Orlando Philharmonic 2010 “Super Series” – Young Romantics:

Notes provided by:  David R. Glerum, Music Director – WMFE-FM/NPR, Orlando, FL. (1990-2009); Music Director – WXXI-FM/NPR, Rochester, N.Y. (1980-1990)

Gioacchino Rossini (1792-1868) – Overture to The Barber of Seville (Il Barbiere di Seviglia):

Rossini was the most successful Italian opera composer of the early nineteenth century, especially celebrated for his comic operas. He began composing before he was a teenager and then at thirteen he joined a theater company as a singer and accompanist. Two years later he enrolled in Bologna’s Liceo Communale, where the precocious composer wrote his first opera and made a name for himself as a “whiz kid” inviting comparison with the young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. By the age of only twenty-one, following the smash successes of The Silken Ladder and The Italian Girl in Algiers, Rossini was beloved by all of Italy’s opera lovers. Over the next quarter century, Rossini kept churning out hits – from The Turk in Italy (1814), The Barber of Seville (1816), Cinderella (1817), and The Thieving Magpie (1817), to William Tell (1829).

Rossini’s The Barber of Seville was premiered in Rome under the composer’s direction on February 20, 1816. It has never been absent from the stage and is nearing two centuries as being one of the most performed operas in the world. Giuseppe Verdi offered his highest praise when he declared The Barber as “the finest opera buffa [comic opera] in existence.” It is universally agreed to be the masterpiece among Rossini’s comic operas. Taking a cue from his idol, Mozart, Rossini chose as his libretto an earlier Beaumarchais play involving three of the major characters from The Marriage of Figaro, namely, Count Almaviva, Rosina, and Figaro. The plot of The Barber is wonderful madcap comedy: a wealthy old bachelor, Dr. Bartolo is determined to marry his beautiful young ward, Rosina; she loves instead a handsome noble, Almaviva; Figaro, the Count’s barber and servant, devises various schemes and shenanigans to frustrate the doddering Bartolo; and all ends happily as the young lovers are wed under Bartolo’s roof and all is well as the bachelor is assuaged with the gift of money he receives in return.

All that being said, the Overture to The Barber of Seville as we know it actually has nothing to do with the opera itself! After the first performance of the opera, somewhere in transit between Rome and Bologna, the original overture was lost, and Rossini, perhaps from laziness or expediency, simply switched out another overture that had nothing to do with The Barber. The overture he chose was actually written three years earlier for his opera Aureliano in Palmira, set in the third century of the Christian era. Nevertheless, the ‘new’ overture functions as a perfect mood setter for opera owing to its youthful and scintillating energy.
It is hard to think of any opera overture more famous than that of Rossini’s The Barber of Seville. In addition to its enormous success in the opera house, The Barber has benefitted from several hilarious settings in the American cartoon world. From 1944, there is Walter Lanz’s Woody Woodpecker with Woody taking over “Tony Figaro’s” barbershop. Later, in 1952, MGM released Tex Avery’s Magical Maestro, starring the ‘Great Poochini’, a canine opera singer who attempts unsuccessfully to sing the Barber’s Largo al factotum. And who can forget Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd (voiced by Mel Blanc) in the 1949 Warner Bros. Looney Tunes theatrical cartoon, The Rabbit of Seville? Do you remember the scene where Bugs dressed as a temptress halts Elmer’s chase? (possibly Rosina from the actual opera), singing, “What would you want with a rabbit? Can’t you see that I’m much sweeter? I’m your little senioriter. You’re my type of guy, let me straighten your tie, and I will dance for you!”

Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849) – Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 21:

1. I. Maestoso
2. II. Largetto
3. III. Allegro Vivace

By the time Chopin wrote the Piano Concerto No. 2 in 1829 at the age of nineteen and the Piano Concerto No. 1 the following year (the concertos were published in reverse order), the performer/composer inspired adoration not only from the public, but profound respect among his artistic colleagues. His admiring peers included Liszt, Berlioz, Mendelssohn, the writers Heine and Balzac, and the painter Délacroix. With the publication of his Variations for piano and orchestra of Mozart’s “Là ci darem la mano” – written at the age of 17 and published in 1830 – Robert Schumann exclaimed, “Hats off, gentlemen! A genius!” Schumann also hailed Chopin as “the boldest and proudest poetic spirit of the time.”

Looking to cash in on all the accolades and positive press from abroad, Chopin desired to move on to the international stage by planning a concert tour where he would dazzle audiences with two new piano concertos. Before embarking, he premiered both concertos in Warsaw, the Second Concerto receiving its premiere and marking the composer’s debut in Warsaw on March 17, 1830.  However, the old adage, “be careful what you wish for,” comes into play here. For Chopin soon came to realize that his disposition was in no way suited for the life of a concertizing artist; rather, he would find his niche as a performer in the more intimate settings of the salons of the Parisian aristocracy. But Chopin knew that a splash on the stage would go a long way towards launching his career as a virtuoso pianist and composer.

The premiere of the Second Piano Concerto was a tremendous success, so much so that he was asked to give another performance five days later, March 22, 1830. Chopin (though hardly objective) was himself generally pleased: “The first Allegro of my concerto (unintelligible to most) received the reward of a ‘Bravo’, but I believe this was given because people wanted to show that they understand and know how to appreciate serious music. There are people enough in all countries that like to assume the air of connoisseurs! The Adagio (Larghetto) and Rondo produced a very great effect; after these, the applause and the ‘Bravos’ came really from the heart.”

The concerto itself can truly be said to come directly “from the heart,” more specifically, from a young heart in love for the very first time. The object of Chopin’s affection was a pretty young singer, one Constantia Gladowska, whom he saw while the two were students at the Warsaw Conservatoire. A ‘Young Romantic’ to the highest degree, Chopin was abjectly smitten, following his imagined sweetie to her performances and to her appearances in church and at the theater. So giddy and immature was this ‘first love’ that the recipient of Cupid’s arrow admitted to “tingling with pleasure” whenever he spied a handkerchief embroidered with Constantia’s name. Or, leaving one of his letters suddenly with the syllable “Con–,” protesting, “No, I cannot complete her name, my hand is too unworthy.” But as maudlin and intoxicated as the young Chopin’s love was, there can be no doubt of its intensity and sincerity. In describing the amorous second movement, Chopin explained: “I have—perhaps to my own misfortune—already found my ideal, whom I worship faithfully and sincerely. Six months have elapsed, and I haven’t yet exchanged a syllable with her of whom I dream every night—she who was in my mind when I composed the Adagio [Larghetto] of my Concerto.”

The opening Maestoso begins with a considerable orchestral exposition of the principal themes, eventually giving way to the entrance and virtual domination of the piano, which becomes the driver in both the development and recapitulation sections. Unlike Beethoven (never a favorite of the composer), Chopin made no effort to establish an equal partnership between soloist and orchestra. Chopin’s instrument and world was the piano, and in this concerto the piano takes and holds center stage.

Next comes Larghetto, the movement Chopin said “belonged” to his exalted young love, Constantia Gladowska. After a short orchestral introduction, the piano verily sings the poignant and highly filigreed principal melody. Heavily influenced by the Italian bel canto style of singing, Chopin turns the piano into an opera singer capable of traversing a wide range of vocal styles from simple cantilena to florid coloratura. The middle section even resembles an operatic recitative, set against a dramatic background of string tremolos and pizzicato. The music rises to an impassioned climax, before the opening melody returns, now ornately embellished. Liszt offered high praise for the Larghetto: “Passages of surprising grandeur may be found in the Adagio [Larghetto] of the Second Concerto, for which he [Chopin] showed a decided preference, and which he liked to repeat frequently…. The whole of this piece is of a perfection almost ideal; its expression, now radiant with light, now full of tender pathos.”

Chopin structured the buoyant finale around the rhythms of one of his native Poland’s most cherished dances, the mazurka (characterized by triple time meter with a variable accent on the third beat). In this movement dazzling virtuosity is effectively combined with nationalism. An energetic second theme, which the strings announce playing col legno (letting the stick of the bow fall on the strings), occupies much of the movement and provides the material for the coda that brings the composition to an exhilarating conclusion.

Composer and writer Jan Swafford offers the following observation on the genius of Chopin:

“William Faulkner observed that one can present the truth plainly or put it in a chalice. Chopin presented his work in the richest and most filigreed of chalices, but filled it with a full measure of human experience and truth.”

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) – Symphony No. 2 in C Major, Op. 61:

1. I. Sostenuto assai—Allegro ma non troppo
2. II. Scherzo: Allegro Vivace
3. III. Adagio espressivo
4. IV. Allegro molto Vivace

The most felicitous and fortunate event of Robert Schumann’s life was his marriage in 1840 to Clara Wieck – later Clara Schumann – who would become one of the eras most successful and recognizable piano virtuosos.  ‘Young Romantics’ Robert and Clara first took notice of one another when she was nine years old and he was nineteen. Endeavoring to improve his pianistic technique, Robert became a pupil (and border) of Clara’s father, Friedrich, a fine teacher as evidenced by his daughter’s success, but a rigid and domineering man determined to carry out his plan for his gifted daughter’s success as a concert pianist. After four years Robert and Clara developed feelings for each other and eventually fell deeply in love. Quite expectedly, Friedrich viewed Robert as a threat to the promising career he so carefully mapped out for his daughter. He did everything in his power to prevent Clara from ruination at the hands of such a hypersensitive and impractical young man. When Clara reported her father’s misgivings, in particular the charge of laziness, Robert became defiant and answered: “I am a young man of twenty-eight, with a very active mind, and an artist in addition…. And you mean to say all my industry and simplicity, all that I have done, is quite lost upon your father?” Finally, in true Romantic fashion, Robert and Clara hoisted their feelings up high and over the father’s objections obtained court permission to marry. They were wed in September of 1840.

The Schumann’s marriage proved nothing short of idyllic, with both extraordinary minds complementing and completing each other. Where Clara was the stabilizing force in her husband’s life; Robert was the spiritual beacon in hers. Both encouraged each other and offered the most profound mutual respect. Robert lavished praise, such as “in the house such a housewife, in my heart a beloved and loving wife, for the world an artist.” And Clara rejoiced in her husband’s successes: “What a joyful sensation it must be when an abundant imagination like his bears one to higher and higher spheres…. I am often quite carried away with astonishment at my Robert! Whence does he get all his fire, his imagination, his freshness, and his originality? One asks that again and again, and one cannot but say that he is one of the elect, to be gifted with such creative power.” By disposition prone to melancholy and depression from an early age, Robert found himself experiencing some of the happiest and most productive years of his life. These were halcyon days that resulted in several of his chamber and song masterpieces, including the Piano Quintet in E-flat major; Lieder un Gesänge; the Overture, Scherzo, and Finale; and the Symphony No. 1, Spring.

However, despite Robert’s many compositional successes (his career as a pianist was cut short by a finger injury), his notoriety paled in comparison to that of his wife. Clara’s career as a virtuoso pianist blossomed and she performed hundreds upon hundreds of concerts throughout Russia and Europe. Her admirers were many, including not just Goethe, Mendelssohn, Paganini, and the Emperor of Austria, but also the great Liszt, who praised her for her “complete technical mastery, depth and sincerity of feeling.” In the first five months of 1844, Robert accompanied his wife on a concert tour of Russia, and he discovered that his wife’s bright fame cast a long shadow on his own. He was repeatedly referred to as Mr. Schumann – the husband of the pianist. And no one seemed to know much if anything at all about Robert’s career as a composer or conductor. At one of Clara’s musicales in St. Petersburg, a nobleman asked Robert point-blank: “Are you, too, musical?”! Schumann was demoralized and humiliated from the tour and after their return to Leipzig in May, he spiraled downward both physically and mentally.

Soon after, Schumann suffered a complete nervous breakdown. In a remarkable way, the Second Symphony arose from the ashes of this breakdown. It is important to know what the composer endured during this time to understand the connection. Clara wrote that her husband went for nights without sleep, emerging in tears in the morning. His doctor recorded these symptoms: When stressed or threatened in any way, Schumann would be overcome with bouts of trembling and quivering, chronic fatigue, coldness and numbness of the feet; and a mental anguish that would lead to a palpable terror of death, evident in the fear of falling from high places, including second-story buildings, in the fear of sharp metal objects, for example, keys, and by medicines he thought might poison him. He was plagued continually by tinnitus with ringing and roaring in the ears preventing him from enjoying the sound of music. His breakdown was so severe that he frequently found himself on the verge of madness. [Based upon recent forensic research, it is now believed that Schumann’s nervous condition can be at least partially explained by the ravages of mercury poisoning (prescribed for pain) or possibly a degenerative brain disorder stemming from the final stages of syphilis.]

Schumann’s doctor had the good sense to prescribe quieter surroundings, suggesting a change of scenery and a move to the calmer environment of Dresden, a city where Robert and Clara lived before in happier times and where he would gradually convalesce. By December of 1844, the Schumann’s took up permanent residence in Dresden. It was in that city in December of the following year that Robert began to recover. In a period of less than a week, he worked at great speed and produced the first draft of his Second Symphony. It took another year to complete the orchestration, on October 19, 1846, only 17 days before its Leipzig premiere in November, conducted by Felix Mendelssohn. Looking back some four years later, Schumann wrote in a letter to Dr. D.G. Otten, the Music Director in Hamburg, that his tormented psychological state informs much of the Second Symphony’s inception: “I wrote my symphony in December, 1845, and I sometimes fear my semi-invalid state can be divined from the music. I began to feel more myself when I wrote the last movement, and was certainly much better when I finished the whole work. All the same, it reminds me of dark days.” And, “I sketched the symphony while suffering severe physical pain,” Schumann recalled. “Indeed, I may well call it the struggle of my mind that influenced this, and by which I sought to beat off my disease.”

Schumann’s allusion to per ardua ad astra (‘through adversity to the stars’ or ‘through struggle to the stars’) leads some to believe that the composer took inspiration from the thematic layout to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Beginning ominously and with foreboding and concluding in triumph and victory, Beethoven’s Fifth is the ultimate musical metaphor for transcendence and is probably the most influential piece of music ever written. Given Schumann’s reverence for the symphonies of Beethoven, it does make sense to draw the parallel between the two symphonies. Both ‘darkness into light’ symphonies are often seen as each composer’s greatest symphonic creations. Schumann’s Second Symphony (actually third in order of composition) stands above the rest for its sincerity, depth and range of expression, and unabashed Romanticism.

In the year of Schumann’s recovery – 1845 – a first forward step came when the composer wrote in a letter to Mendelssohn: “Drums and trumpets in C have been blaring in my head. I have no idea what will come of it.” This gradually became the unifying motto theme heard throughout the symphony in various orchestral guises.

The first movement opens with a delicate fanfare, scored for two trumpets, two horns and trombone, set against an ominous and sinuous melody in the strings. This motto theme in the brass takes on increased importance as the symphony progresses, serving structurally as the symphony’s main unifying link. Following an extended introduction, the tempo gradually increases and moves into the main body of the Allegro section. Two principal themes emerge: the first consisting of craggy, quirky, and jagged rhythms, recalling Schumann’s own characterization of this movement as “moody, capricious, and refractory.” The second theme is an impassioned chromatic melody split between the strings and the woodwinds. As the end of the movement approaches, the music rises to a climax with the brass returning to the motto theme.

Rather than the traditional and expected slow movement, Schumann switches up and gives us next the Scherzo. The movement is a kind of perpetum mobile for strings, demanding considerable accuracy and virtuosity from the players (now and then it must be tackled during auditions). It opens with the first violins scurrying through the energetic principal theme. There are two contrasting trios (or distinct middle sections), the first bucolic and spritely, and the second of a more lyrical bent. The principal theme follows each trio in brief, with a quick reminder of the motto theme from the brass near the end.

Then comes the crown jewel of the symphony, perhaps the crown jewel of all Schumann’s symphonies, the Adagio expressivo, is the only such movement in the composer’s symphonic canon. Schumann, the ‘Young Romantic’, poured out his heart in this Adagio, a veritable cri de coeur; surely this has to be considered one of the composer’s most inspired and tragically moving creations. The movement is in three-part form: it opens with a profoundly expressive and poignant melody, then an abbreviated contrapuntal interlude, and finally a return of the melody with a shift into the glowing major mode.

The Adagio must have taken everything out of Schumann since he was too emotionally exhausted and nerve-struck to continue. Eventually, though, he saw light and a happy ending to a year of misery and composed an exhilarating and triumphant conclusion to his Second Symphony. “In the finale,” Schumann wrote, “I first began to feel like myself again; and indeed, I was much better after I had completed the work.” The Allegro molto vivace begins jubilantly and is then contrasted with a second subject derived from the opening notes of the main melody from the preceding Adagio, freed from all traces of melancholy. In the majestic and expansive coda (over 300 measures long), a new melody is introduced by the solo oboe, quoting a melodic phrase from the last song of Beethoven’s To a Distant Beloved cycle, the lyric beginning, “Then accept these songs.” This theme of healing and hope combines in the coda with the recurring brass motif, which opened the symphony, gradually rising into a heroic hymn of victory.