SKU: CF.MXE219

ISBN 9781491157794. UPC: 680160916399. 9 x 12 inches.

Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about HoffmeisterAs awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winterA3despite scruples about treading on hallowed groundA3I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak MozartAs language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic materialA3MozartAs friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such A!improvementsA(r)A3I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were MozartAs A!blueprintsA(r) of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to A!flesh outA(r) the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composerAs dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the A!rightA(r) one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my BognerAs CafA recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888A+-1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as A!a kind of keyboard chamber music.A(r) Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: A!The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another worldA3the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.A(r) That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martin Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called A!the crowning work of its kindA(r) by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of MozartAs mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di moltoA3an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movementAs declamatory A!opera chorusA(r) persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The A!love duetA(r) between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned A!duettingA(r) between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the AndanteAs middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8a time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the A!Swiss clockA(r) section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martin Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my A!newA(r) Mozart Quintet endeavorsA3and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. A3Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeisteris awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winterodespite scruples about treading on hallowed groundoI grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozartis language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic materialoMozartis friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such iimprovementsioI always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozartis iblueprintsi of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to iflesh outi the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composeris dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the irighti one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my Bogneris CafE recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888n1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as ia kind of keyboard chamber music.i Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: iThe F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another worldothe world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.i That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martin Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called ithe crowning work of its kindi by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozartis mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di moltooan F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movementis declamatory iopera chorusi persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The ilove dueti between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned iduettingi between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andanteis middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8+time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the iSwiss clocki section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martin Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my inewi Mozart Quintet endeavorsoand most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. oCompiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeister's awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winter--despite scruples about treading on hallowed ground--I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozart's language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic material--Mozart's friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such improvements--I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozart's blueprints of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to flesh out the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composer's dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the right one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my Bogner's Cafe recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888-1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as a kind of keyboard chamber music. Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another world--the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music. That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martinu Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called the crowning work of its kind by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozart's mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di molto--an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movement's declamatory opera chorus persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E<= Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The love duet between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned duetting between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andante's middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8 time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the Swiss clock section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martinu Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my new Mozart Quintet endeavors--and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. --Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
PrefaceIn 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeister’s awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winter—despite scruples about treading on hallowed ground—I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozart’s language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings.With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic material—Mozart’s friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such “improvements”—I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozart’s “blueprints” of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to “flesh out” the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composer’s dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the “right” one then became a most absorbing study.On the eve of releasing my Bogner’s Café recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888–1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as “a kind of keyboard chamber music.” Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: “The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another world—the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.” That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet.Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martinů Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called “the crowning work of its kind” by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozart’s mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue.The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di molto—an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movement’s declamatory “opera chorus” persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro.The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E≤ Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The “love duet” between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned “duetting” between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andante’s middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement.In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8 time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the “Swiss clock” section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability.I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martinů Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my “new” Mozart Quintet endeavors—and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990.—Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallmanby Hannah Woods Stallman,February 2, 2020.

SKU: CF.CM9735

ISBN 9781491161159. UPC: 680160919741. Key: A minor. Latin, English. Christopher Smart and ZRS.

Origins of the Tarantella The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (little spider), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the poison, the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship. Origins of the Text Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as Kit Smart or Jack Smart, was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke's Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor's prison, was common during this period if one's debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [Rejoice in the Lamb] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart's writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart's Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance: theraphosa [teh-rah-fo-sa] a genus of tarantula spiders bellicose [beh-lee-ko-sah] hostile; aggressive odiosa [o-dee-o-sa] hateful; vexation tenebrosa [teh-neh-bro-sa] creeping; dark nemorosa [neh-mo-ro-sa] wooded; shady lapidosa [lah-pee-do-sa] stony area; gritty The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work. About the Composer Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico. Performance Notes Text: In Latin, the r is flipped; use s instead of z on endings such as phosa, cosa, and so on; the Latin o is a cross between oh and aw; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an o for consistency. The director will blend the oh and aw in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, tarantula is pronounced tah-rah-n-too-lah (avoid teh-ran-choo-luh) within the confines of this text. Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.
The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (“little spider”), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the “poison,” the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship.Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as “Kit Smart” or “Jack Smart,” was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor’s prison, was common during this period if one’s debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [“Rejoice in the Lamb”] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart’s writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart’s Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance:The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work.Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico. In Latin, the “r” is flipped; use “s” instead of “z” on endings such as “phosa,” “cosa,” and so on; the Latin “o” is a cross between “oh” and “aw”; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an “o” for consistency. The director will blend the “oh” and “aw” in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, “tarantula” is pronounced “tah-rah-n-too-lah” (avoid “teh-ran-choo-luh”) within the confines of this text.Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.
The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (“little spider”), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the “poison,” the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship.Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as “Kit Smart” or “Jack Smart,” was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor’s prison, was common during this period if one’s debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [“Rejoice in the Lamb”] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart’s writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart’s Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance:The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work.Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico.In Latin, the “r” is flipped; use “s” instead of “z” on endings such as “phosa,” “cosa,” and so on; the Latin “o” is a cross between “oh” and “aw”; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an “o” for consistency. The director will blend the “oh” and “aw” in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, “tarantula” is pronounced “tah-rah-n-too-lah” (avoid “teh-ran-choo-luh”) within the confines of this text.Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.

SKU: PR.11441690S

UPC: 680160626021. 9 x 12 inches.

Ran's third string quartet was written for the Pacifica Quartet, who are featuring it in numerous performances from May 2014 through February 2016, across the country and abroad. Their blog page dedicated to the work also features the composer's notes, for more indepth insight. ...impassioned solos emerge from ominous quiet, and high arpeggios in the violins quiver alongside the earthy cello. Ms. Ran skillfully deploys these extremes of color, volume and pitch, yet the overall somewhat chilly impression is one of poise. -- Zachary Woolfe, The New York Times.
My third string quartet was composed at the invitation of the Pacifica Quartet, whose music-making I have come to know closely and admire hugely as resident artists at the University of Chicago.  Already in our early conversations Pacifica proposed that this quartet might, in some manner, refer to the visual arts as a point of germination.  Probing further, I found out that the quartet members had special interest in art created during the earlier part of the 20th century, perhaps between the two world wars.  It was my good fortune to have met, a short while later, while in residence at the American Academy in Rome in the fall of 2011, art conservationist Albert Albano who steered me to the work of Felix Nussbaum (1904-1944), a German-Jewish painter who, like so many others, perished in the Holocaust at a young age, and who left some powerful, deeply moving art that spoke to the life that was unraveling around him. The title of my string quartet takes its inspiration from a major exhibit devoted to art by German artists of the period of the Weimar Republic (1919-1933) titled “Glitter and Doom: German Portraits from the 1920s”, first shown at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2006-07.  Nussbaum would have been a bit too young to be included in this exhibit.  His most noteworthy art was created in the last very few years of his short life.  The exhibit’s evocative title, however, suggested to me the idea of “Glitter, Doom, Shards, Memory” as a way of framing a possible musical composition that would be an homage to his life and art, and to that of so many others like him during that era.  Knowing that their days were numbered, yet intent on leaving a mark, a legacy, a memory, their art is triumph of the human spirit over annihilation. Parallel to my wish to compose a string quartet that, typically for this genre, would exist as “pure music”, independent of a narrative, was my desire to effect an awareness in my listener of matters which are, to me, of great human concern.  To my mind there is no contradiction between the two goals.  As in several other works composed since 1969, this is my way of saying ‘do not forget’, something that, I believe, can be done through music with special power and poignancy.    The individual titles of the quartet’s four movements give an indication of some of the emotional strands this work explores. 1) “That which happened” (das was geschah) – is how the poet Paul Celan referred to the Shoah – the Holocaust.  These simple words served for me, in the first movement, as a metaphor for the way in which an “ordinary” life, with its daily flow and its sense of sweet normalcy, was shockingly, inhumanely, inexplicably shattered. 2) “Menace” is a shorter movement, mimicking a Scherzo.  It is also machine-like, incessant, with an occasional, recurring, waltz-like little tune – perhaps the chilling grimace we recognize from the executioner’s guillotine mask.  Like the death machine it alludes to, it gathers momentum as it goes, and is unstoppable. 3) ”If I must perish - do not let my paintings die”; these words are by Felix Nussbaum who, knowing what was ahead, nonetheless continued painting till his death in Auschwitz in 1944.  If the heart of the first movement is the shuddering interruption of life as we know it, the third movement tries to capture something of what I can only imagine to be the conflicting states of mind that would have made it possible, and essential, to continue to live and practice one’s art – bearing witness to the events.  Creating must have been, for Nussbaum and for so many others, a way of maintaining sanity, both a struggle and a catharsis – an act of defiance and salvation all at the same time. 4) “Shards, Memory” is a direct reference to my quartet’s title.  Only shards are left.  And memory.  The memory is of things large and small, of unspeakable tragedy, but also of the song and the dance, the smile, the hopes.  All things human.  As we remember, in the face of death’s silence, we restore dignity to those who are gone.—Shulamit Ran .

SKU: BR.PB-5714

ISBN 9790004216514. 10.5 x 14 inches.

More than my earlier works, this one is interspersed with metrically bound rhythms and musicianly characters that constantly recrystallize and drift towards or away from familiar situations.The familiar: These are dance-like figures and music-making formulas, but also songs and, in two cases fragments of Bach's music - playfully collected memories of impressions in which - consciously and unconsciously - I am embodied with that collective comfort in whose protection bourgeois thinking and feeling, magically protected, grow up and emerge apart.(It is well known that such security has its fetishes from the childlike to the adult stage: Home, religious bond, holidays, tradition, longing for childhood - the superficiality may have little idea of the depth that opens up underneath. There is also no question that we are still marked by such security even when the contradictions and alienation of existence force us to step out of their protection, to recognize and act upon reality, and to oppose the domination of such inner bonds where their original truth has become the fatal untruth of comfortable illusion, stubbornly and fearfully conjured idyll and reactionary narrow-mindedness.My music feeds on figures in which such memories are encapsulated. It deals with them not much differently than in other pieces with the elements of the traditional musical concept of material, having already always reflected compositionally as a product of sociality and anticipation of musical expression, i.e. it moved into a structurally expanded context and expressively redefined from there.Such an approach aims at overcoming lack of freedom: grasping as part of conceiving, i.e. not philosophical reflection, but rather an artistically gripping reflex by intervening in the physical immediacy of such predetermined elements. These penetrate and infect the structural events, inducing a musicianship that cannot be relied upon; the music jumps onto rhythms like onto moving vehicles, allows for being carried by them until they deform or disintegrate. This creates an incline of rhythmically shaped situations: sequence and interweaving of dances and structures.The role of the solo string quartet is versatile, obbligato and concertante, leading and accompanying in a changing sense. Set as a chamber music apparatus in an orchestral landscape, it repeatedly forces its own sound dimensions onto the orchestra, it must accept being drowned out at times, it nests in the holes of tutti fields, it acts as a louse in the fur, forcing one to listen in and out.The Tanzsuite with Deutschlandlied is structured as follows:I. Section. 1. Introduction - 2. Waltz - 3. March - 4. Bridge -II. Section. 5. Siciliano - 6. Capriccio - 7. Valse lente -III. Section. 8. Bridge - 9. Gigue - 10. Tarantelle - 11. Bridge -IV. Section. 12 Aria I - 13 Polka - 14 Aria IIV. Section. 15. Introduction - 16 Gallop - 17 Coda (Aria III)All 17 parts merge into one another.(Helmut Lachenmann, 1980)CDs/LP/DVD:Arditti-Quartett, Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, cond. Olaf HenzoldCD Montaigne Auvidis MO 782019Berner Streichquartett, Sinfonieorchester des SWF, cond. Sylvain Cambreling (Excerpt)CD BMG/RCA 74321 73510 2 (Musik in Deutschland 1950-2000)Berner Streichquartett, Sinfonieorchester des SWF, cond. Sylvain CambrelingLP DMR 1028-30Arditti Quartet, SWR Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg, cond. Hans Zender Excerpt on CD ,,Auswahl von zehn Urauffuhrungen aus 70 Jahren, SWR Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg Arditti Quartet, Staatsorchester Stuttgart, cond. Sylvain Cambreling DVD ,,Lachenmann-Perspektiven 6 (Breitkopf & Hartel, BHM 7816) Bibliography:Cavalotti, Pietro: Differenzen. Poststrukturalistische Aspekte in der Musik der 1980er Jahre am Beispiel von Helmut Lachenmann, Brian Ferneyhough und Gerard Grisey (= Sonus. Schriften zur Musik, hrsg. von Andreas Ballsteadt, Band 8), Schliengen: Argus 2006, pp. 79-128.Das sind doch alles Deutschlandlieder! Helmut Lachenmann im Gesprach mit Michael Rebhahn, in: Der Taktgeber. Das Magazin der Jungen Deutschen Philharmonie, Heft 40 (Sommer 2019), S. 6f.Stawowy, Milena: Fluchtversuche in die Hohle des Lowen. Helmut Lachenmanns Tanzsuite mit Deutschlandlied, in: MusikTexte 67/68 (1997), pp. 77-90.Toop, Richard: Concept and Context: A Historiographic Consideration of Lachenmanns Orchestral Works, in: Helmut Lachenmann Inward Beauty, hrsg. von Dan Albertson, Contemporary Music Review 23 (2004), Heft 3/4, pp. 125-144.

World premiere: Donaueschingen (Donaueschinger Musiktage), October 18, 1980.

SKU: HL.49018099

ISBN 9790001158428. UPC: 884088567347. 8.25x11.75x0.457 inches. Latin - German.

On letting go(Concerning the selection of the texts) In the selection of the texts, I have allowed myself to be motivated and inspired by the concept of 'letting go'. This appears to me to be one of the essential aspects of dying, but also of life itself. We humans cling far too strongly to successful achievements, whether they have to do with material or ideal values, or relationships of all kinds. We cannot and do not want to let go, almost as if our life depended on it. As we will have to practise the art of letting go at the latest during our hour of death, perhaps we could already make a start on this while we are still alive. Tagore describes this farewell with very simple but strikingly vivid imagery: 'I will return the key of my door'. I have set this text for tenor solo. Here I imagine, and have correspondingly noted in a certain passage of the score, that the protagonist finds himself as though 'in an ocean' of voices in which he is however not drowning, but immersing himself in complete relaxation. The phenomenon of letting go is described even more simply and tersely in Psalm 90, verse 12: 'So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom'. This cannot be expressed more plainly.I have begun the requiem with a solo boy's voice singing the beginning of this psalm on a single note, the note A. This in effect says it all. The work comes full circle at the culmination with a repeat of the psalm which subsequently leads into a resplendent 'lux aeterna'. The intermediate texts of the Requiem which highlight the phenomenon of letting go in the widest spectrum of colours originate on the one hand from the Latin liturgy of the Messa da Requiem (In Paradisum, Libera me, Requiem aeternam, Mors stupebit) and on the other hand from poems by Joseph von Eichendorff, Hermann Hesse, Rabindranath Tagore and Rainer Maria Rilke.All texts have a distinctive positive element in common and view death as being an organic process within the great system of the universe, for example when Hermann Hesse writes: 'Entreiss dich, Seele, nun der Zeit, entreiss dich deinen Sorgen und mache dich zum Flug bereit in den ersehnten Morgen' ['Tear yourself way , o soul, from time, tear yourself away from your sorrows and prepare yourself to fly away into the long-awaited morning'] and later: 'Und die Seele unbewacht will in freien Flugen schweben, um im Zauberkreis der Nacht tief und tausendfach zu leben' ['And the unfettered soul strives to soar in free flight to live in the magic sphere of the night, deep and thousandfold']. Or Joseph von Eichendorff whose text evokes a distant song in his lines: 'Und meine Seele spannte weit ihre Flugel aus. Flog durch die stillen Lande, als floge sie nach Haus' ['And my soul spread its wings wide. Flew through the still country as if homeward bound.']Here a strong romantically tinged occidental resonance can be detected which is however also accompanied by a universal spirit going far beyond all cultures and religions. In the beginning was the sound Long before any sort of word or meaningful phrase was uttered by vocal chords, sounds, vibrations and tones already existed. This brings us back to the music. Both during my years of study and at subsequent periods, I had been an active participant in the world of contemporary music, both as percussionist and also as conductor and composer. My early scores had a somewhat adventurous appearance, filled with an abundance of small black dots: no rhythm could be too complicated, no register too extreme and no harmony too dissonant. I devoted myself intensely to the handling of different parameters which in serial music coexist in total equality: I also studied aleatory principles and so-called minimal music.I subsequently emigrated and took up residence in Spain from where I embarked on numerous travels over the years to India, Africa and South America. I spent repeated periods during this time as a resident in non-European countries. This meant that the currents of contemporary music swept past me vaguely and at a great distance. What I instead absorbed during this period were other completely new cultures in which I attempted to immerse myself as intensively as possible.I learned foreign languages and came into contact with musicians of all classes and styles who had a different cultural heritage than my own: I was intoxicated with the diversity of artistic potential.Nevertheless, the further I distanced myself from my own Western musical heritage, the more this returned insistently in my consciousness.The scene can be imagined of sitting somewhere in the middle of the Brazilian jungle surrounded by the wailing of Indians and out of the blue being provided with the opportunity to hear Beethoven's late string quartets: this can be a heart-wrenching experience, akin to an identity crisis. This type of experience can also be described as cathartic. Whatever the circumstances, my 'renewed' occupation with the 'old' country would not permit me to return to the point at which I as an audacious young student had maltreated the musical parameters of so-called contemporary music. A completely different approach would be necessary: an extremely careful approach, inching my way gradually back into the Western world: an approach which would welcome tradition back into the fold, attempt to unfurl the petals and gently infuse this tradition with a breath of contemporary life.Although I am aware that I will not unleash a revolution or scandal with this approach, I am nevertheless confident as, with the musical vocabulary of this Requiem, I am travelling in an orbit in which no ballast or complex structures will be transported or intimated: on the contrary, I have attempted to form the message of the texts in music with the naivety of a 'homecomer'. Harald WeissColonia de San PedroMarch 2009.