return to program notes homepage
NOTE:  These program notes are published here for patrons of the the Madison Symphony Orchestra and other interested readers.  Any other use is forbidden without specific permission from the author.

Madison Symphony Orchestra Program Notes
April 16-17-18, 2010
84th Season / Subscription Concert No. 8
Michael Allsen


This all-Russian finale of our 84th season opens with Rimsky-Korsakov’s evocative Russian Easter.  Piano soloist Philippe Bianconi makes a welcome third appearance with the Madison Symphony Orchestra, playing the stunningly virtuosic Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini by Rachmaninoff.  In his previous appearances, Mr. Bianconi has been featured in the Ravel Concerto in G and the Fauré Ballade (2001) and in Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No.3 (2003).  After intermission, we turn to Mussorgsky: excerpts from his masterpiece, Boris Godunov.  Bass-baritone Dean Peterson takes on the emotionally challenging role of Tsar Boris in these programs.  


Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)
Russian Easter Overture,  Op. 36

Rimsky-Korsakov composed his Russian Easter in 1887-1888.  He conducted its premiere in St. Petersburg on December 15,1888.  The Madison Symphony Orchestra has played the work previously in 1939, 1955, and 1995.  Duration 14:00.

Rimsky-Korsakov composed this overture at virtually the same time as he wrote his somewhat better-known symphonic suite Scheherezade.  While Scheherezade is designed to transport the listener to a fairy-tale realm, Russian Easter portrays a scene that was, for the composer, much closer to home: the celebration of Easter in a Russian Orthodox cathedral.  Easter, known as the “bright holiday” in Russian folklore, was day of music and age-old traditions, and Rimsky-Korsakov's music captures its spirit.  In his autobiography, he credits the inspiration of Russian Easter to his childhood experiences growing up near the monastery of Tikhvin.  The main themes of the overture are drawn from the Obikhod, a collection of Russian Orthodox liturgical chants, and would have been familiar to Rimsky-Korsakov's Russian audience.  Indeed, the composer once argued that to fully understand this work, a listener must have, at least once in his or her life, attended an Easter service at a great Orthodox cathedral.  Relatively few of us in this audience have had that experience, but it does not seem to hinder our appreciation of this evocative and picturesque work.

Rimsky-Korsakov felt that a written program was an indispensible part of Russian Easter, and he asked a friend to write a set of verses to be published with the score.  He was apparently unsatisfied with this program, and when he published the score in 1890, hw included two passages from the Bible and a paragraph he had written himself:

“Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered; let those who hate Him flee before Him!  As smoke is driven away, so drive them away; as wax melts before the fire, let the wicked perish before God!”  (Psalms 68: 1-2)
“And when the sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought spices, that they might go and anoint Him.  And very early on the first day of the week, they went to the tomb when the sun had risen.  And they were saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?’ And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe;  and they were amazed.  And he said to them, ‘ Do not be amazed;  you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has risen. ’ ” (Mark 16: 1-6)
“And the joyful tidings were spread abroad all over the world, and those who hated Him fled before Him, vanishing like smoke.  ‘He has risen!’ sings the chorus of angels in Heaven to the sound of archangels’ trumpets and the flutter of the seraphim’s wings.    ‘He has risen!’ sing the priests in the temples, in the midst of clouds of incense, by the light of innumerable candles, and to the chiming of triumphant bells.”

Rimsky-Korsakov clarified his intentions in his autobiography:

“The solemn trumpet voice of the Archangel was replaced by a tonal reproduction of the joyous, almost dance-like bell-tolling, alternating between the sexton's rapid reading and the plainchant of the priests singing the glad tidings of the Evangelist.  The Obikhod theme, ‘ Christ is Risen,’ which forms a sort of subsidiary part of the overture, appears among the trumpet-blasts and the bell-tolling, constituting a triumphant coda.  Thus, this overture combines references to the ancient Gospel prophecies and a picture of the Easter Service with its ‘pagan merry-making.’  Doesn't the capering and leaping of King David before the ark give expression to the same sort of mood as the idol-worshiper's dance?  Aren't the chimes of the Russian Orthodox service instrumental dance-music of the church?    Don't the waving beards of the priests and sextons, clad in white vestments and surplices, transport the imagination to pagan times, as they intone ‘Beautiful Easter’ in the tempo of Allegro vivo?  All of those Easter loaves and twists and glowing candles—what a far cry from the philosophical and social teachings of Christ!  What I was eager to reproduce in my overture was the legendary and heathen side of the holiday, this transition from the gloomy and mysterious evening of Passion Saturday to the unbridled pagan-religious merry-making of Easter Sunday.”

The Obikhod chant is laid out first by dour unison woodwinds.  In the opening section this music alternates with more virtuosic music from solo violin and flute.  There is a long stormy passage section based upon the chant, with bells and evocations of bells throughout.  At the center comes the most solemn moment: a solo trombone intones a chant above a quiet string background.  The second half is dominated by “pagan merry-making” despite the best efforts of the low brass to interject Christian orthodoxy.


Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 43

Rachmaninoff composed his Rhapsody during July and August of 1934.  He was the soloist at the premiere with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Leopold Stokowski conducting, on November 7, 1934.  The Madison Symphony has performed the work four times previously, with soloists  William Doppmann (1961), Augustin Anievas (1970),  Ruth Laredo (1983), and Vladimir Feltsman (1989).  Duration 22:00.

By the 1930s Rachmaninoff was well-established as one of the leading piano virtuosos of his age, and spent much of his time touring successfully in Europe and America.  In 1930 he visited Switzerland and decided to build a home in the village of Hertenstein, on the shore of Lake Lucerne. (The name of his house, “Senar,” was derived from the names “Sergei,” “Natalia,” (his wife) and “Rachmaninoff.”)  Senar became a well-beloved retreat until the Rachmaninoffs sought refuge in the United States at the beginning of World War II.  He composed two of his final large works while there: the Symphony No.3 (completed in 1938) and the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini—his last great solo work for piano.

The choice of Paganini was a telling one.  The violinist Niccolo Paganini (1782-1840) was the prototype for nearly all Romantic virtuosos.  A figure with almost superhuman technique, Paganini was also surrounded by a personal mystique and rumors of a demonic deal that was the source of his musical powers.  His 24 ironically-named Caprices are among the most difficult works for unaccompanied violin, and the melody of No.24 of these proved to have an enduring attraction for later composers.  Paganini himself wrote a set a of variations on this theme, as did Schumann, Brahms, and Liszt.  Rachmaninoff was himself a towering virtuoso, and turned to this tune as the basis for one of his most challenging piano works.  A couple of months before the premiere, Rachmaninoff wryly wrote to a friend: “It is rather difficult.  I must begin learning it.”

It is unclear whether or not Rachmaninoff originally conceived of the Rhapsody  as a piece of program music, but he later suggested a program in a letter to choreographer Mikhael Fokine, who used the Rhapsody for a ballet about Paganini.  Rachmaninoff suggested to Fokine that he should “...resurrect the legend about Paganini, who sold his soul to an evil spirit in exchange for perfection in his art and for a woman.  All the variations which contain the Dies irae represent the evil spirit.” The composer identified Variations 11-18 as “love episodes,” and Variation 19 as “Paganini's triumph,” but, true to form, the Devil wins in the end and claims the unhappy artist's soul.

In a move reminiscent of the final movement of Beethoven's “Eroica” symphony, Rachmaninoff presents the first “variation,” a skeletal version of the theme, before the theme is played in its entirety.  When the theme finally appears, it is stated starkly by the strings, with minimal accompaniment from the piano and woodwinds.  The succeeding 23 variations wring an amazing amount of musical material from this deceptively modest little idea.  Variations 2 through 6 remain close to the outlines of the tune: the piano is supported by sparse orchestration, and the theme is varied with relatively simple ornamental and rhythmic means.  In the next four variations (7-10), the mood becomes increasingly sinister, with reminiscences of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, such as the Dies irae “Day of Wrath”) chant in Variations 7 and 10, and the ghostly string effects in Variation 9.  This demonic tension is resolved in Variation 11, a lush cadenza-style treatment of the theme that must be a tribute to the style of Liszt.  Liszt is there for the next few variations as well (12-15), which have a distinctly Hungarian flavor.  The climactic point of this section is Variation 18—richly Romantic music familiar from several classic film scores—in which the piano uses the theme in inversion to create lush new harmonic possibilities.  Variations 19-24, are a finale that peaks in a solo cadenza before the massive final variation, with its wild piano figuration and the Dies irae blasted by the entire brass section.  The ending is one of Rachmaninoff's rare flashes of humor—a flippant little gesture that gives the piano the last word.


Modest Mussorgsky (1839-1881)
Excerpts from Boris Godunov

Mussorgsky composed Boris Godunov in 1868-1869, and revised the opera extensively in 1871-1872.  The first full production of the opera was in January 1874, at the Marinsky Theater in St. Petersburg.   In 1908, Nicolai Rimsky Korsakov published a revised and reorchestrated version of Boris Godunov—the version heard here.   Excerpts from the opera have appeared three times previously at our concerts, in 1941, 1942, and 1976.  Duration 48:00.

Mussorgsky was a member of group of Russian nationalists called the “Mighty Five” or “Mighty Handful”—a group that included Balikirev, Cui, Borodin, and Rimsky-Korsakov.  These composers were interested in producing a genuinely Russian style, free of “Germanic” influences, and Mussorgsky was in many ways the most radical of the group, showing little interest in European musical forms or standard harmony.  Many of his subjects were drawn from Russian history and folklore, and in his operas, he strove to find a natural way of expressing the Russian language.  Mussorgsky's career began to decline after the completion of Boris Godunov in the early 1870s.  He died at age 42, largely from the effects of alcoholism.

Boris Godunov is based on  Russian history of the late 16th century.  In 1591, Dmitri, heir to the throne of Russia was murdered.  Though it was whispered that Boris Godunov, a boyar (a member of the high aristocracy), was behind the death, a commission led by Prince Shuisky  cleared him of the charges.  On the death of Tsar Fyodor I in 1598, Boris assumed the throne, and reigned for seven years until he died of unknown causes.  He was succeeded by his son Fyodor II.  A pretender to the throne, who took the identity of the murdered Dmitri (really a former monk Grigoriy Otrepyev), promptly invaded Russia at the head of a Polish army and deposed and murdered Fyodor II, taking the throne for himself.  “False Dmitri” was himself murdered a year later by Prince Shuisky, who became Tsar Vasili IV.

The genesis of Mussorgsky's opera is just as complicated—though not as bloody—as this bit of Russian history.  He probably knew the story as schoolboy, but sometime after 1866, he saw Alexander Pushkin's play Boris Godunov, and was inspired by the possibility of an opera on the subject.  By 1868, he was at work on his own libretto, based largely on Pushkin's play and Karamzin’s History of the Russian State.  Mussorgsky finished the first version in 1869, and promptly submitted it to the official censors for approval.  In 1871, they denied permission for a production: Russian law made any depiction of a Tsar on stage illegal—or at least very difficult—and the censors also objected to the lack of female characters.  By 1872, he had completed a totally revised version.  Though Mussorgsky still had to wait for the censors, the “Coronation Scene” and the Act III Polonaise were performed at concerts in 1872, and he was able to stage three of the opera's scenes at a private performance in 1873.  The full opera was finally premiered in January 1874 to great acclaim.  

A complex bit of operatic history, but the story did not end in 1874;  one problem in discussing the opera is deciding just which Boris you’re talking about.  Mussorgsky himself produced two fairly different versions of the opera in 1869 and 1872, and both versions—particularly his revision of 1872—have been revived many times since.  He continued to tinker with Boris Godunov until 1874 and after his death, Rimsky-Korsakov worked on the score for several years, revising and adding music, reorchestrating, and even changing the order of scenes.  Rimsky-Korsakov published two separate versions in 1896 and 1908.  (His 1908 version is by far the most often-performed version of Boris, and the one that is heard here—though Maestro DeMain has chosen to switch the order of the two final scenes to reflect Mussorgsky’s original ordering.)  In 1940, Dmitri Shostakovich produced another reorchestrated version of the opera that is heard occasionally today.  Most recently, in 1997, Igor Buketoff produced a version that restores much of the ordering and music of Mussorgsky’s 1872 conception.

The following is a synopsis of the scenes performed here.

Boris Godunov opens with a lengthy Prologue, which begins in Novadevichiy Monastery near Moscow.  There is no formal overture, but instead a short instrumental passage that gradually expands on a dour chant that will later be associated with the murdered prince, Dmitri.   Threatened by a police officer, a chorus of wandering beggars sings a prayer Na kovo ty nas pokidaesh (“To whom do you abandon us, O Father?)  The Council Secretary Shchelkalov appears, telling the crowd that Boris still refuses to accept the throne, and asks them to pray he will be convinced.  A procession of pilgrims appears, and sings a hymn, the “Pilgrim’s Chorus,” counseling the people to take up their icons and go to Moscow to greet the new Tsar.  The great “Coronation Scene” comes is the Prologue’s Scene 2.  A crowd has gathered outside the Kremlin, waiting to see the new Tsar—Boris, who has finally relented.  Slow and rather discordant processional music begins the scene, as cathedral bells ring.  A trumpet fanfare rings out for Prince Shuisky as he appears to introduce Boris. The assembled crowd sings a grand Orthodox-style hymn to the new Tsar, which grows to a grand brassy finale, ending with shouts of Slava! (Glory!). When Boris finally addresses the people with is with a humble monologue that asks for God’s help in being a good and just ruler.  The crowd answers, even more exultantly—Slava!—and the scene ends with great rejoicing and pealing of bells.

The next two excerpts are drawn from Act II.  It is six years later, and Boris, sitting in his residence in the Kremlin, sings a long, disturbed monologue, Dostig ya vyshev vlásty (“I have attained supreme power”) that presents a whole range of emotions from bitter reflection on the nature of power to fond thoughts of his daughter to increasingly troubled and paranoid musing.  In the end he reveals a terrifying vision of a bloody child rising to judge him.  The “Clock Scene”—one of opera’s greatest “mad scenes”— comes from the end of this act.  Boris, alone in his apartment, reflects on the news that a pretender (or possibly—as he is led to believe—the miraculously resurrected Dmitri) has appeared in Poland. As he hears the clock chiming, Boris imagines the bloody child again, and pleads his innocence, finally collapsing in a desperate plea for mercy.

Act III takes place a year later in Poland, where pretender Dmitri is courting a Polish princess, Marina.  The act begins with a pastoral chorus of the maidens of Sandomir, who sing to entertain Marina.  The Polonaise and Chorus comes from later in the act, as Polish nobles and their ladies boastfully look forward to conquering the Russians and deposing Boris.

We close with two selections from Act IV.  After hearing from the old monk Pimen a vision that the murdered Dmitri has become a saint in heaven, Boris suddenly begins to choke, and sends for his son, announcing that he is dying.  Boris sings an emotional farewell and advises his son to beware the plots of the nobles and entreats him to faithfully protect the church and his sister.  He prays again for mercy, and suddenly hears the funeral bells as a solemn choir of monks approaches.  In the end, he collapses and dies.  Our final excerpt comes the opera’s closing scene in the original version.  Near the frontier town of Kromï, a group of vagabonds torments Khrushchov, a captured boyar. Eventually they mockingly address him as if he were the Czar himself, in a bitter echo of the joyful music of Boris’s coronation.
______
program notes ©2010 by J. Michael Allsen