SKU: CF.PL1056
ISBN 9781491153390. UPC: 680160910892. Transcribed by Franz Liszt.
Introduction It is true that Schubert himself is somewhat to blame for the very unsatisfactory manner in which his admirable piano pieces are treated. He was too immoderately productive, wrote incessantly, mixing insignificant with important things, grand things with mediocre work, paid no heed to criticism, and always soared on his wings. Like a bird in the air, he lived in music and sang in angelic fashion. --Franz Liszt, letter to Dr. S. Lebert (1868) Of those compositions that greatly interest me, there are only Chopin's and yours. --Franz Liszt, letter to Robert Schumann (1838) She [Clara Schumann] was astounded at hearing me. Her compositions are really very remarkable, especially for a woman. There is a hundred times more creativity and real feeling in them than in all the past and present fantasias by Thalberg. --Franz Liszt, letter to Marie d'Agoult (1838) Chretien Urhan (1790-1845) was a Belgian-born violinist, organist and composer who flourished in the musical life of Paris in the early nineteenth century. According to various accounts, he was deeply religious, harshly ascetic and wildly eccentric, though revered by many important and influential members of the Parisian musical community. Regrettably, history has forgotten Urhan's many musical achievements, the most important of which was arguably his pioneering work in promoting the music of Franz Schubert. He devoted much of his energies to championing Schubert's music, which at the time was unknown outside of Vienna. Undoubtedly, Urhan was responsible for stimulating this enthusiasm in Franz Liszt; Liszt regularly heard Urhan's organ playing in the St.-Vincent-de-Paul church in Paris, and the two became personal acquaintances. At eighteen years of age, Liszt was on the verge of establishing himself as the foremost pianist in Europe, and this awakening to Schubert's music would prove to be a profound experience. Liszt's first travels outside of his native provincial Hungary were to Vienna in 1821-1823, where his father enrolled him in studies with Carl Czerny (piano) and Antonio Salieri (music theory). Both men had important involvements with Schubert; Czerny (like Urhan) as performer and advocate of Schubert's music and Salieri as his theory and composition teacher from 1813-1817. Curiously, Liszt and Schubert never met personally, despite their geographical proximity in Vienna during these years. Inevitably, legends later arose that the two had been personal acquaintances, although Liszt would dismiss these as fallacious: I never knew Schubert personally, he was once quoted as saying. Liszt's initial exposure to Schubert's music was the Lieder, what Urhan prized most of all. He accompanied the tenor Benedict Randhartinger in numerous performances of Schubert's Lieder and then, perhaps realizing that he could benefit the composer more on his own terms, transcribed a number of the Lieder for piano solo. Many of these transcriptions he would perform himself on concert tour during the so-called Glanzzeit, or time of splendor from 1839-1847. This publicity did much to promote reception of Schubert's music throughout Europe. Once Liszt retired from the concert stage and settled in Weimar as a conductor in the 1840s, he continued to perform Schubert's orchestral music, his Symphony No. 9 being a particular favorite, and is credited with giving the world premiere performance of Schubert's opera Alfonso und Estrella in 1854. At this time, he contemplated writing a biography of the composer, which regrettably remained uncompleted. Liszt's devotion to Schubert would never waver. Liszt's relationship with Robert and Clara Schumann was far different and far more complicated; by contrast, they were all personal acquaintances. What began as a relationship of mutual respect and admiration soon deteriorated into one of jealousy and hostility, particularly on the Schumann's part. Liszt's initial contact with Robert's music happened long before they had met personally, when Liszt published an analysis of Schumann's piano music for the Gazette musicale in 1837, a gesture that earned Robert's deep appreciation. In the following year Clara met Liszt during a concert tour in Vienna and presented him with more of Schumann's piano music. Clara and her father Friedrich Wieck, who accompanied Clara on her concert tours, were quite taken by Liszt: We have heard Liszt. He can be compared to no other player...he arouses fright and astonishment. His appearance at the piano is indescribable. He is an original...he is absorbed by the piano. Liszt, too, was impressed with Clara--at first the energy, intelligence and accuracy of her piano playing and later her compositions--to the extent that he dedicated to her the 1838 version of his Etudes d'execution transcendante d'apres Paganini. Liszt had a closer personal relationship with Clara than with Robert until the two men finally met in 1840. Schumann was astounded by Liszt's piano playing. He wrote to Clara that Liszt had played like a god and had inspired indescribable furor of applause. His review of Liszt even included a heroic personification with Napoleon. In Leipzig, Schumann was deeply impressed with Liszt's interpretations of his Noveletten, Op. 21 and Fantasy in C Major, Op. 17 (dedicated to Liszt), enthusiastically observing that, I feel as if I had known you twenty years. Yet a variety of events followed that diminished Liszt's glory in the eyes of the Schumanns. They became critical of the cult-like atmosphere that arose around his recitals, or Lisztomania as it came to be called; conceivably, this could be attributed to professional jealousy. Clara, in particular, came to loathe Liszt, noting in a letter to Joseph Joachim, I despise Liszt from the depths of my soul. She recorded a stunning diary entry a day after Liszt's death, in which she noted, He was an eminent keyboard virtuoso, but a dangerous example for the young...As a composer he was terrible. By contrast, Liszt did not share in these negative sentiments; no evidence suggests that he had any ill-regard for the Schumanns. In Weimar, he did much to promote Schumann's music, conducting performances of his Scenes from Faust and Manfred, during a time in which few orchestras expressed interest, and premiered his opera Genoveva. He later arranged a benefit concert for Clara following Robert's death, featuring Clara as soloist in Robert's Piano Concerto, an event that must have been exhilarating to witness. Regardless, her opinion of him would never change, despite his repeated gestures of courtesy and respect. Liszt's relationship with Schubert was a spiritual one, with music being the one and only link between the two men. That with the Schumanns was personal, with music influenced by a hero worship that would aggravate the relationship over time. Nonetheless, Liszt would remain devoted to and enthusiastic for the music and achievements of these composers. He would be a vital force in disseminating their music to a wider audience, as he would be with many other composers throughout his career. His primary means for accomplishing this was the piano transcription. Liszt and the Transcription Transcription versus Paraphrase Transcription and paraphrase were popular terms in nineteenth-century music, although certainly not unique to this period. Musicians understood that there were clear distinctions between these two terms, but as is often the case these distinctions could be blurred. Transcription, literally writing over, entails reworking or adapting a piece of music for a performance medium different from that of its original; arrangement is a possible synonym. Adapting is a key part of this process, for the success of a transcription relies on the transcriber's ability to adapt the piece to the different medium. As a result, the pre-existing material is generally kept intact, recognizable and intelligible; it is strict, literal, objective. Contextual meaning is maintained in the process, as are elements of style and form. Paraphrase, by contrast, implies restating something in a different manner, as in a rewording of a document for reasons of clarity. In nineteenth-century music, paraphrasing indicated elaborating a piece for purposes of expressive virtuosity, often as a vehicle for showmanship. Variation is an important element, for the source material may be varied as much as the paraphraser's imagination will allow; its purpose is metamorphosis. Transcription is adapting and arranging; paraphrasing is transforming and reworking. Transcription preserves the style of the original; paraphrase absorbs the original into a different style. Transcription highlights the original composer; paraphrase highlights the paraphraser. Approximately half of Liszt's compositional output falls under the category of transcription and paraphrase; it is noteworthy that he never used the term arrangement. Much of his early compositional activities were transcriptions and paraphrases of works of other composers, such as the symphonies of Beethoven and Berlioz, vocal music by Schubert, and operas by Donizetti and Bellini. It is conceivable that he focused so intently on work of this nature early in his career as a means to perfect his compositional technique, although transcription and paraphrase continued well after the technique had been mastered; this might explain why he drastically revised and rewrote many of his original compositions from the 1830s (such as the Transcendental Etudes and Paganini Etudes) in the 1850s. Charles Rosen, a sympathetic interpreter of Liszt's piano works, observes, The new revisions of the Transcendental Etudes are not revisions but concert paraphrases of the old, and their art lies in the technique of transformation. The Paganini etudes are piano transcriptions of violin etudes, and the Transcendental Etudes are piano transcriptions of piano etudes. The principles are the same. He concludes by noting, Paraphrase has shaded off into composition...Composition and paraphrase were not identical for him, but they were so closely interwoven that separation is impossible. The significance of transcription and paraphrase for Liszt the composer cannot be overstated, and the mutual influence of each needs to be better understood. Undoubtedly, Liszt the composer as we know him today would be far different had he not devoted so much of his career to transcribing and paraphrasing the music of others. He was perhaps one of the first composers to contend that transcription and paraphrase could be genuine art forms on equal par with original pieces; he even claimed to be the first to use these two terms to describe these classes of arrangements. Despite the success that Liszt achieved with this type of work, others viewed it with circumspection and criticism. Robert Schumann, although deeply impressed with Liszt's keyboard virtuosity, was harsh in his criticisms of the transcriptions. Schumann interpreted them as indicators that Liszt's virtuosity had hindered his compositional development and suggested that Liszt transcribed the music of others to compensate for his own compositional deficiencies. Nonetheless, Liszt's piano transcriptions, what he sometimes called partitions de piano (or piano scores), were instrumental in promoting composers whose music was unknown at the time or inaccessible in areas outside of major European capitals, areas that Liszt willingly toured during his Glanzzeit. To this end, the transcriptions had to be literal arrangements for the piano; a Beethoven symphony could not be introduced to an unknowing audience if its music had been subjected to imaginative elaborations and variations. The same would be true of the 1833 transcription of Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique (composed only three years earlier), the astonishingly novel content of which would necessitate a literal and intelligible rendering. Opera, usually more popular and accessible for the general public, was a different matter, and in this realm Liszt could paraphrase the original and manipulate it as his imagination would allow without jeopardizing its reception; hence, the paraphrases on the operas of Bellini, Donizetti, Mozart, Meyerbeer and Verdi. Reminiscence was another term coined by Liszt for the opera paraphrases, as if the composer were reminiscing at the keyboard following a memorable evening at the opera. Illustration (reserved on two occasions for Meyerbeer) and fantasy were additional terms. The operas of Wagner were exceptions. His music was less suited to paraphrase due to its general lack of familiarity at the time. Transcription of Wagner's music was thus obligatory, as it was of Beethoven's and Berlioz's music; perhaps the composer himself insisted on this approach. Liszt's Lieder Transcriptions Liszt's initial encounters with Schubert's music, as mentioned previously, were with the Lieder. His first transcription of a Schubert Lied was Die Rose in 1833, followed by Lob der Tranen in 1837. Thirty-nine additional transcriptions appeared at a rapid pace over the following three years, and in 1846, the Schubert Lieder transcriptions would conclude, by which point he had completed fifty-eight, the most of any composer. Critical response to these transcriptions was highly favorable--aside from the view held by Schumann--particularly when Liszt himself played these pieces in concert. Some were published immediately by Anton Diabelli, famous for the theme that inspired Beethoven's variations. Others were published by the Viennese publisher Tobias Haslinger (one of Beethoven's and Schubert's publishers in the 1820s), who sold his reserves so quickly that he would repeatedly plead for more. However, Liszt's enthusiasm for work of this nature soon became exhausted, as he noted in a letter of 1839 to the publisher Breitkopf und Hartel: That good Haslinger overwhelms me with Schubert. I have just sent him twenty-four new songs (Schwanengesang and Winterreise), and for the moment I am rather tired of this work. Haslinger was justified in his demands, for the Schubert transcriptions were received with great enthusiasm. One Gottfried Wilhelm Fink, then editor of the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, observed of these transcriptions: Nothing in recent memory has caused such sensation and enjoyment in both pianists and audiences as these arrangements...The demand for them has in no way been satisfied; and it will not be until these arrangements are seen on pianos everywhere. They have indeed made quite a splash. Eduard Hanslick, never a sympathetic critic of Liszt's music, acknowledged thirty years after the fact that, Liszt's transcriptions of Schubert Lieder were epoch-making. There was hardly a concert in which Liszt did not have to play one or two of them--even when they were not listed on the program. These transcriptions quickly became some of his most sough-after pieces, despite their extreme technical demands. Leading pianists of the day, such as Clara Wieck and Sigismond Thalberg, incorporated them into their concert programs immediately upon publication. Moreover, the transcriptions would serve as inspirations for other composers, such as Stephen Heller, Cesar Franck and later Leopold Godowsky, all of whom produced their own transcriptions of Schubert's Lieder. Liszt would transcribe the Lieder of other composers as well, including those by Mendelssohn, Chopin, Anton Rubinstein and even himself. Robert Schumann, of course, would not be ignored. The first transcription of a Schumann Lied was the celebrated Widmung from Myrten in 1848, the only Schumann transcription that Liszt completed during the composer's lifetime. (Regrettably, there is no evidence of Schumann's regard of this transcription, or even if he was aware of it.) From the years 1848-1881, Liszt transcribed twelve of Robert Schumann's Lieder (including one orchestral Lied) and three of Clara (one from each of her three published Lieder cycles); he would transcribe no other works of these two composers. The Schumann Lieder transcriptions, contrary to those of Schubert, are literal arrangements, posing, in general, far fewer demands on the pianist's technique. They are comparatively less imaginative in their treatment of the original material. Additionally, they seem to have been less valued in their day than the Schubert transcriptions, and it is noteworthy that none of the Schumann transcriptions bear dedications, as most of the Schubert transcriptions do. The greatest challenge posed by Lieder transcriptions, regardless of the composer or the nature of the transcription, was to combine the vocal and piano parts of the original such that the character of each would be preserved, a challenge unique to this form of transcription. Each part had to be intact and aurally recognizable, the vocal line in particular. Complications could be manifold in a Lied that featured dissimilar parts, such as Schubert's Auf dem Wasser zu singen, whose piano accompaniment depicts the rocking of the boat on the shimmering waves while the vocal line reflects on the passing of time. Similar complications would be encountered in Gretchen am Spinnrade, in which the ubiquitous sixteenth-note pattern in the piano's right hand epitomizes the ever-turning spinning wheel over which the soprano voice expresses feelings of longing and heartache. The resulting transcriptions for solo piano would place exceptional demands on the pianist. The complications would be far less imposing in instances in which voice and piano were less differentiated, as in many of Schumann's Lieder that Liszt transcribed. The piano parts in these Lieder are true accompaniments for the voice, providing harmonic foundation and rhythmic support by doubling the vocal line throughout. The transcriptions, thus, are strict and literal, with far fewer demands on both pianist and transcriber. In all of Liszt's Lieder transcriptions, regardless of the way in which the two parts are combined, the melody (i.e. the vocal line) is invariably the focal point; the melody should sing on the piano, as if it were the voice. The piano part, although integral to contributing to the character of the music, is designed to function as accompaniment. A singing melody was a crucial objective in nineteenth-century piano performance, which in part might explain the zeal in transcribing and paraphrasing vocal music for the piano. Friedrich Wieck, father and teacher of Clara Schumann, stressed this point repeatedly in his 1853 treatise Clavier und Gesang (Piano and Song): When I speak in general of singing, I refer to that species of singing which is a form of beauty, and which is a foundation for the most refined and most perfect interpretation of music; and, above all things, I consider the culture of beautiful tones the basis for the finest possible touch on the piano. In many respects, the piano and singing should explain and supplement each other. They should mutually assist in expressing the sublime and the noble, in forms of unclouded beauty. Much of Liszt's piano music should be interpreted with this concept in mind, the Lieder transcriptions and opera paraphrases, in particular. To this end, Liszt provided numerous written instructions to the performer to emphasize the vocal line in performance, with Italian directives such as un poco marcato il canto, accentuato assai il canto and ben pronunziato il canto. Repeated indications of cantando,singend and espressivo il canto stress the significance of the singing tone. As an additional means of achieving this and providing the performer with access to the poetry, Liszt insisted, at what must have been a publishing novelty at the time, on printing the words of the Lied in the music itself. Haslinger, seemingly oblivious to Liszt's intent, initially printed the poems of the early Schubert transcriptions separately inside the front covers. Liszt argued that the transcriptions must be reprinted with the words underlying the notes, exactly as Schubert had done, a request that was honored by printing the words above the right-hand staff. Liszt also incorporated a visual scheme for distinguishing voice and accompaniment, influenced perhaps by Chopin, by notating the accompaniment in cue size. His transcription of Robert Schumann's Fruhlings Ankunft features the vocal line in normal size, the piano accompaniment in reduced size, an unmistakable guide in a busy texture as to which part should be emphasized: Example 1. Schumann-Liszt Fruhlings Ankunft, mm. 1-2. The same practice may be found in the transcription of Schumann's An die Turen will ich schleichen. In this piece, the performer must read three staves, in which the baritone line in the central staff is to be shared between the two hands based on the stem direction of the notes: Example 2. Schumann-Liszt An die Turen will ich schleichen, mm. 1-5. This notational practice is extremely beneficial in this instance, given the challenge of reading three staves and the manner in which the vocal line is performed by the two hands. Curiously, Liszt did not use this practice in other transcriptions. Approaches in Lieder Transcription Liszt adopted a variety of approaches in his Lieder transcriptions, based on the nature of the source material, the ways in which the vocal and piano parts could be combined and the ways in which the vocal part could sing. One approach, common with strophic Lieder, in which the vocal line would be identical in each verse, was to vary the register of the vocal part. The transcription of Lob der Tranen, for example, incorporates three of the four verses of the original Lied, with the register of the vocal line ascending one octave with each verse (from low to high), as if three different voices were participating. By the conclusion, the music encompasses the entire range of Liszt's keyboard to produce a stunning climactic effect, and the variety of register of the vocal line provides a welcome textural variety in the absence of the words. The three verses of the transcription of Auf dem Wasser zu singen follow the same approach, in which the vocal line ascends from the tenor, to the alto and to the soprano registers with each verse. Fruhlingsglaube adopts the opposite approach, in which the vocal line descends from soprano in verse 1 to tenor in verse 2, with the second part of verse 2 again resuming the soprano register; this is also the case in Das Wandern from Mullerlieder. Gretchen am Spinnrade posed a unique problem. Since the poem's narrator is female, and the poem represents an expression of her longing for her lover Faust, variation of the vocal line's register, strictly speaking, would have been impractical. For this reason, the vocal line remains in its original register throughout, relentlessly colliding with the sixteenth-note pattern of the accompaniment. One exception may be found in the fifth and final verse in mm. 93-112, at which point the vocal line is notated in a higher register and doubled in octaves. This sudden textural change, one that is readily audible, was a strategic means to underscore Gretchen's mounting anxiety (My bosom urges itself toward him. Ah, might I grasp and hold him! And kiss him as I would wish, at his kisses I should die!). The transcription, thus, becomes a vehicle for maximizing the emotional content of the poem, an exceptional undertaking with the general intent of a transcription. Registral variation of the vocal part also plays a crucial role in the transcription of Erlkonig. Goethe's poem depicts the death of a child who is apprehended by a supernatural Erlking, and Schubert, recognizing the dramatic nature of the poem, carefully depicted the characters (father, son and Erlking) through unique vocal writing and accompaniment patterns: the Lied is a dramatic entity. Liszt, in turn, followed Schubert's characterization in this literal transcription, yet took it an additional step by placing the register of the father's vocal line in the baritone range, that of the son in the soprano range and that of the Erlking in the highest register, options that would not have been available in the version for voice and piano. Additionally, Liszt labeled each appearance of each character in the score, a means for guiding the performer in interpreting the dramatic qualities of the Lied. As a result, the drama and energy of the poem are enhanced in this transcription; as with Gretchen am Spinnrade, the transcriber has maximized the content of the original. Elaboration may be found in certain Lieder transcriptions that expand the performance to a level of virtuosity not found in the original; in such cases, the transcription approximates the paraphrase. Schubert's Du bist die Ruh, a paradigm of musical simplicity, features an uncomplicated piano accompaniment that is virtually identical in each verse. In Liszt's transcription, the material is subjected to a highly virtuosic treatment that far exceeds the original, including a demanding passage for the left hand alone in the opening measures and unique textural writing in each verse. The piece is a transcription in virtuosity; its art, as Rosen noted, lies in the technique of transformation. Elaboration may entail an expansion of the musical form, as in the extensive introduction to Die Forelle and a virtuosic middle section (mm. 63-85), both of which are not in the original. Also unique to this transcription are two cadenzas that Liszt composed in response to the poetic content. The first, in m. 93 on the words und eh ich es gedacht (and before I could guess it), features a twisted chromatic passage that prolongs and thereby heightens the listener's suspense as to the fate of the trout (which is ultimately caught). The second, in m. 108 on the words Betrogne an (and my blood boiled as I saw the betrayed one), features a rush of diminished-seventh arpeggios in both hands, epitomizing the poet's rage at the fisherman for catching the trout. Less frequent are instances in which the length of the original Lied was shortened in the transcription, a tendency that may be found with certain strophic Lieder (e.g., Der Leiermann, Wasserflut and Das Wandern). Another transcription that demonstrates Liszt's readiness to modify the original in the interests of the poetic content is Standchen, the seventh transcription from Schubert's Schwanengesang. Adapted from Act II of Shakespeare's Cymbeline, the poem represents the repeated beckoning of a man to his lover. Liszt transformed the Lied into a miniature drama by transcribing the vocal line of the first verse in the soprano register, that of the second verse in the baritone register, in effect, creating a dialogue between the two lovers. In mm. 71-102, the dialogue becomes a canon, with one voice trailing the other like an echo (as labeled in the score) at the distance of a beat. As in other instances, the transcription resembles the paraphrase, and it is perhaps for this reason that Liszt provided an ossia version that is more in the nature of a literal transcription. The ossia version, six measures shorter than Schubert's original, is less demanding technically than the original transcription, thus representing an ossia of transcription and an ossia of piano technique. The Schumann Lieder transcriptions, in general, display a less imaginative treatment of the source material. Elaborations are less frequently encountered, and virtuosity is more restricted, as if the passage of time had somewhat tamed the composer's approach to transcriptions; alternatively, Liszt was eager to distance himself from the fierce virtuosity of his early years. In most instances, these transcriptions are literal arrangements of the source material, with the vocal line in its original form combined with the accompaniment, which often doubles the vocal line in the original Lied. Widmung, the first of the Schumann transcriptions, is one exception in the way it recalls the virtuosity of the Schubert transcriptions of the 1830s. Particularly striking is the closing section (mm. 58-73), in which material of the opening verse (right hand) is combined with the triplet quarter notes (left hand) from the second section of the Lied (mm. 32-43), as if the transcriber were attempting to reconcile the different material of these two sections. Fruhlingsnacht resembles a paraphrase by presenting each of the two verses in differing registers (alto for verse 1, mm. 3-19, and soprano for verse 2, mm. 20-31) and by concluding with a virtuosic section that considerably extends the length of the original Lied. The original tonalities of the Lieder were generally retained in the transcriptions, showing that the tonality was an important part of the transcription process. The infrequent instances of transposition were done for specific reasons. In 1861, Liszt transcribed two of Schumann's Lieder, one from Op. 36 (An den Sonnenschein), another from Op. 27 (Dem roten Roslein), and merged these two pieces in the collection 2 Lieder; they share only the common tonality of A major. His choice for combining these two Lieder remains unknown, but he clearly recognized that some tonal variety would be needed, for which reason Dem roten Roslein was transposed to C>= major. The collection features An den Sonnenschein in A major (with a transition to the new tonality), followed by Dem roten Roslein in C>= major (without a change of key signature), and concluding with a reprise of An den Sonnenschein in A major. A three-part form was thus established with tonal variety provided by keys in third relations (A-C>=-A); in effect, two of Schumann's Lieder were transcribed into an archetypal song without words. In other instances, Liszt treated tonality and tonal organization as important structural ingredients, particularly in the transcriptions of Schubert's Lieder cycles, i.e. Schwanengesang, Winterreise a...
SKU: CF.WF229
ISBN 9781491153789. UPC: 680160911288.
Introduction Gustave Vogt's Musical Paris Gustave Vogt (1781-1870) was born into the Age of Enlightenment, at the apex of the Enlightenment's outreach. During his lifetime he would observe its effect on the world. Over the course of his life he lived through many changes in musical style. When he was born, composers such as Mozart and Haydn were still writing masterworks revered today, and eighty-nine years later, as he departed the world, the new realm of Romanticism was beginning to emerge with Mahler, Richard Strauss and Debussy, who were soon to make their respective marks on the musical world. Vogt himself left a huge mark on the musical world, with critics referring to him as the grandfather of the modern oboe and the premier oboist of Europe. Through his eighty-nine years, Vogt would live through what was perhaps the most turbulent period of French history. He witnessed the French Revolution of 1789, followed by the many newly established governments, only to die just months before the establishment of the Third Republic in 1870, which would be the longest lasting government since the beginning of the revolution. He also witnessed the transformation of the French musical world from one in which opera reigned supreme, to one in which virtuosi, chamber music, and symphonic music ruled. Additionally, he experienced the development of the oboe right before his eyes. When he began playing in the late eighteenth century, the standard oboe had two keys (E and Eb) and at the time of his death in 1870, the System Six Triebert oboe (the instrument adopted by Conservatoire professor, Georges Gillet, in 1882) was only five years from being developed. Vogt was born March 18, 1781 in the ancient town of Strasbourg, part of the Alsace region along the German border. At the time of his birth, Strasbourg had been annexed by Louis XIV, and while heavily influenced by Germanic culture, had been loosely governed by the French for a hundred years. Although it is unclear when Vogt began studying the oboe and when his family made its move to the French capital, the Vogts may have fled Strasbourg in 1792 after much of the city was destroyed during the French Revolution. He was without question living in Paris by 1798, as he enrolled on June 8 at the newly established Conservatoire national de Musique to study oboe with the school's first oboe professor, Alexandre-Antoine Sallantin (1775-1830). Vogt's relationship with the Conservatoire would span over half a century, moving seamlessly from the role of student to professor. In 1799, just a year after enrolling, he was awarded the premier prix, becoming the fourth oboist to achieve this award. By 1802 he had been appointed repetiteur, which involved teaching the younger students and filling in for Sallantin in exchange for a free education. He maintained this rank until 1809, when he was promoted to professor adjoint and finally to professor titulaire in 1816 when Sallantin retired. This was a position he held for thirty-seven years, retiring in 1853, making him the longest serving oboe professor in the school's history. During his tenure, he became the most influential oboist in France, teaching eighty-nine students, plus sixteen he taught while he was professor adjoint and professor titulaire. Many of these students went on to be famous in their own right, such as Henri Brod (1799-1839), Apollon Marie-Rose Barret (1804-1879), Charles Triebert (1810-1867), Stanislas Verroust (1814-1863), and Charles Colin (1832-1881). His influence stretches from French to American oboe playing in a direct line from Charles Colin to Georges Gillet (1854-1920), and then to Marcel Tabuteau (1887-1966), the oboist Americans lovingly describe as the father of American oboe playing. Opera was an important part of Vogt's life. His first performing position was with the Theatre-Montansier while he was still studying at the Conservatoire. Shortly after, he moved to the Ambigu-Comique and, in 1801 was appointed as first oboist with the Theatre-Italien in Paris. He had been in this position for only a year, when he began playing first oboe at the Opera-Comique. He remained there until 1814, when he succeeded his teacher, Alexandre-Antoine Sallantin, as soloist with the Paris Opera, the top orchestra in Paris at the time. He played with the Paris Opera until 1834, all the while bringing in his current and past students to fill out the section. In this position, he began to make a name for himself; so much so that specific performances were immortalized in memoirs and letters. One comes from a young Hector Berlioz (1803-1865) after having just arrived in Paris in 1822 and attended the Paris Opera's performance of Mehul's Stratonice and Persuis' ballet Nina. It was in response to the song Quand le bien-amie reviendra that Berlioz wrote: I find it difficult to believe that that song as sung by her could ever have made as true and touching an effect as the combination of Vogt's instrument... Shortly after this, Berlioz gave up studying medicine and focused on music. Vogt frequently made solo and chamber appearances throughout Europe. His busiest period of solo work was during the 1820s. In 1825 and 1828 he went to London to perform as a soloist with the London Philharmonic Society. Vogt also traveled to Northern France in 1826 for concerts, and then in 1830 traveled to Munich and Stuttgart, visiting his hometown of Strasbourg on the way. While on tour, Vogt performed Luigi Cherubini's (1760-1842) Ave Maria, with soprano Anna (Nanette) Schechner (1806-1860), and a Concertino, presumably written by himself. As a virtuoso performer in pursuit of repertoire to play, Vogt found himself writing much of his own music. His catalog includes chamber music, variation sets, vocal music, concerted works, religious music, wind band arrangements, and pedagogical material. He most frequently performed his variation sets, which were largely based on themes from popular operas he had, presumably played while he was at the Opera. He made his final tour in 1839, traveling to Tours and Bordeaux. During this tour he appeared with the singer Caroline Naldi, Countess de Sparre, and the violinist Joseph Artot (1815-1845). This ended his active career as a soloist. His performance was described in the Revue et gazette musicale de Paris as having lost none of his superiority over the oboe.... It's always the same grace, the same sweetness. We made a trip to Switzerland, just by closing your eyes and listening to Vogt's oboe. Vogt was also active performing in Paris as a chamber and orchestral musician. He was one of the founding members of the Societe des Concerts du Conservatoire, a group established in 1828 by violinist and conductor Francois-Antoine Habeneck (1781-1849). The group featured faculty and students performing alongside each other and works such as Beethoven symphonies, which had never been heard in France. He also premiered the groundbreaking woodwind quintets of Antonin Reicha (1770-1836). After his retirement from the Opera in 1834 and from the Societe des Concerts du Conservatoire in 1842, Vogt began to slow down. His final known performance was of Cherubini's Ave Maria on English horn with tenor Alexis Dupont (1796-1874) in 1843. He then began to reflect on his life and the people he had known. When he reached his 60s, he began gathering entries for his Musical Album of Autographs. Autograph Albums Vogt's Musical Album of Autographs is part of a larger practice of keeping autograph albums, also commonly known as Stammbuch or Album Amicorum (meaning book of friendship or friendship book), which date back to the time of the Reformation and the University of Wittenberg. It was during the mid-sixteenth century that students at the University of Wittenberg began passing around bibles for their fellow students and professors to sign, leaving messages to remember them by as they moved on to the next part of their lives. The things people wrote were mottos, quotes, and even drawings of their family coat of arms or some other scene that meant something to the owner. These albums became the way these young students remembered their school family once they had moved on to another school or town. It was also common for the entrants to comment on other entries and for the owner to amend entries when they learned of important life details such as marriage or death. As the practice continued, bibles were set aside for emblem books, which was a popular book genre that featured allegorical illustrations (emblems) in a tripartite form: image, motto, epigram. The first emblem book used for autographs was published in 1531 by Andrea Alciato (1492-1550), a collection of 212 Latin emblem poems. In 1558, the first book conceived for the purpose of the album amicorum was published by Lyon de Tournes (1504-1564) called the Thesaurus Amicorum. These books continued to evolve, and spread to wider circles away from universities. Albums could be found being kept by noblemen, physicians, lawyers, teachers, painters, musicians, and artisans. The albums eventually became more specialized, leading to Musical Autograph Albums (or Notestammbucher). Before this specialization, musicians contributed in one form or another, but our knowledge of them in these albums is mostly limited to individual people or events. Some would simply sign their name while others would insert a fragment of music, usually a canon (titled fuga) with text in Latin. Canons were popular because they displayed the craftsmanship of the composer in a limited space. Composers well-known today, including J. S. Bach, Telemann, Mozart, Beethoven, Dowland, and Brahms, all participated in the practice, with Beethoven being the first to indicate an interest in creating an album only of music. This interest came around 1815. In an 1845 letter from Johann Friedrich Naue to Heinrich Carl Breidenstein, Naue recalled an 1813 visit with Beethoven, who presented a book suggesting Naue to collect entries from celebrated musicians as he traveled. Shortly after we find Louis Spohr speaking about leaving on his grand tour through Europe in 1815 and of his desire to carry an album with entries from the many artists he would come across. He wrote in his autobiography that his most valuable contribution came from Beethoven in 1815. Spohr's Notenstammbuch, comprised only of musical entries, is groundbreaking because it was coupled with a concert tour, allowing him to reach beyond the Germanic world, where the creation of these books had been nearly exclusive. Spohr brought the practice of Notenstammbucher to France, and in turn indirectly inspired Vogt to create a book of his own some fifteen years later. Vogt's Musical Album of Autographs Vogt's Musical Album of Autographs acts as a form of a memoir, displaying mementos of musicians who held special meaning in his life as well as showing those with whom he was enamored from the younger generation. The anonymous Pie Jesu submitted to Vogt in 1831 marks the beginning of an album that would span nearly three decades by the time the final entry, an excerpt from Charles Gounod's (1818-1893) Faust, which premiered in 1859, was submitted. Within this album we find sixty-two entries from musicians whom he must have known very well because they were colleagues at the Conservatoire, or composers of opera whose works he was performing with the Paris Opera. Other entries came from performers with whom he had performed and some who were simply passing through Paris, such as Joseph Joachim (1831-1907). Of the sixty-three total entries, some are original, unpublished works, while others came from well-known existing works. Nineteen of these works are for solo piano, sixteen utilize the oboe or English horn, thirteen feature the voice (in many different combinations, including vocal solos with piano, and small choral settings up to one with double choir), two feature violin as a solo instrument, and one even features the now obscure ophicleide. The connections among the sixty-two contributors to Vogt's album are virtually never-ending. All were acquainted with Vogt in some capacity, from long-time friendships to relationships that were created when Vogt requested their entry. Thus, while Vogt is the person who is central to each of these musicians, the web can be greatly expanded. In general, the connections are centered around the Conservatoire, teacher lineages, the Opera, and performing circles. The relationships between all the contributors in the album parallel the current musical world, as many of these kinds of relationships still exist, and permit us to fantasize who might be found in an album created today by a musician of the same standing. Also important, is what sort of entries the contributors chose to pen. The sixty-three entries are varied, but can be divided into published and unpublished works. Within the published works, we find opera excerpts, symphony excerpts, mass excerpts, and canons, while the unpublished works include music for solo piano, oboe or English horn, string instruments (violin and cello), and voice (voice with piano and choral). The music for oboe and English horn works largely belong in the unpublished works of the album. These entries were most likely written to honor Vogt. Seven are for oboe and piano and were contributed by Joseph Joachim, Pauline Garcia Viardot (1821-1910), Joseph Artot, Anton Bohrer (1783-1852), Georges Onslow (1784-1853), Desire Beaulieu (1791-1863), and Narcisse Girard (1797-1860). The common thread between these entries is the simplicity of the melody and structure. Many are repetitive, especially Beaulieu's entry, which features a two-note ostinato throughout the work, which he even included in his signature. Two composers contributed pieces for English horn and piano, and like the previous oboe entries, are simple and repetitive. These were written by Michele Carafa (1787-1872) and Louis Clapisson (1808-1866). There are two other entries that were unpublished works and are chamber music. One is an oboe trio by Jacques Halevy (1799-1862) and the other is for oboe and strings (string trio) by J. B. Cramer (1771-1858). There are five published works in the album for oboe and English horn. There are three from operas and the other two from symphonic works. Ambroise Thomas (1811-1896) contributed an excerpt from the Entr'acte of his opera La Guerillero, and was likely chosen because the oboe was featured at this moment. Hippolyte Chelard (1789-1861) also chose to honor Vogt by writing for English horn. His entry, for English horn and piano, is taken from his biggest success, Macbeth. The English horn part was actually taken from Lady Macbeth's solo in the sleepwalking scene. Vogt's own entry also falls into this category, as he entered an excerpt from Donizetti's Maria di Rohan. The excerpt he chose is a duet between soprano and English horn. There are two entries featuring oboe that are excerpted from symphonic repertoire. One is a familiar oboe melody from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony entered by his first biographer, Anton Schindler (1796-1864). The other is an excerpt from Berlioz's choral symphony, Romeo et Juliette. He entered an oboe solo from the Grand Fete section of the piece. Pedagogical benefit All of these works are lovely, and fit within the album wonderfully, but these works also are great oboe and English horn music for young students. The common thread between these entries is the simplicity of the melody and structure. Many are repetitive, especially Beaulieu's entry, which features a two-note ostinato throughout the work in the piano. This repetitive structure is beneficial for young students for searching for a short solo to present at a studio recital, or simply to learn. They also work many technical issues a young player may encounter, such as mastering the rolling finger to uncover and recover the half hole. This is true of Bealieu's Pensee as well as Onslow's Andantino. Berlioz's entry from Romeo et Juliette features very long phrases, which helps with endurance and helps keep the air spinning through the oboe. Some of the pieces also use various levels of ornamentation, from trills to grace notes, and short cadenzas. This allows the student to learn appropriate ways to phrase with these added notes. The chamber music is a valuable way to start younger students with chamber music, especially the short quartet by Cramer for oboe and string trio. All of these pieces will not tax the student to learn a work that is more advanced, as well as give them a full piece that they can work on from beginning to end in a couple weeks, instead of months. Editorial Policy The works found in this edition are based on the manuscript housed at the Morgan Library in New York City (call number Cary 348, V886. A3). When possible, published scores were consulted and compared to clarify pitch and text. The general difficulties in creating an edition of these works stem from entries that appear to be hastily written, and thus omit complete articulations and dynamic indications for all passages and parts. The manuscript has been modernized into a performance edition. The score order from the manuscript has been retained. If an entry also exists in a published work, and this was not indicated on the manuscript, appropriate titles and subtitles have been added tacitly. For entries that were untitled, the beginning tempo marking or expressive directive has been added as its title tacitly. Part names have been changed from the original language to English. If no part name was present, it was added tacitly. All scores are transposing where applicable. Measure numbers have been added at the beginning of every system. Written directives have been retained in the original language and are placed relative to where they appear in the manuscript. Tempo markings from the manuscript have been retained, even if they were abbreviated, i.e., Andte. The barlines, braces, brackets, and clefs are modernized. The beaming and stem direction has been modernized. Key signatures have been modernized as some of the flats/sharps do not appear on the correct lines or spaces. Time signatures have been modernized. In a few cases, when a time signature was missing in the manuscript, it has been added tacitly. Triplet and rhythmic groupings have been modernized. Slurs, ties, and articulations (staccato and accent) have been modernized. Slurs, ties, and articulations have been added to parallel passages tacitly. Courtesy accidentals found in the manuscript have been removed, unless it appeared to be helpful to the performer. Dynamic indications from the manuscript have been retained, except where noted. --Kristin Leitterman.IntroductionGustave Vogt’s Musical ParisGustave Vogt (1781–1870) was born into the “Age of Enlightenment,†at the apex of the Enlightenment’s outreach. During his lifetime he would observe its effect on the world. Over the course of his life he lived through many changes in musical style. When he was born, composers such as Mozart and Haydn were still writing masterworks revered today, and eighty-nine years later, as he departed the world, the new realm of Romanticism was beginning to emerge with Mahler, Richard Strauss and Debussy, who were soon to make their respective marks on the musical world. Vogt himself left a huge mark on the musical world, with critics referring to him as the “grandfather of the modern oboe†and the “premier oboist of Europe.â€Through his eighty-nine years, Vogt would live through what was perhaps the most turbulent period of French history. He witnessed the French Revolution of 1789, followed by the many newly established governments, only to die just months before the establishment of the Third Republic in 1870, which would be the longest lasting government since the beginning of the revolution. He also witnessed the transformation of the French musical world from one in which opera reigned supreme, to one in which virtuosi, chamber music, and symphonic music ruled. Additionally, he experienced the development of the oboe right before his eyes. When he began playing in the late eighteenth century, the standard oboe had two keys (E and Eb) and at the time of his death in 1870, the “System Six†Triébert oboe (the instrument adopted by Conservatoire professor, Georges Gillet, in 1882) was only five years from being developed.Vogt was born March 18, 1781 in the ancient town of Strasbourg, part of the Alsace region along the German border. At the time of his birth, Strasbourg had been annexed by Louis XIV, and while heavily influenced by Germanic culture, had been loosely governed by the French for a hundred years. Although it is unclear when Vogt began studying the oboe and when his family made its move to the French capital, the Vogts may have fled Strasbourg in 1792 after much of the city was destroyed during the French Revolution. He was without question living in Paris by 1798, as he enrolled on June 8 at the newly established Conservatoire national de Musique to study oboe with the school’s first oboe professor, Alexandre-Antoine Sallantin (1775–1830).Vogt’s relationship with the Conservatoire would span over half a century, moving seamlessly from the role of student to professor. In 1799, just a year after enrolling, he was awarded the premier prix, becoming the fourth oboist to achieve this award. By 1802 he had been appointed répétiteur, which involved teaching the younger students and filling in for Sallantin in exchange for a free education. He maintained this rank until 1809, when he was promoted to professor adjoint and finally to professor titulaire in 1816 when Sallantin retired. This was a position he held for thirty-seven years, retiring in 1853, making him the longest serving oboe professor in the school’s history. During his tenure, he became the most influential oboist in France, teaching eighty-nine students, plus sixteen he taught while he was professor adjoint and professor titulaire. Many of these students went on to be famous in their own right, such as Henri Brod (1799–1839), Apollon Marie-Rose Barret (1804–1879), Charles Triebert (1810–1867), Stanislas Verroust (1814–1863), and Charles Colin (1832–1881). His influence stretches from French to American oboe playing in a direct line from Charles Colin to Georges Gillet (1854–1920), and then to Marcel Tabuteau (1887–1966), the oboist Americans lovingly describe as the “father of American oboe playing.â€Opera was an important part of Vogt’s life. His first performing position was with the Théâtre-Montansier while he was still studying at the Conservatoire. Shortly after, he moved to the Ambigu-Comique and, in 1801 was appointed as first oboist with the Théâtre-Italien in Paris. He had been in this position for only a year, when he began playing first oboe at the Opéra-Comique. He remained there until 1814, when he succeeded his teacher, Alexandre-Antoine Sallantin, as soloist with the Paris Opéra, the top orchestra in Paris at the time. He played with the Paris Opéra until 1834, all the while bringing in his current and past students to fill out the section. In this position, he began to make a name for himself; so much so that specific performances were immortalized in memoirs and letters. One comes from a young Hector Berlioz (1803–1865) after having just arrived in Paris in 1822 and attended the Paris Opéra’s performance of Mehul’s Stratonice and Persuis’ ballet Nina. It was in response to the song Quand le bien-amié reviendra that Berlioz wrote: “I find it difficult to believe that that song as sung by her could ever have made as true and touching an effect as the combination of Vogt’s instrument…†Shortly after this, Berlioz gave up studying medicine and focused on music.Vogt frequently made solo and chamber appearances throughout Europe. His busiest period of solo work was during the 1820s. In 1825 and 1828 he went to London to perform as a soloist with the London Philharmonic Society. Vogt also traveled to Northern France in 1826 for concerts, and then in 1830 traveled to Munich and Stuttgart, visiting his hometown of Strasbourg on the way. While on tour, Vogt performed Luigi Cherubini’s (1760–1842) Ave Maria, with soprano Anna (Nanette) Schechner (1806–1860), and a Concertino, presumably written by himself. As a virtuoso performer in pursuit of repertoire to play, Vogt found himself writing much of his own music. His catalog includes chamber music, variation sets, vocal music, concerted works, religious music, wind band arrangements, and pedagogical material. He most frequently performed his variation sets, which were largely based on themes from popular operas he had, presumably played while he was at the Opéra.He made his final tour in 1839, traveling to Tours and Bordeaux. During this tour he appeared with the singer Caroline Naldi, Countess de Sparre, and the violinist Joseph Artôt (1815–1845). This ended his active career as a soloist. His performance was described in the Revue et gazette musicale de Paris as having “lost none of his superiority over the oboe…. It’s always the same grace, the same sweetness. We made a trip to Switzerland, just by closing your eyes and listening to Vogt’s oboe.â€Vogt was also active performing in Paris as a chamber and orchestral musician. He was one of the founding members of the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire, a group established in 1828 by violinist and conductor François-Antoine Habeneck (1781–1849). The group featured faculty and students performing alongside each other and works such as Beethoven symphonies, which had never been heard in France. He also premiered the groundbreaking woodwind quintets of Antonin Reicha (1770–1836).After his retirement from the Opéra in 1834 and from the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire in 1842, Vogt began to slow down. His final known performance was of Cherubini’s Ave Maria on English horn with tenor Alexis Dupont (1796–1874) in 1843. He then began to reflect on his life and the people he had known. When he reached his 60s, he began gathering entries for his Musical Album of Autographs.Autograph AlbumsVogt’s Musical Album of Autographs is part of a larger practice of keeping autograph albums, also commonly known as Stammbuch or Album Amicorum (meaning book of friendship or friendship book), which date back to the time of the Reformation and the University of Wittenberg. It was during the mid-sixteenth century that students at the University of Wittenberg began passing around bibles for their fellow students and professors to sign, leaving messages to remember them by as they moved on to the next part of their lives. The things people wrote were mottos, quotes, and even drawings of their family coat of arms or some other scene that meant something to the owner. These albums became the way these young students remembered their school family once they had moved on to another school or town. It was also common for the entrants to comment on other entries and for the owner to amend entries when they learned of important life details such as marriage or death.As the practice continued, bibles were set aside for emblem books, which was a popular book genre that featured allegorical illustrations (emblems) in a tripartite form: image, motto, epigram. The first emblem book used for autographs was published in 1531 by Andrea Alciato (1492–1550), a collection of 212 Latin emblem poems. In 1558, the first book conceived for the purpose of the album amicorum was published by Lyon de Tournes (1504–1564) called the Thesaurus Amicorum. These books continued to evolve, and spread to wider circles away from universities. Albums could be found being kept by noblemen, physicians, lawyers, teachers, painters, musicians, and artisans.The albums eventually became more specialized, leading to Musical Autograph Albums (or Notestammbücher). Before this specialization, musicians contributed in one form or another, but our knowledge of them in these albums is mostly limited to individual people or events. Some would simply sign their name while others would insert a fragment of music, usually a canon (titled fuga) with text in Latin. Canons were popular because they displayed the craftsmanship of the composer in a limited space. Composers well-known today, including J. S. Bach, Telemann, Mozart, Beethoven, Dowland, and Brahms, all participated in the practice, with Beethoven being the first to indicate an interest in creating an album only of music.This interest came around 1815. In an 1845 letter from Johann Friedrich Naue to Heinrich Carl Breidenstein, Naue recalled an 1813 visit with Beethoven, who presented a book suggesting Naue to collect entries from celebrated musicians as he traveled. Shortly after we find Louis Spohr speaking about leaving on his “grand tour†through Europe in 1815 and of his desire to carry an album with entries from the many artists he would come across. He wrote in his autobiography that his “most valuable contribution†came from Beethoven in 1815. Spohr’s Notenstammbuch, comprised only of musical entries, is groundbreaking because it was coupled with a concert tour, allowing him to reach beyond the Germanic world, where the creation of these books had been nearly exclusive. Spohr brought the practice of Notenstammbücher to France, and in turn indirectly inspired Vogt to create a book of his own some fifteen years later.Vogt’s Musical Album of AutographsVogt’s Musical Album of Autographs acts as a form of a memoir, displaying mementos of musicians who held special meaning in his life as well as showing those with whom he was enamored from the younger generation. The anonymous Pie Jesu submitted to Vogt in 1831 marks the beginning of an album that would span nearly three decades by the time the final entry, an excerpt from Charles Gounod’s (1818–1893) Faust, which premiered in 1859, was submitted.Within this album ...
SKU: PR.110418370
ISBN 9781491135075. UPC: 680160686247.
Composed as an organ solo by the 17-year-old Ives for his own performance purposes, the beloved Variations on America is a treat for any occasion, whether a holiday concert, a serious recital, or other special event. Danny Holt’s transcription for Piano, Four Hands adds a dazzling new option to play at home or on stage, taking best advantage of Ives’ tremendous contrasts in color, dynamics, and texture.Composed when Charles Ives was a teenager, Variations on “America†is both a convenient introduction to Ives’ body of work, and an early example of his iconoclastic musical voice and creative genius. Just a few years after composing this piece, Ives would leave home to study music at Yale. But until then he had been taught by his father, George (who had been a bandmaster in the Civil War). George subjected the young Ives to experiments such as singing a song in one key while being accompanied in another, or arranging for two marching bands to converge on a town center, with the resulting cacophony that ensued.The Variations exemplifies an early period of experimentation in Ives’ work, spurred on by the unusual pedagogy of his father. The piece is particularly notable for its use of bitonality in the two interludes, subtly foreshadowing more well-known examples by Stravinsky, Bartók, and others by approximately two decades.The bitonal interludes were so ahead of their time, in fact, they were omitted from the first copy that was submitted to a publisher in 1892. (Alas, the piece was rejected even despite these “shocking†elements having been left out, and it wasn’t published until more than five decades later.) There is some ambiguity about when exactly Ives added the interludes into his manuscript copy, though ample evidence suggests he had performed the piece with the interludes around the time he notated the piece in 1891-92. In any case, in light of this piece and his other polytonal explorations from the last decade of the 19th century, it seems fair to give Ives credit for being a pioneer in this area!This arrangement for Piano, Four Hands, closely follows Ives’ original version for organ, setting aside William Schuman’s popular adaptation for symphony orchestra and William Rhoads’ band transcription of the Schuman orchestration. Pianists will find that the piece translates well to the instrument. Ideally, the choreography and logistics of elbow-to-elbow four-hands playing approximates the wild joy one gets from watching an organist play the piece (e.g., the elaborate pedal part in the final variation).In preparing this publication, attention was paid to details in the dual Critical Editions (Presser 443-41003) of both Ives’ manuscript edition and the 1949 publication edited by organist E. Power Biggs (who is credited with discovering what had been a long-lost, forgotten work.) But as with much of Ives’ output, attempting to create a true ‘urtext’ score is a futile endeavor, and especially with a piece such as this one – in which Ives incorporated improvisation in live performance – seems unnecessary anyhow. True die-hards are of course encouraged to consult the critical editions and even find inspiration in the orchestrated version. Generally, performers are advised to be wild, have fun, and not to be too rigid in their interpretive choices.Dynamics in this arrangement mostly follow the organ score closely. Pianists will use good judgment about pedaling throughout, which should be straightforward and intuitive. Courtesy accidentals have been provided frequently – without parentheses – balancing the need for extra clarity in the context of Ives’ murky musical language, and a desire to avoid unnecessary clutter.A few notes that might inform interpretive decisions:mm. 15-16: There are inconsistencies here between Ives’ original manuscript and the 1949 Biggs edition, regarding the top voice in m. 15, beat 3 (C# vs. Cn) and m. 16 (D Major vs. D Minor).mm. 76-84 & 143-146: In both Interludes, Ives emphatically notates extreme dynamic contrast, in order to highlight the bitonality. Although it may seem counterintuitive (or even a misprint, as has apparently been misconstrued by some), performers are urged to follow the composer’s marking!m. 109: Two-note slurs have been added here for clarity and consistency with other similar passages, though they do not appear in either the original manuscript or Biggs.m. 112: The last two eighth notes of Primo appear as 16ths in the original manuscript.mm. 183-186: The original manuscript has a slightly different bass line.mm. 184 & 186: Primo gestures have been re-written to be slightly more idiomatic for Piano, Four Hands.m. 186: The breath mark at the end of this bar does not appear in either the manuscript or Biggs, but is an editorial suggestion – aside from being appropriately dramatic, it will indeed be necessary in a reverberant hall!I would like to thank Steven Vanhauwaert, the other half of my piano duo, 4handsLA, for his input on early drafts of this arrangement.— Danny Holt, April 2022.
SKU: PR.16500103F
ISBN 9781491131763. UPC: 680160680290.
Ever since the success of my series of wind ensemble works Places in the West, I've been wanting to write a companion piece for national parks on the other side of the north American continent. The earlier work, consisting of GLACIER, THE YELLOWSTONE FIRES, ARCHES, and ZION, spanned some twenty years of my composing life, and since the pieces called for differing groups of instruments, and were in slightly different styles from each other, I never considered them to be connected except in their subject matter. In their depiction of both the scenery and the human history within these wondrous places, they had a common goal: awaking the listener to the fragile beauty that is in them; and calling attention to the ever more crucial need for preservation and protection of these wild places, unique in all the world. With this new work, commissioned by a consortium of college and conservatory wind ensembles led by the University of Georgia, I decided to build upon that same model---but to solidify the process. The result, consisting of three movements (each named for a different national park in the eastern US), is a bona-fide symphony. While the three pieces could be performed separately, they share a musical theme---and also a common style and instrumentation. It is a true symphony, in that the first movement is long and expository, the second is a rather tightly structured scherzo-with-trio, and the finale is a true culmination of the whole. The first movement, Everglades, was the original inspiration for the entire symphony. Conceived over the course of two trips to that astonishing place (which the native Americans called River of Grass, the subtitle of this movement), this movement not only conveys a sense of the humid, lush, and even frightening scenery there---but also an overview of the entire settling-of- Florida experience. It contains not one, but two native American chants, and also presents a view of the staggering influence of modern man on this fragile part of the world. Beginning with a slow unfolding marked Heavy, humid, the music soon presents a gentle, lyrical theme in the solo alto saxophone. This theme, which goes through three expansive phrases with breaks in between, will appear in all three movements of the symphony. After the mood has been established, the music opens up to a rich, warm setting of a Cherokee morning song, with the simple happiness that this part of Florida must have had prior to the nineteenth century. This music, enveloping and comforting, gradually gives way to a more frenetic, driven section representative of the intrusion of the white man. Since Florida was populated and developed largely due to the introduction of a train system, there's a suggestion of the mechanized iron horse driving straight into the heartland. At that point, the native Americans become considerably less gentle, and a second chant seems to stand in the way of the intruder; a kind of warning song. The second part of this movement shows us the great swampy center of the peninsula, with its wildlife both in and out of the water. A new theme appears, sad but noble, suggesting that this land is precious and must be protected by all the people who inhabit it. At length, the morning song reappears in all its splendor, until the sunset---with one last iteration of the warning song in the solo piccolo. Functioning as a scherzo, the second movement, Great Smoky Mountains, describes not just that huge park itself, but one brave soul's attempt to climb a mountain there. It begins with three iterations of the UR-theme (which began the first movement as well), but this time as up-tempo brass fanfares in octaves. Each time it begins again, the theme is a little slower and less confident than the previous time---almost as though the hiker were becoming aware of the daunting mountain before him. But then, a steady, quick-pulsed ostinato appears, in a constantly shifting meter system of 2/4- 3/4 in alteration, and the hike has begun. Over this, a slower new melody appears, as the trek up the mountain progresses. It's a big mountain, and the ascent seems to take quite awhile, with little breaks in the hiker's stride, until at length he simply must stop and rest. An oboe solo, over several free cadenza-like measures, allows us (and our friend the hiker) to catch our breath, and also to view in the distance the rocky peak before us. The goal is somehow even more daunting than at first, being closer and thus more frighteningly steep. When we do push off again, it's at a slower pace, and with more careful attention to our footholds as we trek over broken rocks. Tantalizing little views of the valley at every switchback make our determination even stronger. Finally, we burst through a stand of pines and----we're at the summit! The immensity of the view is overwhelming, and ultimately humbling. A brief coda, while we sit dazed on the rocks, ends the movement in a feeling of triumph. The final movement, Acadia, is also about a trip. In the summer of 2014, I took a sailing trip with a dear friend from North Haven, Maine, to the southern coast of Mt. Desert Island in Acadia National Park. The experience left me both exuberant and exhausted, with an appreciation for the ocean that I hadn't had previously. The approach to Acadia National Park by water, too, was thrilling: like the difference between climbing a mountain on foot with riding up on a ski-lift, I felt I'd earned the right to be there. The music for this movement is entirely based on the opening UR-theme. There's a sense of the water and the mysterious, quiet deep from the very beginning, with seagulls and bell buoys setting the scene. As we leave the harbor, the theme (in a canon between solo euphonium and tuba) almost seems as if large subaquatic animals are observing our departure. There are three themes (call them A, B and C) in this seafaring journey---but they are all based on the UR theme, in its original form with octaves displaced, in an upside-down form, and in a backwards version as well. (The ocean, while appearing to be unchanging, is always changing.) We move out into the main channel (A), passing several islands (B), until we reach the long draw that parallels the coastline called Eggemoggin Reach, and a sudden burst of new speed (C). Things suddenly stop, as if the wind had died, and we have a vision: is that really Mt. Desert Island we can see off the port bow, vaguely in the distance? A chorale of saxophones seems to suggest that. We push off anew as the chorale ends, and go through all three themes again---but in different instrumentations, and different keys. At the final tack-turn, there it is, for real: Mt. Desert Island, big as life. We've made it. As we pull into the harbor, where we'll secure the boat for the night, there's a feeling of achievement. Our whale and dolphin friends return, and we end our journey with gratitude and celebration. I am profoundly grateful to Jaclyn Hartenberger, Professor of Conducting at the University of Georgia, for leading the consortium which provided the commissioning of this work.
SKU: PR.16500102F
ISBN 9781491131749. UPC: 680160680276.
SKU: PR.16500101F
ISBN 9781491131725. UPC: 680160680252.
SKU: PR.16500104F
ISBN 9781491132159. UPC: 680160681082.
SKU: PR.114423500
ISBN 9781491137758. UPC: 680160691531.
Commissioned by The Juilliard School’s Music Advancement Program, IMPRESSIONS FROM THE CHINESE ZODIAC is a suite of three characteristic pieces within reach of advanced pre-college saxophonists, and introducing advanced techniques. The work is equally satisfying and impressive for top-level performers. The movements are titled:1. Rooster Singing Out in the Morning2. Monkey Jumping Around in the Forest3. Tiger Walking Down from the Mountain.Commissioned by The Juilliard School for Juilliard’s Music Advancement Program, Impressions from the Chinese Zodiac was composed for any size saxophone in 2022. It consists of three independent movements featuring different musical characteristics with various performing techniques. The inspiration for the music came from impressions of three animal signs (rooster, monkey, and tiger), from the twelve in the Chinese Zodiac.The first piece begins with a repeated phrase imitating a rooster’s loud singing in the morning; the pitch with fluttertongue sounds like the noise from the rooster’s throat), followed by phrases of a pentatonic melody drawn from The Sun Is Rising With Our Joy, a Chinese folk song from Sichuan province. There are descending passages, simulating the dropping-down sound of the singing. Each passage is different from others, each of which should be played accurately and smoothly. The melody is moved up a step with variation, followed by an echo of the rooster singing at the end of the piece. Now the sky is bright, so the rooster call returns up four scale steps!The second piece includes two Chinese folk songs: Thinking of My Darling (from Shanxi province) and Guessing (from Yunnan province). Both songs have large interval skips spanning different registers, as well as microtonal intervals in their original singing, which show the characteristics of the regional musical languages respectively. The tone colors should be matched when registers are changed. The microtonal pitches (quarter-tone flat or three-quarter-tone flat) may be done by bending the tone with one’s lips. The image is the monkey jumping around lively, and the music is played humorously. The high and long pitch with a yelling-down effect at the end of the piece brings the music to an exciting peak.The third piece features the strong and brave tiger, with accented tones in the lowest register. The first 3-pitch motive is developed throughout the piece, while peristaltic chromatic material is formed in various shapes and directions, to show the gestures of a mighty and fierce image.Getting accustomed to special fingerings for the chromatic passages and trills, along with precisely notated articulations, and the techniques of tongue slap and key clicks, are the basic goals to achieve in this piece.
SKU: PR.165001000
ISBN 9781491129241. UPC: 680160669776. 9 x 12 inches.
Commissioned for a consortium of high school and college bands in the north Dallas region, FOR THEMYSTIC HARMONY is a 10-minute inspirational work in homage to Norwood and Elizabeth Dixon,patrons of the Fort Worth Symphony and the Van Cliburn Competition. Welcher draws melodic flavorfrom five American hymns, spirituals, and folk tunes of the 19th century. The last of these sources toappear is the hymn tune For the Beauty of the Earth, whose third stanza is the quatrain: “For the joy of earand eye, For the heart and mind’s delight, For the mystic harmony, Linking sense to sound and sight,â€giving rise to the work’s title.This work, commissioned for a consortium of high school bands in the north Dallas area, is my fifteenth maturework for wind ensemble (not counting transcriptions). When I asked Todd Dixon, the band director whospearheaded this project, what kind of a work he most wanted, he first said “something that’s basically slow,†butwanted to leave the details to me. During a long subsequent conversation, he mentioned that his grandparents,Norwood and Elizabeth Dixon, were prime supporters of the Fort Worth Symphony, going so far as to purchase anumber of high quality instruments for that orchestra. This intrigued me, so I asked more about his grandparentsand was provided an 80-page biographical sketch. Reading that article, including a long section about theirdevotion to supporting a young man through the rigors of the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition fora number of years, moved me very much. Norwood and Elizabeth Dixon weren’t just supporters of the arts; theywere passionate lovers of music and musicians. I determined to make this work a testament to that love, and tothe religious faith that sustained them both. The idea of using extant hymns was also suggested by Todd Dixon,and this 10-minute work is the result.I have employed existing melodies in several works, delving into certain kinds of religious music more than a fewtimes. In seeking new sounds, new ways of harmonizing old tunes, and the contrapuntal overlaying of one tunewith another, I was able to make works like ZION (using 19th-century Revivalist hymns) and LABORING SONGS(using Shaker melodies) reflect the spirit of the composers who created these melodies, without sounding likepastiches or medleys. I determined to do the same with this new work, with the added problem of employingmelodies that were more familiar. I chose five tunes from the 19th century: hymns, spirituals, and folk-tunes.Some of these are known by differing titles, but they all appear in hymnals of various Christian denominations(with various titles and texts). My idea was to employ the tunes without altering their notes, instead using aconstantly modulating sense of harmony — sometimes leading to polytonal harmonizations of what are normallysimple four-chord hymns.The work begins and ends with a repeated chime on the note C: a reminder of steeples, white clapboard churchesin the country, and small church organs. Beginning with a Mixolydian folk tune of Caribbean origin presentedtwice with layered entrances, the work starts with a feeling of mystery and gentle sorrow. It proceeds, after along transition, into a second hymn that is sometimes connected to the sea (hence the sensation of water andwaves throughout it). This tune, by John B. Dykes (1823-1876), is a bit more chromatic and “shifty†than mosthymn-tunes, so I chose to play with the constant sensation of modulation even more than the original does. Atthe climax, the familiar spiritual “Were you there?†takes over, with a double-time polytonal feeling propelling itforward at “Sometimes it causes me to tremble.â€Trumpets in counterpoint raise the temperature, and the tempo as well, leading the music into a third tune (ofunknown provenance, though it appears with different texts in various hymnals) that is presented in a sprightlymanner. Bassoons introduce the melody, but it is quickly taken up by other instruments over three “verses,â€constantly growing in orchestration and volume. A mysterious second tune, unrelated to this one, interrupts it inall three verses, sending the melody into unknown regions.The final melody is “For the Beauty of the Earth.†This tune by Conrad Kocher (1786-1872) is commonly sung atThanksgiving — the perfect choice to end this work celebrating two people known for their generosity.Keeping the sense of constant modulation that has been present throughout, I chose to present this hymn in threegrowing verses, but with a twist: every four bars, the “key†of the hymn seems to shift — until the “Lord of all, toThee we praise†melody bursts out in a surprising compound meter. This, as it turns out, was the “mystery tuneâ€heard earlier in the piece. After an Ivesian, almost polytonal climax, the Coda begins over a long B( pedal. At first,it seems to be a restatement of the first two phrases of “For the Beauty†with long spaces between them, but it soonchanges to a series of “Amen†cadences, widely separated by range and color. These, too, do not conform to anykey, but instead overlay each other in ways that are unpredictable but strangely comforting.The third verse of “For the Beauty of the Earth†contains this quatrain:“For the joy of ear and eye, –For the heart and mind’s delightFor the mystic harmonyLinking sense to sound and sightâ€and it was from this poetry that I drew the title for the present work. It is my hope that audiences and performerswill find within it a sense of grace: more than a little familiar, but also quite new and unexpected.
SKU: PR.16500100F
ISBN 9781491114421. UPC: 680160669783. 9 x 12 inches.
SKU: PR.161000820
UPC: 680160610822. 9 x 12 inches. Text: Santiago Vaquera-Vasquez; Dan Welcher. Santiago Vaquera-Vasquez, Dan Welcher. Original story by Santiago Vaquera-Vasquez; Lyrics by Dan Welcher.
Commissioned for the Kingsville (TX) Independent School District and its thriving music department, Welcher has created A Musical Fable for Children, based upon a story by Santiago Vaquera-Vasquez. A narrator tells the tale of two children on opposite sides of the border and the magical creatures who allowed them to see as the other sees. Welcher uses musical themes and instruments to help identify the characters for the audience. The musical play was performed at the Kingsville campus, as well as six other elementary schools in the district.The Need to See is a theater piece for children, featuring a narrator/singer and five instrumentalists. Designed to show children (aged 8-10) a fable about acceptance and diversity, the work also exposes children to live musicians in a highly portable, suitable-for-classroom theater piece.The narrator/singer begins by teaching the children a well-known Mexican folk tune, “Naranja Dulceâ€, which leads directly into the story. The fable concerns two figures from folklore: Don Conejo (the rabbit god) and Don Coyote (the coyote god). These two trickster/adversaries take on the task of helping Isabella, an American girl, and Tomà s, a Mexican boy, understand each other’s culture—by means of a trick. The two children, living on opposite sides of the Rio Grande in Texas and Mexico, have been taught to fear el otro lado (“the other sideâ€), and to stay away from the river. This causes both children to be nervous and afraid, and Conejo and Coyote decide to do something about that.Borrowing from another well-known tale, writer Santiago Vaquera-Và squez has the two trickster-deities perform a bit of hocus-pocus, exchanging the two childrens’ eyes for one day, so they can “see†through someone else’s perspective. The result, told in two languages with narration, song, and constant music, allows the children in the audience to participate as singers, and also as spectators to a tale that has relevance and contemporary meaning.  Employing three familiar songs from Latin American culture (“Naranja Dulceâ€, “Tengo una Muñecaâ€, and “Mambru se fue a la Guerraâ€), the piece takes its audience on a journey both familiar and new—and ultimately enlightening.
SKU: PR.465000130
ISBN 9781598064070. UPC: 680160600144. 9x12 inches.
Following a celebrated series of wind ensemble tone poems about national parks in the American West, Dan Welcher’s Upriver celebrates the Lewis & Clark Expedition from the Missouri River to Oregon’s Columbia Gorge, following the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. Welcher’s imaginative textures and inventiveness are freshly modern, evoking our American heritage, including references to Shenandoah and other folk songs known to have been sung on the expedition. For advanced players. Duration: 14’.In 1803, President Thomas Jefferson sent Meriwether Lewis and William Clark’s Corps of Discovery to find a water route to the Pacific and explore the uncharted West. He believed woolly mammoths, erupting volcanoes, and mountains of pure salt awaited them. What they found was no less mind-boggling: some 300 species unknown to science, nearly 50 Indian tribes, and the Rockies.Ihave been a student of the Lewis and Clark expedition, which Thomas Jefferson called the “Voyage of Discovery,†for as long as I can remember. This astonishing journey, lasting more than two-and-a-half years, began and ended in St. Louis, Missouri — and took the travelers up more than a few rivers in their quest to find the Northwest Passage to the Pacific Ocean. In an age without speedy communication, this was akin to space travel out of radio range in our own time: no one knew if, indeed, the party had even survived the voyage for more than a year. Most of them were soldiers. A few were French-Canadian voyageurs — hired trappers and explorers, who were fluent in French (spoken extensively in the region, due to earlier explorers from France) and in some of the Indian languages they might encounter. One of the voyageurs, a man named Pierre Cruzatte, also happened to be a better-than-average fiddle player. In many respects, the travelers were completely on their own for supplies and survival, yet, incredibly, only one of them died during the voyage. Jefferson had outfitted them with food, weapons, medicine, and clothing — and along with other trinkets, a box of 200 jaw harps to be used in trading with the Indians. Their trip was long, perilous to the point of near catastrophe, and arduous. The dream of a Northwest Passage proved ephemeral, but the northwestern quarter of the continent had finally been explored, mapped, and described to an anxious world. When the party returned to St. Louis in 1806, and with the Louisiana Purchase now part of the United States, they were greeted as national heroes.Ihave written a sizeable number of works for wind ensemble that draw their inspiration from the monumental spaces found in the American West. Four of them (Arches, The Yellowstone Fires, Glacier, and Zion) take their names, and in large part their being, from actual national parks in Utah, Wyoming, and Montana. But Upriver, although it found its voice (and its finale) in the magnificent Columbia Gorge in Oregon, is about a much larger region. This piece, like its brother works about the national parks, doesn’t try to tell a story. Instead, it captures the flavor of a certain time, and of a grand adventure. Cast in one continuous movement and lasting close to fourteen minutes, the piece falls into several subsections, each with its own heading: The Dream (in which Jefferson’s vision of a vast expanse of western land is opened); The Promise, a chorale that re-appears several times in the course of the piece and represents the seriousness of the presidential mission; The River; The Voyageurs; The River II ; Death and Disappointment; Return to the Voyage; and The River III .The music includes several quoted melodies, one of which is familiar to everyone as the ultimate “river song,†and which becomes the through-stream of the work. All of the quoted tunes were either sung by the men on the voyage, or played by Cruzatte’s fiddle. From various journals and diaries, we know the men found enjoyment and solace in music, and almost every night encampment had at least a bit of music in it. In addition to Cruzatte, there were two other members of the party who played the fiddle, and others made do with singing, or playing upon sticks, bones, the ever-present jaw harps, and boat horns. From Lewis’ journals, I found all the tunes used in Upriver: Shenandoah (still popular after more than 200 years), V’la bon vent, Soldier’s Joy, Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier, Come Ye Sinners Poor and Needy (a hymn sung to the tune “Beech Springâ€) and Fisher’s Hornpipe. The work follows an emotional journey: not necessarily step-by-step with the Voyage of Discovery heroes, but a kind of grand arch. Beginning in the mists of history and myth, traversing peaks and valleys both real and emotional (and a solemn funeral scene), finding help from native people, and recalling their zeal upon finding the one great river that will, in fact, take them to the Pacific. When the men finally roar through the Columbia Gorge in their boats (a feat that even the Indians had not attempted), the magnificent river combines its theme with the chorale of Jefferson’s Promise. The Dream is fulfilled: not quite the one Jefferson had imagined (there is no navigable water passage from the Missouri to the Pacific), but the dream of a continental destiny.
SKU: PR.46500013L
UPC: 680160600151. 11 x 14 inches.
I n 1803, President Thomas Jefferson sent Meriwether Lewis and William Clarks Corps of Discovery to find a water route to the Pacific and explore the uncharted West. He believed woolly mammoths, erupting volcanoes, and mountains of pure salt awaited them. What they found was no less mind-boggling: some 300 species unknown to science, nearly 50 Indian tribes, and the Rockies. I have been a student of the Lewis and Clark expedition, which Thomas Jefferson called the Voyage of Discovery, for as long as I can remember. This astonishing journey, lasting more than two-and-a-half years, began and ended in St. Louis, Missouri and took the travelers up more than a few rivers in their quest to find the Northwest Passage to the Pacific Ocean. In an age without speedy communication, this was akin to space travel out of radio range in our own time: no one knew if, indeed, the party had even survived the voyage for more than a year. Most of them were soldiers. A few were French-Canadian voyageurs hired trappers and explorers, who were fluent in French (spoken extensively in the region, due to earlier explorers from France) and in some of the Indian languages they might encounter. One of the voyageurs, a man named Pierre Cruzatte, also happened to be a better-than-average fiddle player. In many respects, the travelers were completely on their own for supplies and survival, yet, incredibly, only one of them died during the voyage. Jefferson had outfitted them with food, weapons, medicine, and clothing and along with other trinkets, a box of 200 jaw harps to be used in trading with the Indians. Their trip was long, perilous to the point of near catastrophe, and arduous. The dream of a Northwest Passage proved ephemeral, but the northwestern quarter of the continent had finally been explored, mapped, and described to an anxious world. When the party returned to St. Louis in 1806, and with the Louisiana Purchase now part of the United States, they were greeted as national heroes. I have written a sizeable number of works for wind ensemble that draw their inspiration from the monumental spaces found in the American West. Four of them (Arches, The Yellowstone Fires, Glacier, and Zion) take their names, and in large part their being, from actual national parks in Utah, Wyoming, and Montana. But Upriver, although it found its voice (and its finale) in the magnificent Columbia Gorge in Oregon, is about a much larger region. This piece, like its brother works about the national parks, doesnt try to tell a story. Instead, it captures the flavor of a certain time, and of a grand adventure. Cast in one continuous movement and lasting close to fourteen minutes, the piece falls into several subsections, each with its own heading: The Dream (in which Jeffersons vision of a vast expanse of western land is opened); The Promise, a chorale that re-appears several times in the course of the piece and represents the seriousness of the presidential mission; The River; The Voyageurs; The River II ; Death and Disappointment; Return to the Voyage; and The River III . The music includes several quoted melodies, one of which is familiar to everyone as the ultimate river song, and which becomes the through-stream of the work. All of the quoted tunes were either sung by the men on the voyage, or played by Cruzattes fiddle. From various journals and diaries, we know the men found enjoyment and solace in music, and almost every night encampment had at least a bit of music in it. In addition to Cruzatte, there were two other members of the party who played the fiddle, and others made do with singing, or playing upon sticks, bones, the ever-present jaw harps, and boat horns. From Lewis journals, I found all the tunes used in Upriver: Shenandoah (still popular after more than 200 years), Vla bon vent, Soldiers Joy, Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier, Come Ye Sinners Poor and Needy (a hymn sung to the tune Beech Spring) and Fishers Hornpipe. The work follows an emotional journey: not necessarily step-by-step with the Voyage of Discovery heroes, but a kind of grand arch. Beginning in the mists of history and myth, traversing peaks and valleys both real and emotional (and a solemn funeral scene), finding help from native people, and recalling their zeal upon finding the one great river that will, in fact, take them to the Pacific. When the men finally roar through the Columbia Gorge in their boats (a feat that even the Indians had not attempted), the magnificent river combines its theme with the chorale of Jeffersons Promise. The Dream is fulfilled: not quite the one Jefferson had imagined (there is no navigable water passage from the Missouri to the Pacific), but the dream of a continental destiny.
SKU: CF.H84
ISBN 9781491165539. UPC: 680160924530.
Marcel Tournier (1879–1951) was one of the most important harpist/composers in the history of the harp. Over his long career, he added a significant catalogue of very beautiful works to the harp repertoire. Many of his solo works, almost one hundred, have been consistently in print since they were first published. But in recent years harpist Carl Swanson has discovered a treasure trove of pieces by Tournier heretofore unknown and unpublished. These include the Déchiffrages in this edition, as well as songs set for voice, harp, and string quartet, and ensemble arrangements of some of his most beloved works.All of the works that Carl Swanson found were in manuscript only. With the help of the great harpist Catherine Michel, he has put these pieces into playable form, and they are being published for the very first time. He and Catherine often had to re-notate passages to show clearly how they could be played, adding fingerings and musical nuances, tempos, pedals, and pedal diagrams.Tournier wrote these pieces when he was in his 20s, and before he became the impressionistic composer those familiar with his work know so well. They are written in the late nineteenth-century romantic style that was being taught at that time at the Paris Conservatory. They are beautiful short, intermediate level pieces by a first rate composer, and add much needed repertoire to that level of playing.Marcel Tournier (1879–1951) was one of the most important harpist/composers in the history of the harp. He graduated from the Paris Conservatory with a first prize in harp in 1899. He also studied composition there and won a second prize in the prestigious Prix de Rome competition, as well as a first prize in the Rossini competition, another major composition competition of the day. From 1912 to 1948 he taught the harp class at the Paris Conservatory. But composition, and almost entirely, composition for the harp, was the main focus of his life. His published works, including many works for solo harp, a few for harp and other instruments, and several songs, number around one hundred pieces.In 2019, while researching Tournier for my edition MARCEL TOURNIER: 10 Pieces for Solo Harp, I discovered that there was a significant list of pieces by this composer that had never been published and were not included on any inventory of his music. Principal on this list were his déchiffrages (pronounced day-she-frahge, like the second syllable in the word garage).The word déchiffrage means sight-reading exercise, and that was their original purpose. Tournier numbered and dated these pieces, with dates ranging from 1900 to 1910, indicating that they were in all likelihood written for Alphonse Hasselmans’ class at the Paris Conservatory. Tournier was probably told how long to make each one, and how difficult. They range in length from two to four pages, with only one in the whole series extending to five, and from thirty to fifty-five measures, with only one extending to eight-five. The level of difficulty for the whole series is intermediate, with some at the easier end, and others at the middle or upper end.We don’t know if they were intended to test students trying to enter the harp class, or if they were used to test students in the class as they played their exams. The fact that they were never published means that students had to not only sight read them, but sight read them in manuscript form!I worked from digital images of the original manuscripts, which are in the private music library of a harpist in France. She had twenty-seven of these pieces, and this edition is the second in a series of three that will publish, for the first time, all of the ones that I have found thus far. The manuscripts themselves consist of little more than notes on the page: no pedals written in, no fingerings, few if any musical nuances and tempo markings, and no clear indication as to which hand plays which notes. These would have been difficult to sight read indeed! My collaborator Catherine Michel and I added musical nuances, fingerings, pedals and pedal diagrams, and tempo indications to put them into their current condition.At the time these were written, Tournier would have been in his twenties, having just graduated from the harp class himself (1899), and might still have been in the composition class. These are the earliest known pieces that he wrote, and they were written at the very beginning of a cultural revolution and upheaval in Paris that was to completely and profoundly alter musical composition. Tournier himself would eventually be caught up in this new way of composing. But not yet.All of the déchiffrages are written in the late romantic style that was being taught at that time at the Paris Conservatory. Each one is built on a clear musical idea, and the variety over the whole series makes them wonderful to listen to as well as to learn. They are also great technical lessons for intermediate level players.The obvious question is: Why didn’t Tournier publish these pieces, and why didn’t he list them on his own inventory of his music? Actually, four of them were published, with small changes, as his collection Four Preludes, Op. 16. These came from the ones that will be in volume three of this series from Carl Fischer. His first large piece, Theme and Variations, was published in 1908, and his two best known and frequently played pieces, Féerie and Au Matin, followed in 1912 and 1913 respectively. We can only speculate because there is so much still unknown about Tournier and about these unpublished pieces. He may have looked at them, fresh out of school as he was, as simply a way to make some quick money. The first several pieces that he did publish are much longer than any of the déchiffrages. So it could be that, because of their shorter length, as well as the earlier musical style that he was moving away from, he chose not to publish any more of them. We may never know the full story. But all these years later, more than a century after they were composed, we can listen to them for their own merits, and not measured against whatever else was going on at the time. The numbers on these pieces are the ones that Tournier assigned to them, and the gaps between some of the numbers suggest that there are perhaps thirty or more of these pieces still to be found, if they still exist. They will, in all likelihood, be found, as these were, in private collections of harp music, not in institutional libraries. We can only hope that more of them will be located in years to come.—Carl SwansonGlossary of French Musical TermsTournier was very precise about how he wanted his pieces played, and carefully communicated this with many musical indications. He used standard Italian words, but also used French words and phrases, and occasionally mixed both together. It is extremely important to observe and understand everything that he put on the page.Here is a list of the French words and phrases found in the pieces in this edition, with their translation.bien chanté well sung, melodiousdécidé firm, resolutediminu peu à peu becoming softer little by littleen diminuant becoming softeren riten. slowing downen se perdant dying awayGaiement gayly, lightlygracieusement gracefully, elegantlyLéger light, quickLent slowmarquez le chant emphasize the melodyModéré at a moderate tempopeu à peu animé more lively, little by littleplus lent slowerRetenu held backsans lenteur without slownesssans retinir without slowing downsec drily, abruptlysoutenu sustained, heldtrès arpegé very arpeggiatedTrès Modéré Very moderate tempoTrès peu retenu slightly held backTrès soutenu very sustainedun peu retenu slightly held back.
SKU: CF.YAS179F
ISBN 9781491151815. UPC: 680160909315. 9 x 12 inches. Key: F major.
Bud Woodruff presents The Cat Is in the Kitchen, a tongue-in-cheek style piece with jazz influences that students enjoy playing. This quirky piece is designed to help students successfully navigate playing F-naturals and B-flats. Bud Woodruff draws on his lengthy career as a string educator to help students overcome the challenges in this piece.
I wrote The Cat Is in the Kitchen for a group of very talented young players who, for some reason, did not like Bb's, and particularly Bb's on the G string ... especially the cellos (who always faithfully played them as B naturals). They bore no great love for F naturals, either. So this piece is full of both. Since the students liked the sound of the piece, they overcame their dislikes, and all was just fine in the end ... mission accomplished!
One will find that changing the bowings will change the accents, too, and the flavor of the piece will be lost. Without a doubt, there is a jazz influence, and the piece will be easier to teach if you approach it from that angle. Have the class work on m. 18 until everyone can play it ease. Then add m. 19 for the upper strings, and 90% of any issues the bowings may present will be solved.
My kids loved playing this piece, and the audience enjoyed hearing it. I trust you will have the same results.
I wrote The Cat Is in the KitchenA for a group of very talented young players who, for some reason, did not like Bb's, and particularly Bb's on the G string ... especially the cellos (who always faithfully played them as B naturals). They bore no great love for F naturals, either. So this piece is full of both. Since the students liked the sound of the piece, they overcame their dislikes, and all was just fine in the end ... mission accomplished!
A One will find that changing the bowings will change the accents, too, and the flavor of the piece will be lost. Without a doubt, there is a jazz influence, and the piece will be easier to teach if you approach it from that angle. Have the class work on m. 18 until everyone can play it ease. Then add m. 19 for the upper strings, and 90% of any issues the bowings may present will be solved.
A My kids loved playing this piece, and the audience enjoyed hearing it. I trust you will have the same results.
About Carl Fischer Young String Orchestra Series
This series of Grade 2/Grade 2.5 pieces is designed for second and third year ensembles. The pieces in this series are characterized by:--Occasionally extending to third position--Keys carefully considered for appropriate difficulty--Addition of separate 2nd violin and viola parts--Viola T.C. part included--Increase in independence of parts over beginning levels
SKU: CF.YAS179
ISBN 9781491151440. UPC: 680160908943. 9 x 12 inches. Key: C major.
SKU: PR.114423360
UPC: 680160686285.
When the Newport Music Festival commissioned me for a piano trio in honor of their 2021 season, I looked for a topic that would celebrate an aspect of the Newport community. While researching the area, I was struck by the nine lighthouses situated around the island. The dual nature of lighthouses was particularly appealing to me: not only do they serve a vital role in the navigation of ships around rocks and land, but they are also a beautiful sight, particularly at night when their blinking beacons are clearly visible to the eye. It occurred to me that lighthouses link the past with the present, and will endure long into the future, with their beacons serving the same purpose for every generation.I became fascinated with the lighthouse on the property of Castle Hill Inn, located at the opening of the East Passage of the Narragansett Bay. This squat thirty-four foot granite structure was erected in 1890 on a very picturesque spot, right at the water’s edge. Its “characteristic,†the nautical term for each lighthouse’s unique light sequence that allows ships to identify the lighthouse, is to alternate on for three seconds, then off for three seconds. The lighthouse has also served as the starting and finish line for numerous high profile yacht races, as well as survived a massive hurricane in 1938, though the lighthouse keeper’s nearby residence wasn’t so lucky. American novelist Thornton Wilder wrote much of his 1973 novel Theophilus North while staying at the Castle Hill Inn; a passage from the book perfectly captures the dual nature of lighthouses:“At a later visit I was able to engage the pentagonal room in a turret above the house; from that magical room I could see at night the beacons of six lighthouses and hear the booming and chiming of as many sea buoys.â€In Beacon of the Bay, we first hear the lighthouse’s characteristic as its ruby light blinks on and off. This is followed by a simple theme that represents the lighthouse performing its solitary duty. As the piece progresses, we hear waves playfully lapping around its base, then yachts gracefully floating by; this is followed by a violent storm that churns the waves with so much force that they crash against the lighthouse’s granite body. But the steadfast lighthouse holds firm to the rocks, grandly blinking its ruby light. The music quiets back down to its simple theme, with yachts sailing by once more as the piece concludes.
SKU: PR.11442131S
UPC: 680160681006.
A lot of chamber music playing went on in Fargo, North Dakota during my teenage years. The participants included both high school friend - my brother, who plays viola, was an is an inveterate chamber music player - and members of parents' generation. The latter included not only professional musicians (the conductor of the Fargo-Moorhead Community Orchestra, who also played cello and was my first composition teacher, his wife, who was the orchestra's concert mistress, and others) but also people from various other walks of life. Although I don't play a string instrument, I was almost always in attendance, with score in hand. (One summer, all the young cellists we played with went to the Interlochen Music Camp, so I got to play the cello parts on the bassoon.) Mostly it was string quartets that were played, but one of the larger pieces I remember being done more than once was the Brahms Sextet in G Major, and I think that the idea for utilizing that combination had been lurking in the back of my mind since then. In the middle 1980's, ideas for a string sextet began appearing in my sketchbooks; one movement (the fourth) was actually completed in one of the sketchbooks. But without a deadline, it's hard for me to finish a major work, since there are always other pieces (with deadlines) waiting to be completed. So when the Composers Showcase at Lincoln Center asked me to put together a retrospective of my work, I knew I wanted to have a premiere on the program, and May 7, 1990 became the deadline that I got the piece done. The work is in six movements, with a symmetrical key pattern; the movements range from the very dramatic to the very easy-going. I had contacted the Lark Quartet, who had commissioned my String Quartet No.2, about forming the core of the sextet. Unfortunately, one of the Larks had a scheduling conflict, but the other three rounded up three more players, and the six of them gave the piece a rousing performance, in spite of the limited rehearsal time. The players were Eva Gruesser, Genovia Cummins, Anna Kruger, Mary Hamman, Astrid Schween and Julia Lichten.A lot of chamber music playing went on in Fargo, North Dakota during my teenage years. The participants included both high school friend – my brother, who plays viola, was an is an inveterate chamber music player – and members of parents’ generation. The latter included not only professional musicians (the conductor of the Fargo-Moorhead Community Orchestra, who also played cello and was my first composition teacher, his wife, who was the orchestra’s concert mistress, and others) but also people from various other walks of life. Although I don’t play a string instrument, I was almost always in attendance, with score in hand. (One summer, all the young cellists we played with went to the Interlochen Music Camp, so I got to play the cello parts on the bassoon.)Mostly it was string quartets that were played, but one of the larger pieces I remember being done more than once was the Brahms Sextet in G Major, and I think that the idea for utilizing that combination had been lurking in the back of my mind since then. In the middle 1980’s, ideas for a string sextet began appearing in my sketchbooks; one movement (the fourth) was actually completed in one of the sketchbooks. But without a deadline, it’s hard for me to finish a major work, since there are always other pieces (with deadlines) waiting to be completed. So when the Composers Showcase at Lincoln Center asked me to put together a retrospective of my work, I knew I wanted to have a premiere on the program, and May 7, 1990 became the deadline that I got the piece done.The work is in six movements, with a symmetrical key pattern; the movements range from the very dramatic to the very easy-going.I had contacted the Lark Quartet, who had commissioned my String Quartet No.2, about forming the core of the sextet. Unfortunately, one of the Larks had a scheduling conflict, but the other three rounded up three more players, and the six of them gave the piece a rousing performance, in spite of the limited rehearsal time. The players were Eva Gruesser, Genovia Cummins, Anna Kruger, Mary Hamman, Astrid Schween and Julia Lichten.
SKU: PR.114421310
UPC: 680160680993.
SKU: BT.MUSME0282
English.
The 30 pieces contained within this tutorial are aimed exclusively at piano beginners. All pieces are easy to play and will enable you to rapidly gain substantial experience in piano playing and, since they are adapted versions of real musical pieces, you will at no time lose your pleasure of playing. In order not to overwhelm you, the level of difficulty of the pieces to be performed increases progressively, allowing you to work in a fluent and coherent manner. The piano pieces put together in this tutorial will also allow you to discover musical styles which are totally different from one another, forming a large panorama of contemporary and classic music. You will get a tasteof popular music, jazz, ragtime, blues and rock. So you can rest assured, there’s something for everyone in here(!) The CD attached to the book will make your study even more enjoyable. Every musical piece appears twice: the first time for demonstration purposes (with the piano) and the second in the form of a backing track (without the piano), in order to give you the opportunity to play the piano and enjoy the accompaniment of other musicians.
SKU: CF.O88X
ISBN 9781491153406. UPC: 680160910908. 9 X 12 inches.
These studies are a staple of the advanced trumpet method repertoire. Each etude is an exploration of a wide variety of registers, articulations and tonalities. While going through these 36 etudes the trumpeter will develop an even sound in all registers while tackling the musical and melodic challenges that lie within.IntroductionTips on Musical PracticeStarting a new study can be overwhelming. Using Etude No. 1, here’s an example of how to approach working on these etudes with both musicality and technique in mind.Bousquet’s first study can be broken down into three large musical sections:Section 1: from the beginning to the downbeat of m. 26.Section 2: from the upbeat of 2 in m. 26 to the downbeat of m. 51.Section 3: from the downbeat of m. 51 to the end.Each one of those sections can be broken down into two smaller sections:Section 1a: from the beginning to the downbeat of m. 16.Section 1b: from the downbeat of m. 16 to the downbeat of m. 26.Section 2a: from the upbeat of 2 in m. 26 to the end of m. 35.Section 2b: from m. 36 to the downbeat of m. 51.Section 3a: from the downbeat of m. 51 to the downbeat of m. 59.Section 3b: from the downbeat of m. 59 to the end.To get started playing, choose a slow tempo that allows you to play Section 1 all the way through without stopping. If that is problematic, just play through 1a.Remember to focus on the music. Section 1a is light, moving in four-measure phrases to the ninth measure, where it cadences in G. From there, retain the lightness through the arpeggiation that concludes with the trill that brings an arrival point at Section 1b. Here the style changes completely, alternating two measures of fluid, connected sixteenth notes with two measures of scalar staccato sixteenths before finally cadencing on the downbeat of m. 26.Section 2 begins with a melodic line of eighth notes, punctuated by sixteenths in the third full measure before returning to the original line for only a measure before driving forward with a flourish to finish Section 2a. Section 2b starts back in C with four-measure phrases in which the line moves up for two measures, then down for two measures, ending in G. The last seven measures of Section 2 stay light as they work their way back to C.Section 3 is very exciting, starting with a fiery cornet solo-like passage in 3a. 3b brings the piece to a dramatic conclusion outlining C major for the first four measures before arpeggiating C major and G dominant for two measures, finally finishing with the C-major scale.The next step is to isolate any of the parts that proved troublesome. Examples could include missed notes or figuring out where to breathe. Once you have practiced the troublesome sections in isolation, play the section all the way through without stopping again. Even if there are still problems, you are now practicing in a way that is preparing you to perform musically.The next day, play through Section 1 again, at a tempo that allows you to do this without stopping. Now go on to Section 2, and follow the same three steps:Play all the way through, at a tempo that allows you to do so without stopping,Isolate and practice the troublesome passages, thenPlay all the way through, at a tempo that allows you to do so without stopping.Now play from the beginning to the end of Section 2.The next day, play Section 1. Now play Section 2. Then play Section 3 and apply the same three steps outlined above.Now play the whole study. At this point you have spent time on each section, making musical decisions and correcting mistakes. Increase the tempo as you gain confidence and control of the material. As you work towards performing the entire study as a piece of music, record yourself playing the entire study as a performance each day. Review the recordings to reveal what still needs work. Be honest with yourself! When you are happy with the recording of your performance, it’s time to move on to the next study.About the Goldman PrefaceThese studies will be an excellent practice, especially for the lower register of the Cornet, which is somewhat neglected in other instruction books. It is recommended that the pupil should practice one of this series of Studies now and then to repose his lips, and acquire facility in difficult fingering.— Edwin Franko GoldmanIn his original preface, Edwin Franko Goldman is absolutely correct that these studies are excellent practice and will help with the dexterity demanded of today’s player. Although the low register is certainly explored throughout the book, it does not appear to be the focus of these studies. There are many books available now that concentrate on the low register. The suggested fingerings have been removed. Using alternate fingerings was more common to cornet players to aid in the fluidity of a passage. This practice is not nearly as common today, especially with trumpet players, as the difference in timbre caused by the alternate fingerings is disruptive to the musical line. Published for cornet, as it was the solo instrument of choice in the 1920s, these etudes are just as useful to today’s trumpet player. When playing these studies on trumpet, the performer should strive for a fluid line while maintaining a full and clear sound. Because of the musicianship and technique demanded, this book remains as useful today as it has ever been.— Joey TartellAbout Narcisse Bousquet and the 36 EtudesNarcisse Bousquet (c. 1800–1869) was French by birth, active as a composer, editor and arranger in both France and England in the early nineteenth century. Bousquet was respected as an accomplished performer of the French flageolet, a high-pitched woodwind instrument much like a recorder, although later outfitted with the Boehm key system like the modern flute. Although obsolete in modern times, the instrument once enjoyed great popularity with a variety of composers and performers, both amateur and professional. Purcell and Handel composed for the instrument, and Berlioz was purportedly an accomplished amateur performer of the flageolet. The Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson, likewise, was a proficient performer of the instrument and composed a number of pieces for it.Little is known today of Bousquet’s life. He composed a large variety of music, including works specifically for the flageolet, which were widely appreciated in their day. The 36 Etudes for flageolet are undoubtedly the most well known of his works. Published in 1851, the Etudes explore a variety of techniques, such as scales, arpeggios, ornamentation, breath control and expressive playing, and their technically demanding writing confirms Bousquet’s prowess as a flageolet performer. However, the date of the arrangement of the etudes for cornet and their arranger remain speculative. Edwin Franko Goldman is credited as the arranger of the 1890 publication by Carl Fischer, although Goldman would have been only twelve years old at the time; his work on these pieces surely came at a later time. Bousquet himself may have arranged these pieces for cornet at the request of an accomplished cornet player at some point after their publication.
SKU: PR.16400261S
UPC: 680160038411.
Since the bassoon is my own instrument, many people have asked me why I've written so little for the instrument. Beyond my early Concerto Da Camera for bassoon and small orchestra, written for Leonard Sharrow in 1975, I've not written a single piece that features the bassoon as a solo vehicle (though I have written three woodwind quintets). When I first began composing seriously, critics were quick to point out that my orchestral writing revealed nothing of my roots as a woodwind player--and bassoonists asked why my pieces didn't have more bassoon solos. Perhaps I was so aware that people were looking at me as a bassoonist/composer that I was determined to remove that stigma. Now that my transformation from performer to composer is complete, however, it's time to re-address my instrument. I wanted this new piece to be serious rather than whimsical. The Wind Won't Listen represents my return to the bassoon as the highly expressive, poetic soul that it is. As such, it shouldn't come as a surprise that the piece is based on a poem, and that the title of the piece as well as both its movement titles come from lines in that poem. I first read Beth Gylys' poem Split at the MacDowell Colony in the summer of 2001, and it made a big impression on me. My personal life had been ruptured by divorce in the preceding year. This poem, with its dry insistence on observation rather than feeling, expressed the wrung-out state of my emotions at the time better than any I had seen. I set it to music, as a song, immediately. In this format, for voice and piano, I was able to put a musical note to every word of the poem. The first lines of the poem, Everyone I know is crying, or should be crying, became a melody that haunted me even without the words. The work for bassoon and string quartet is an outgrowth of the song. The first movement is labeled Romanza, and has a loose formal arch structure of A-B-C-B-A, with B and C being fast sections framed by the lamenting A music. In addition to hearing the bassoon's first notes attached to the lines Everyone I know is crying, there's a sense of agitation, of loss, of longing, and at times of desperation in the music. At one point, the opening theme from Tristan even appears in the strings. The second movement follows, without a real pause--the pizzicato final chords of the first movement becoming the increasingly aggressive opening chords of the second. The recitative is actually a foreshadowing of the basic theme that will be varied, again to the words of the song: Life makes itself without us. Don't let me tell you how it is. Go out. Look. The recitative begins in an anguished state, but subsides into more gentle singing by the end, when it simply falls into an ostinato 5/8-3/4 pattern to begin the variations. Marked Very steady tempo; Dancing, this set of variations consists of three dances, each faster than the previous. The first, in the aforementioned 5/8-3/4 meter, gives way to a 3/8 scherzo, which in turn takes on a furious 2/4 scurrying motion. The music becomes breathless, almost pulse-less, and an ethereal theme appears in the violins while the rushing music continues, sotto voce in the bassoon. This new theme is also from the song: Why do I do this? The wind won't listen. The bassoon re-states its Everyone I know is crying melody from the first movement, and at length the 5/8-3/4 music returns, more subdued this time. The piece ends on a major-minor chord, suspended. The Wind Won't Listen is dedicated to the man who commissioned it, bassoonist Steven Dibner--who shares my passion for poetry and language. --Dan Welcher.
SKU: CF.YPS217F
ISBN 9781491156551. UPC: 680160915095. 9 x 12 inches.
Hope Remains Within was commissioned by and composed for the Mount Nittany Middle School 7th and 8th Grade Concert Bands. Having heard the students of Mount Nittany perform another work of mine, I was very excited when their director, Johanna Steinbacher, approached me about writing a piece specifically for them. I knew right away that I wanted to write something that would tie in with their non-music curriculum in some way, but I wasn't exactly sure how, or what. Johanna talked to some of her students and learned that, in 7th grade, the students spend a good deal of time studying mythology in their English class. In particular, two clarinet students mentioned how much they enjoyed the story of Pandora. As such, I decided to use that story as the basis of this composition. Hope Remains Within doesn't attempt to re-tell the story, event by event, in musical terms. Instead, my goal was to address what seems to be one of the central issues of the Pandora myth. Though there are some variations, we probably all know the basics as told by the ancient Greek poet Hesiod. Zeus decides to punish Prometheus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to humans. He and the other gods create Pandora, a beautiful and deceitful woman, and they give her to Prometheus's brother Epimetheus as a bride. Pandora is herself given a jar (according to many sources, jar seems to be a more accurate translation for what we commonly call Pandora's box) which contained numerous evils, diseases, and other pains. Out of curiosity, Pandora opens the jar and releases all of these evils into the world. But one thing remains in the jar: hope. The issue of hope seems to be one of the big interpretive questions of the Pandora myth. Why does hope remain within the jar? Why doesn't it come out of the jar to help humanity? Is hope being held on a pedestal of some sort? Is hope deliberately withheld from humanity? Why was hope in the jar with all those evils in the first place? I'm not enough of a mythological scholar to claim to have definitive answers to those questions, but these are the questions that I've tried to engage from a musical perspective in Hope Remains Within. I encourage the students and listeners to consider their own ideas of what hope is, and where you can find your own hope when needed. Musically, Hope Remains Within draws one of its main themes from the Prometheus Symphony by Alexander Skryabin (Scriabin). The note sequence F-D-Gb -F, heard near Hope's beginning played by alto saxophones and chimes, comes from the opening measures of Skyrabin's work. Given the important role that Prometheus plays in the Pandora myth, this seemed like an appropriate musical gesture to quote. This Prometheus motive is varied throughout the course of the piece, and even provides closure at the end, recast in a major key. Additionally, I have tried to involve a manageable amount of chromaticism in this piece. I have worked from the key of Bb major, no doubt familiar to every student who has ever played an instrument in a band. But I have added three extra notes: Db, Gb, and Ab, which are drawn from the key of Bb minor. During the piece's slow opening, I have allowed these minor key pitches to mingle freely within the Bb major tonality, adding extra color and (I hope!) beauty. As the piece progresses, though, the tempo increases, and we lose sense of the Bb major key entirely, and these extra notes play a more important role. But finally, Bb major returns triumphantly and all the extra notes are gone, except for a brief memory near the very end. (Ok, there are a couple of E-naturals that sneak in there along the way. I couldn't resist.).Hope Remains Within was commissioned by and composed for the Mount Nittany Middle School 7th and 8th Grade Concert Bands. Having heard the students of Mount Nittany perform another work of mine, I was very excited when their director, Johanna Steinbacher, approached me about writing a piece specifically for them. I knew right away that I wanted to write something that would tie in with their non-music curriculum in some way, but I wasn’t exactly sure how, or what. Johanna talked to some of her students and learned that, in 7th grade, the students spend a good deal of time studying mythology in their English class. In particular, two clarinet students mentioned how much they enjoyed the story of Pandora.As such, I decided to use that story as the basis of this composition. Hope Remains Within doesn’t attempt to re-tell the story, event by event, in musical terms. Instead, my goal was to address what seems to be one of the central issues of the Pandora myth. Though there are some variations, we probably all know the basics as told by the ancient Greek poet Hesiod. Zeus decides to punish Prometheus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to humans. He and the other gods create Pandora, a beautiful and deceitful woman, and they give her to Prometheus’s brother Epimetheus as a bride. Pandora is herself given a jar (according to many sources, “jar†seems to be a more accurate translation for what we commonly call “Pandora’s boxâ€) which contained numerous evils, diseases, and other pains. Out of curiosity, Pandora opens the jar and releases all of these evils into the world. But one thing remains in the jar: hope.The issue of hope seems to be one of the big interpretive questions of the Pandora myth. Why does hope remain within the jar? Why doesn’t it come out of the jar to help humanity? Is hope being held on a pedestal of some sort? Is hope deliberately withheld from humanity? Why was hope in the jar with all those evils in the first place?I’m not enough of a mythological scholar to claim to have definitive answers to those questions, but these are the questions that I’ve tried to engage from a musical perspective in Hope Remains Within. I encourage the students and listeners to consider their own ideas of what hope is, and where you can find your own hope when needed.Musically, Hope Remains Within draws one of its main themes from the Prometheus Symphony by Alexander Skryabin (Scriabin). The note sequence F-D-Gb -F, heard near Hope’s beginning played by alto saxophones and chimes, comes from the opening measures of Skyrabin’s work. Given the important role that Prometheus plays in the Pandora myth, this seemed like an appropriate musical gesture to quote. This Prometheus motive is varied throughout the course of the piece, and even provides closure at the end, recast in a major key.Additionally, I have tried to involve a manageable amount of chromaticism in this piece. I have worked from the key of Bb major, no doubt familiar to every student who has ever played an instrument in a band. But I have added three extra notes: Db, Gb, and Ab, which are drawn from the key of Bb minor. During the piece’s slow opening, I have allowed these minor key pitches to mingle freely within the Bb major tonality, adding extra color and (I hope!) beauty. As the piece progresses, though, the tempo increases, and we lose sense of the Bb major key entirely, and these extra notes play a more important role. But finally, Bb major returns triumphantly and all the extra notes are gone, except for a brief memory near the very end. (Ok, there are a couple of E-naturals that sneak in there along the way. I couldn’t resist.).
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