale then begins about a minute later, enlivened by some excellent showmanship from the soloist, as the Concerto speeds to its exciting conclusion.
Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)
Symphony No. 3 in A minor, “Scottish,” Op. 56
43 minutes
Composer: Felix Mendelssohn (Born in Hamburg, Germany in 1809; Died in Leipzig, Germany in 1847)
Work composed: Begun in 1829, finished in 1842
World premiere: Mendelssohn conducted the premiere with “his” orchestra, the Leipzig Gewandhaus, on March 3, 1842.
Instrumentation: 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, strings
Symphony No. 3 in A minor, “Scottish,” Op. 56
I. Andante con moto – Allegro un poco agitato
II. Vivace non troppo
III. Adagio
IV. Allegro vivacissimo – Allegro maestoso assai
When Felix Mendelssohn reached the age of 20, his father urged him to undertake one last piece of training to complete his formal education – a three-year journey through Europe, referred to then as the “Grand Tour.” Barely out of his teens, Mendelssohn had already achieved remarkable successes as a composer, pianist, and conductor, but this was an irresistible proposal, and one that brought the promise of nurturing his artistic endeavors and, continuing to establish his reputation as a musician. He readily accepted this journey.
Beginning in April 1829, Mendelssohn headed out through England and Scotland, back via the major cities of Germany, and then finished his Grand Tour in Hungary and Italy. All the while, he maintained the hectic concert schedule that he would keep throughout his life. The experiences and impressions that he gained during his travels not only secured his career as a first-rate pianist and composer, but also provided the creative seeds for some of his best-known works, including “The Hebrides” Overture, his “Italian” Symphony and his “Scottish” Symphony.
Like so many others before and since, Mendelssohn was deeply moved by Scotland – its haunting, misty landscapes, its people and its history – all the stuff of Romantic legend. A prodigious correspondent, Mendelssohn chronicled his travels in delightful letters to his family, and of Edinburgh’s Holyrood Palace, he wrote:
“In the deep twilight we went today to the palace were Queen Mary lived and loved…The chapel below is now roofless. Grass and ivy thrive there and at the broken altar where Mary was crowned Queen of Scotland. Everything is ruined, decayed, and the clear heavens pour in. I think I have found there the beginning of my “Scottish” Symphony.”
It may have inspired the beginnings of his Scottish Symphony, but the core of the piece wouldn’t be written until years later. Soon after visiting Scotland, Mendelssohn arrived in Italy and the sunny luxuriousness of that country effectively displaced his Scottish romance. New obligations including, performing, conducting, composing and teaching soon commanded his time, such that Mendelssohn would not finish his Scottish Symphony for another thirteen years. In truth, this delay may have been felicitous, for when Mendelssohn renewed his Scottish ruminations and premiered it in 1842, he was at the peak of his composing career, and the symphony represents one of Mendelssohn’s highest achievements in the symphonic genre.
Mendelssohn’s music is Classically-minded with a Romantic’s sentiment. His heroes were Handel, Bach, Mozart and Beethoven, and his music reflects their high art of counterpoint and formal structure, and, likewise, is always intellectually impressive – lyrical, engaging, and with the cerebral grace of Mozart. So, too, is his Scottish Symphony, where Mendelssohn also took a bold and adventurous step. The work is his impressions of the soul of Scotland, its melancholy and cloudy days, its feisty and flirty folk music, and its stalwart countrymen. It sets this symphony slightly apart from the norm and gives us a hint of what might have been, had the composer not died so young at age 37.
Mendelssohn specified that the four movements be played without a break, but typically orchestras allow for at least slight pauses. The symphony begins with a beautiful and brooding introduction, Andante (slowly), with a reedy, somber theme. From this important introductory theme emerges the thematic kernels for the rest of the symphony. After this solemn introduction comes the quicker Allegro, fashioned directly out of that introductory theme – now a gently rocking tune, folk-like in character, heard first in the upper strings. From here, the movement seems to flit through impressions of Scotland such as at around five minutes into the movement, evoking a tempest upon the stormy Atlantic, replete with swells in the violins and roaring timpani. Listen, too, for Mendelssohn’s inner lines and counterpoint in this movement (and throughout the entire Symphony), which add wonderfully rich dimensions to the themes. An excellent example occurs less than a half minute after the storm begins, as the seas calm, a wonderful countermelody from a solo clarinet sings a brief and lonely little phrase (which will reappear several times). Dramatic seas return later to bring the movement to its closing, with even more swells in the strings and timpani, but the storm diminishes into a brief repeat of the solemn introductory music, which then fades into the dark of the horizon.
The second movement, Vivace non troppo (fast and lively, but not too fast) is a wonderful scherzo-romp of a folk dance. After the strings start the movement off with a pulsing undercurrent, the winds and horns herald the dancers to join by employing a series of two-note figures called a “Scotch snap”– the first of its notes is short and played on the beat followed quickly by another longer note. The dance theme proper then begins with the clarinet playing in a merry and lighthearted air. As the theme passes through the orchestral ranks, Mendelssohn gives the strings feathery flourishes, reminiscent of the opening of his Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture. Amidst its quicksilver energy, there is a dazzling array of light counterpoint. A lovely example happens just after one minute into the movement, when the strings have just begun a new, rather stately dance-like theme, and where the upper winds add fugal flourishes to the musical fabric. The movement rises to heights of near giddy joy, but eventually spiriting away into softly plucked strings to end in quiet.
The third movement, Andante (slowly), then follows. It is one of Mendelssohn’s most beloved musical movements – echoing those exquisitely shadowed slow movements of Mozart’s late works. After a brief introductory section, the main theme then presents in the upper strings with a vulnerable, wistful, and timeless kind of beauty. It meanders through many gorgeous moments, but eventually builds to a climax as heart-clutching as any of Mendelssohn’s best musical moments. The movement then begins to slip away, and after a delicate duet between the winds and the timpani, the melody gradually stretches its arms all the way down to the lowest strings, as if all had drifted off to a contented sleep.
The finale, Allegro vivacissimo (fast and very lively) then breaks forth from this ethereal mood with intense vigor, light on its feet but almost warlike – possibly a nod to Scotland’s famous Highland Warriors. The movement flows with lightning energy, even breaking into a quasi-fugue, until a very ingenious moment arrives at about ten minutes into the movement. Mendelssohn reportedly thought bagpipes were awful. He would have been hard pressed not to at least tip his hat to Scotland’s prized instrument, and so a pedal point settles into the strings – sounding like a drone of the pipes – over which a wafting, wonderful dialogue of intertwining winds, first by the clarinets, then joined by the bassoons, bring the movement to a gentle calm and into the coda (final section). And here, again, Mendelssohn provides another surprising and clever change of pace. The ending section is an apotheosis of sorts, taking the symphony’s opening introductory theme and turning it into a heart-warming anthem, with the horns ablaze, gathering majesty and might until the exuberant, ending bars.
© Max Derrickson
