By 1892, Czech composer Antonin Dvořák had been steadily growing a reputation in Europe and America as a great Romantic Nationalistic composer. It was in this year that the American philanthropist, Jeanette Thurber, invited Dvořák to America to be the Director of her new music conservatory. Thurber’s National Conservatory of Music in New York City was, besides being a place of expert musical instruction, committed to creating a suitable Nationalistic American music. Thurber hoped Dvořák would help America find that national style, and she made a three-year offer the Czech composer could barely refuse: a salary of $15,000 per year (the equivalent today of almost $500,000), a three-hour-a-day work schedule, and four months of vacation a year. Dvořák accepted the directorship, and began his duties that same year in 1892 – but based on the condition that African Americans and Native Americans be allowed into the Conservatory regardless of their ability to afford it, a condition that was kindly obliged. This condition turned out to be pivotal in leading Dvořák to form his concept of a genuine American style of music.

One of Dvořák’s students was African American singer Harry T. Burleigh. Burleigh became Dvořák’s assistant, and soon taught the Czech composer about African American Spirituals – after his Conservatory years, Burleigh would become an important American composer in his own right. Thanks to Burleigh’s tutelage, and other sources of African American and Native American people’s music, Dvořák wrote a series of articles that first year, stating, in part:

“I am convinced that the future music of this country must be founded on what are called Negro melodies. These can be the foundation of a serious and original school of composition, to be developed in the United States. These beautiful and varied themes are the product of the soil. They are the folk songs of America and your composers must turn to them.”

While the whole country was celebrating Dvořák’s presence, in 1893, the New York Philharmonic commissioned Dvořák for a new symphony. He completed it quickly and it had its premiere with the Philharmonic in December of that year at Carnegie Hall, titled Symphony No. 9 in E minor subtitled “From the New World” and was described as being inspired by the very “folk songs” that Dvořák had talked about in his articles. This was a conceptual inspiration, for Dvořák created all of his own themes for the work. The Symphony was an ecstatic success at the premiere, the audience gave standing ovations between each movement, insisting that Dvořák stand and take a bow. It was the greatest success of Dvořák’s career, and the Symphony quickly became a sensation all over the world. Today, it is widely acknowledged as the most popular symphony ever written.

A wonderfully unique feature of the New World is that each of the four movements begins with an introductory section, and these introductions deliver much of the thematic material for the entire Symphony. The introduction to the first movement, marked Adagio (slowly), begins as though it’s the start of an epic tale, with a “once upon a time” feeling to it. Starting in the lower strings, the violas, cellos, and basses play a short motive that repeats several times, each time sinking a little lower, until it comes to rest. At that point, the horn plays a valiant call, just two notes, as if a heralding to arms. This soon leads to some violent solo outbursts in the timpani and full orchestra, and the music begins to take on more rhythmic activity. Listen for the violas, cellos, and horn when they play a rising, then falling motive under tremolos (shimmering) in the upper strings – it will play an important role in the music to come. The introduction comes to an aggressive climax, then fades off with a timpani roll, until the body of the movement begins with the Allegro molto (very fast). The rising-falling horn motive from the introduction returns immediately in the horns, now majestically regal as if sounding the call to a noble undertaking. The movement then moves through waves of energy and climaxes, then settling down into moments of exquisite lyricism, and then building up again. Each time, the underlying energy seems to grow more vigorous, until at about nine minutes, when the closing section begins. A buildup of orchestral forces here then barges into a new key, and the last measures are filled with trumpet and horn calls until the final, emphatic bars.

The introduction to the second movement, Largo (slowly and dignified), is one of the most moving moments in the Symphony. Low winds and brass begin a slow-moving chorale, only four bars long, which carry us far away from the energy of the first movement. The chorale’s chords are dark, yet not filled with pathos, but rather filled with the sense of introducing something extraordinary – and the melody that immediately follows is indeed that. Perhaps one of the most cherished melodies that Dvořák ever penned, the English horn sings a long, beautiful, and yearning melody overtop long-held notes in the strings. Soon, the clarinets add a counter melody in autumnal hues to the English horn’s solo song. It’s a moment that seems as though time has almost stopped, and everything melts in earthy, comforting hues. Dvořák reportedly first wrote this famous solo for clarinet, but then changed it to the English horn because it reminded him of his student, Harry Burleigh’s, exceptional voice. An equally exquisite moment happens at about five minutes. Here, the winds play a long note chorale over top of a kind of “walking bass” – where the string basses provide a steady, moving line with pizzicatos (plucked) – and in between, the strings create an occasional oscillation, like zephyrs stirring leaves. A brief climax then builds up to a surprise visit of the first movement’s rising-falling horn motive, and the movement then returns to the English horn solo, trading it with the violins, at times, taking long moments of poignant silence as if to wipe away tears. The opening brass and wind chorale returns to close the movement with a quiet, touching reverence.

The third movement Scherzo, Molto vivace (very lively) begins with a brief introduction in a proclamatory way with the high winds delivering a curt rhythm, which is then answered by the timpani. The violins then settle into a stiff gait of a steady pattern of repeated, short notes, which propels the music along. Over top of these propulsive strings, the winds play a melody that’s jangled between them, almost like a hocket (several instruments playing different notes and rhythms, but heard as a whole, creating a larger phrase). This activity wanders into a series of Dvořák’s rhythmic and melodic tricks, including outbursts from the timpani reminiscent of the same outbursts it played in the first movement’s introductory section. The Scherzo has two contrasting sections, Trios, which are marvelously charming celebrations of the wind section, and rustic Czech-sounding country dances. Especially delightful is Dvořák’s use of the triangle (a high metallic percussion instrument) in these Trios which make everything twinkle a little brighter. The concluding coda begins with tremolo strings, and the rising-falling horn motive comes back briefly, until all activity winds down to silence.

The Finale, Allegro con fuoco (fast with passion), brings back the dramatic energy of the first movement but with a bracing sense of urgency. This movement’s short introduction begins with the strings playing an insistent two-note motive – one long note followed by one short note a step higher – which accumulates in strength and speed (and you might recognize this motive as similar to the music that John Williams composed to accompany the shark attacks in the movie Jaws). After the buildup of these introductory bars, the horns and trumpets play a very bold theme – serious, but with a certain sense of a call to swashbuckling adventure. When the strings soon join them with a long line of rippling triplets, the music becomes even more exciting. The finale then proceeds in a kind of rhapsody on multiple themes, using new themes from this movement and previous ones from the other movements, woven together with amazing facility. The first movement’s rising-falling horn motive, for example, appears here in the horns at about four minutes in, followed by the second movement’s beautiful English horn solo (now played by the flutes and clarinets) one minute later. Surely, though, one of the most exhilarating moments of this theme-rhapsodizing, and in the entire Symphony, happens near the end at about ten minutes in, when the brass play the once solemn brass chorale introduction from the Largo, but with many times its intensity, while the timpani pounds away and the strings shoot upwards like rockets. This is only surpassed by the extraordinary measures in the coda where the first movement’s horn motive (here played by the horns and trombones) and the Finale’s swashbuckling horn theme (now played by the trumpets) are crushed together in grinding counterpoint. Then, the release of this tension until the final bars is one of the most exciting and triumphant endings in music.

© Max Derrickson